Instead of driving home, Frances turned the pony's head in the direction of a long shady road which led into a westerly direction away from Martinstown. She drove rapidly for about half an hour under the trees. Then she turned to the silent Pete. "Pete, you can go back now to the Firs, and please tell your master and Miss Danvers that I shall not be home until late this evening. See, I will send this note to the squire." She tore a piece of paper out of her pocket-book, and scribbled a few lines hastily. "DEAR FATHER,--I have seen Mr. Spens. Don't despair. I am doing my best for you. FRANCES." "I shall be back before nightfall," said Frances, giving the note to the lad. "Drive home quickly, Pete. See that Bob has a feed of oats, and a groom-down after his journey. I shall be home at latest by nightfall." CHAPTER VIII. FOR THE SAKE OF THREE HUNDRED A YEAR. For nearly another quarter of a mile Frances walked quickly under the friendly elm-trees. Then she came to some massive and beautifully wrought iron gates, and paused for an instant, pressing her hand to her brow. "Shall I go on?" said she to herself. "It means giving up Philip--it means deliberately crushing a very bright hope." She remained quite still for several seconds longer. Her lips, which were white and tired-looking, moved silently. She raised her eyes, and looked full into the blue deep of the sky; and then she turned in at one of the gates, and walked up an exquisitely kept carriage drive. Some ladies in a carriage bowled past her; the ladies bent forward, bowed, and smiled. "Why, that is Frances Kane," they said one to another. "How good of her to call--and this is one of Aunt Lucilla's bad days. If she will consent to see Frances it will do her good." Frances walked on. The avenue was considerably over a mile in length. Presently she came to smaller gates, which were flung open. She now found herself walking between velvety greenswards, interspersed with beds filled with all the bright flowers of the season. Not a leaf was out of place; not an untidy spray was to be seen anywhere; the garden was the perfection of what money and an able gardener could achieve. The avenue was a winding one, and a sudden bend brought Frances in full view of a large, square, massive-looking house--a house which contained many rooms, and was evidently of modern date. Frances mounted the steps which led to the wide front entrance, touched an electric bell, and waited until a footman in livery answered her summons. "Is Mrs. Passmore at home?" "I will inquire, madame. Will you step this way?" Frances was shown into a cool, beautifully furnished morning-room. "What name, madame?" "Miss Kane, from the Firs. Please tell Mrs. Passmore that I will not detain her long." The man bowed, and, closing the door softly after him, withdrew.