Sunshine was on Luggela, and Horatia's ailments were abating, so, as her temper was not alleviated, Lucilla thought peace would be best preserved by sallying out to sketch. A drawing from behind the cross became so engrossing that she was sorry to find it time for the early dinner, and her artistic pride was only allayed by the conviction that she should always hate what recalled Glendalough. Rashe was better, and was up and dressed. Hopes of departure produced amity, and they were almost lively over their veal broth, when sounds of arrival made Lucilla groan at the prospect of cockney tourists obstructing the completion of her drawing. 'There's a gentleman asking to see you, Miss.' 'I can see no one.' 'Cilla, now do.' 'Tell him I cannot see him,' repeated Lucy, imperiously. 'How can you be so silly? he may have heard of our boxes.' 'I would toss them into the lake rather than take them from him.' 'Eh! pray let me be present when you perform the ceremony! Cilla in the heroics! Whom is she expecting?' said a voice outside the door, ever ajar, a voice that made Lucilla clasp her hands in ecstasy. 'You, Owen! come in,' cried Horatia, writhing herself up. 'Owen, old Owen! that's right,' burst from Cilla, as she sprang to him. 'Right! Ah! that is not the greeting I expected; I was thinking how to guard my eyes. So, you have had enough of the unprotected dodge! What has Rashe been doing to herself? A desperate leap down the falls of Niagara.' Horatia was diffuse in the narration; but, after the first, Lucy did not speak. She began by arming herself against her brother's derision, but presently felt perplexed by detecting on his countenance something unwontedly grave and preoccupied. She was sure that his attention was far away from Rashe's long story, and she abruptly interrupted it with, 'How came you here, Owen?' He did not seem to hear, and she demanded, 'Is anything the matter? Are you come to fetch us because any one is ill?' Starting, he said, 'No, oh no!' 'Then what brought you here? a family council, or Honor Charlecote?' 'Honor Charlecote,' he repeated mistily: then, making an effort, 'Yes, good old soul, she gave me a vacation tour on condition that I should keep an eye on you. Go on, Rashe; what were you saying?' 'Didn't you hear me, Owen? Why, Calthorp, the great Calthorp, is in our wake. Cilly is frantic.' 'Calthorp about!' exclaimed Owen, with a start of dismay. 'Where?' 'I've disposed of him,' quoth Lucilla; 'he'll not trouble us again.' 'Which way is he gone?' 'I would not tell you if I knew.' 'Don't be such an idiot,' he petulantly answered; 'I want nothing of the fellow, only to know whether he is clean gone. Are you sure whether he went by Bray?' 'I told you I neither knew nor cared.' 'Could you have believed, Owen,' said Rashe, plaintively, 'that she was so absurd as never even to tell him to inquire for our boxes?'