Olive's happiness suits her well, for she is looking lovelier than ever, and seems to bring a ray of sunshine in with her this biting, tempestuous winter morning. She seems, too, to have recovered a large portion of her old irresistible spirits, though the sparkling piquancy of the beautiful girl whom we first saw in Wandsborough church has given way to the more thoughtful sweetness of the woman who has passed to her happiness through the dark days of trial and affliction. Her husband is wont sportively to tell her that she is fast acquiring the staidness of the conventional British matron--an imputation which she makes believe greatly to resent. But Roland Dorrien's love and adoration of his beautiful wife is as warm to-day as it was when they stood together two years ago beneath the cliffs, in the dim gloaming, with the spray dashing in their faces as they watched the huge waves thundering in, and knew that in another hour they would be lying dead in each other's embrace. She goes across to him now and puts her arm round his neck and lays her cheek against his. "What is it, dear? Any bad news? No. Only those stupid old business letters," she says, looking over his shoulder. "Put them away till later and don't let them bore you. But just look how it's snowing. You won't be able to shoot to-day." "No, I shan't. But it doesn't really matter--Marsland won't care--and I asked the Colonel, but I believe the good old chap will be only too glad of the excuse to sit quietly at home. Tom Barnes will be rather sold, I'm afraid--but we can give him a shoot at any time." "Of course. And now we'll have a snug day together, all to ourselves-- won't we?" "Olive, darling, I can't help thinking sometimes you must be dull here, shut up all the year round with such a cross-grained animal as this," he says, after a minute's pause. "It must be such a contrast as compared with the jolly days at the old Rectory. Now confess." "I'll confess this much--that if you don't get that idea out of your wise old head, I shall begin to have a bad opinion of you," she replies affectionately. "Why, I can run over at any moment and look them up, or get them up here, as in fact I'm always doing. What more can you think I want? Now let's see what the arbiter of Fate has brought forth," continues she, going round to her place. "Two bills--that's your department. Letters--only one, and that from Eusty. His regiment has been ordered to India--wonder how Nellie will like that--and he is coming down here the week after next. He will be here in time for the festival." "That's a goodish bit of news. Will he come to us or to the Rectory first?" "Don't know. That'll have to be decided." "By the way, where's Roy?" he asks suddenly. "He hasn't been in this morning. Ah, there he is."