‘Oh!’ she cried, with a long breath. ‘It is nothing, Beau. I was only frightened!’ ‘Who frightened you?’ he said. ‘What’s the matter? Why, child, you are trembling all over. Are you running from anyone?’ ‘N---- no!’ said Janet, drawing herself away from his observation--and it flashed into her guilty mind that she had passed some cows peacefully grazing. ‘I was frightened--for the cows,’ she said. ‘The cows!’ It was greatly in Beaufort’s way that he was too much a gentleman to be able to suggest to anyone, especially a lady, that what she said was not true. He said with some severity, ‘I did not know you were so nervous. You had better go at once to your mother. She has been looking for you everywhere.’ He took off his hat in a grave way which made Janet more ashamed than ever, and went on without even looking back. She threw herself down on the grass when he was out of sight, and cried in a wild tumult and passion which she herself did not understand. Beau did not believe her. What did he think; what would he say? But this was not what made Janet cry. Mr. Beaufort walked on startled to the gate, and when he emerged upon the road he saw someone riding off in the distance, a tall figure on a tall horse, which he thought he recognised; for Charlie Blackmore was a very well-known figure. The horseman was leading a pony with a lady’s saddle. Beaufort did not put two and two together, being too much bewildered by the suggestion of something mysterious that darted through his mind. But he shook his head as he walked along, and said ‘Poor Carry!’ under his breath. Lady Car did not see Janet till she had bathed her eyes and calmed herself down. She had not, however, quite effaced the traces of her agitation. Her mother called her, and put an arm round her--‘Janet, I can see you have been crying. Is it because you’re sorry to go away?’ ‘Yes, mother,’ said Janet trembling. ‘It is very strange,’ said Lady Car, ‘and I am glad. Oh, I wish we could feel alike, dear, you and I. I used to think a girl would always follow her mother. The boy might take his own way, but the girl----. Why are you so fond of the Towers, dear?’ Janet trembled, for she was not thinking of the Towers, nor was she sorry, but only startled, and frightened, and confused. But she dared not throw herself on her mother, and tell her what was in her mind. She said dully, with a summoning of old artificial enthusiasms which would not answer to her call, ‘I suppose it is because we were born here.’ ‘Perhaps that is a reason,’ Carry said. ‘And then it’s father’s house, and it will be Tom’s,’ said the girl.