Back at Court Manor, Margery banished for a while the sad memory of her lost love. This spot was hallowed by the presence of Enid’s spirit, and for that reason, apart from all others, was dear to her. The squire reveled in the picturesque surroundings of the estate. “They may call Beecham magnificent,” he said, dreamily, as he stood in the old-fashioned gardens and gazed round on the fragrant flowers, “but this is home.” “Cousin Sholto, you indorse my opinion. I love the manor!” Margery, clad in a long robe of creamy white, with just a knot of black ribbons at her neck and in her broad-brimmed hat, glanced at her husband as she spoke, and smiled at him. The squire responded to his hostess by a poetical quotation: “‘And primroses, pale gems of spring, Lay on the green turf glistening Close by the violet, whose breath Is so sweet, in a dewy wreath. And, oh, that myrtle--how green it grew, With flowers as white as the pearls of dew That shone beside! And the glorious rose Lay like a beauty in warm repose, Blushing in slumber.’” Margery listened dreamily. Her thoughts had flown to the springtime of her life, recalled by the breath of the flowers, the sweetness of the air. The earl had wandered across the lawn; and, though he looked less grave and worn, the expression of his eyes as he turned from Margery was unspeakably sad. Margery’s reverie was disturbed by the squire, and she was soon deep in an interesting scientific discussion with him. Presently her husband returned, followed by one of the gardeners. “I am going to the west part of the grounds, my darling,” he said. “Marshall tells me the men are going to cut down that dead tree this morning. It was struck by lightning in the autumn.” “I will come with you, Court,” broke in the squire. “In my young days I was rather good at that sort of thing.” “Come, by all means. Marshall, see that there are two extra axes ready.” “You are not going to help them, are you, Nugent?” Margery asked, quickly and nervously. “Yes, my darling. But don’t be afraid; I am, as schoolboys would say, a ‘big gun’ at wood-cutting--am I not, Marshall?” “Indeed you are, my lord,” the gardener replied, solemnly. “May I come and watch you?” The earl hesitated. “I should be afraid, darling, as the splinters fly about so rapidly; but perhaps I can place you in a safe corner. Run and put on some stronger shoes; the ground is damp down at that corner. You have good ropes, Marshall?” “Yes, my lord.” “I will follow you directly,” said Margery; then, as they turned, urged by an uncontrollable impulse, she called, “Nugent!” The earl came back at once. “You are sure there is no danger?” “Quite sure--as certain as any man can be.” Margery smiled, raised her lips to his, and he kissed her. A faint flush rose to his brow at the simple action; and then, with a swift, tender look, he turned and walked rapidly away.