For a moment her heart beat, but looking more steadily she recognized Meg's walk. She knew the girl's love of the stars, and that she often stayed out at night until the house was locked up, but consulting her watch she saw it was past twelve o'clock and Meg ought to be in bed. Miss Gregson was a nervous woman, but where duty was concerned her nerves were allowed no place, anyhow they seldom got the better of her on such occasions. To-night it was her evident duty to follow Meg and persuade her to go to bed. Throwing a shawl over her shoulders she made her way down the dark staircase, candle in hand. She found the garden door unbolted, so setting the candle on a table by its side she stepped on to the terrace. Standing on the top of the steps she looked around her, but she could catch no sight of Meg. This was not to be wondered at, as there were many green walks branching out from the middle path that ran as far as the gate into the wood. It was not really a dark night, and she was able to see for some distance dimly, but the garden struck her as very still and lonely as she stood hesitating on the terrace. Nevertheless she must face those long lonely grass paths. It was sometime before she caught sight of Meg sitting upon a garden seat, her arms flung round the back and her face hidden in them. She looked the picture of depression. She was still wearing her white evening dress and had no wrap of any kind over her. Miss Gregson, afraid of startling the girl, called her name from a distance. To hear her own voice in that still garden sent a shiver into her heart. Meg looked up at the sound, then let her head drop again on to her arms. "My dear, you will catch cold," said Miss Gregson drawing near. "Do you know that it is past twelve?" "I don't care if it is," answered the girl passionately, "let me be, I say. It ain't no business of yours that I can see." Meg had raised her head and sat looking defiantly at her companion. Miss Gregson could hardly believe her ears. This was being natural with a vengeance! She had never heard the girl speak in so common a tone of voice before. She might have been talking to one of her acquaintances of old. But though it gave the good woman a shock, she knew that the fact of Meg taking no pains whatever either with her manner, tone of voice, or grammar, meant that she was in the deepest dejection, so deep that she did not care what anyone thought of her. Miss Gregson sat down by her side. Then Meg whose head had sunk again after her words of passion, looked up. "I don't advise you to come near me. I ain't fit for the company and friends of Sheila," she said, glaring fiercely at her companion. "I tell you I don't want to be fit either. I'm tired of it all. I'm going back to Jem and the rest of them." "My dear child we can't spare you," said Miss Gregson laying her hand on Meg's arm. The soft voice and kind words melted the girl's anger. She began to sob violently.