In a few days, Mrs. Malone and Cuckoo, Crab and Boozle, were installed in a small, detached house, close to a church, post office and train. George had done his best for his mother. For her, he had given up his furlough schemes--his private income, save fifty pounds, and his present hopes. She wept in gasps upon his shoulder, and sobbed out “that he was the best of sons, no one was like him, no one,” urgently suggested that he should apply to his Uncle Godfrey for an allowance--and in her heart loved Denis! To feel herself the free, unfettered owner of a small, but comfortable villa; at liberty to come and go, and spend and cry just as much as she pleased was (but this is for your private ear) a truly blessed relief! She wore the outward garb of woe, and used mourning paper, with inch deep black border, and envelopes so woeful that scarcely room was left for an address, and publicly bemoaned the late dear Major, and actually imagined that she was his truly disconsolate widow. George’s departure was sudden; a telegram gave him forty-eight hours to embark, and he instantly took the train for Ballingoole, ostensibly to make some final family arrangements, but in reality to say good-bye to Betty. His visit was quite unexpected. Betty was in the garden, picking strawberries for preserving. Mrs. Redmond was lying down, and Belle was standing disconsolately in the drawing-room window, staring at the lawn, the fir trees, and the grey clouds that hung over a distant low range of hills, betokening either rain or heat. “Mr. Holroyd,” said the parlour-maid abruptly, and she sprang round, her whole face transformed from gloom to sunlight in one second. “Oh, I am so glad to see you,” she cried, holding out both hands, “we did not know when we were to expect you.” “I came down to-day only for an hour. I got my orders this morning, and I’m off to-morrow--sail in the _Malabar_ on Saturday.” Belle’s nostrils quivered, but for once she restrained herself; she merely said: “How is your mother?” “Wonderfully well and cheerful; she has found some old friends already, and is beginning to feel at home.” “And Cuckoo?” with very forced composure. “Cuckoo goes to school, and, strange to say, likes it. I hope Mrs. Redmond is well.” “No, she is but poorly to-day. I am afraid she will not be able to come down and wish you good-bye. How we shall miss you,” then “How _I_ shall miss you, for you cannot think--you can never know--what your society has been to me in this hateful, melancholy place! Now it will be ten times more dreary than ever,” and there were tears in her voice. Silence--an uncomfortable but golden silence. George looked steadily at one particular patch in the carpet; Belle always talked in this exaggerated way; he wished she would not be quite so confoundedly personal. “Where is Betty?” he enquired in a would-be cheerful tone. “Oh, out with the dogs--somewhere about the place. Do you want to see her?”