"Your ladyship's judgment is always sound. I submit to it," returns Sir Penthony, rising to make her a profound bow. CHAPTER XXI. "'Why come you drest like a village maid That are the flower of the earth?' 'If I come drest like a village maid I am but as my fortunes are.'" --_Lady Clare._ It is close on October. Already the grass has assumed its sober garb of brown; a general earthiness is everywhere. The leaves are falling,--not now in careful couples or one by one, but in whole showers,--slowly, sorrowfully, as though loath to quit the sighing branches, their last faint rustling making their death-song. Molly's visit has drawn to an end. Her joyous month is over. To-day a letter from her brother reminding her of her promise to return is within her hand, recalling all the tender sweets of home life, all the calm pleasure she will gain, yet bringing with it a little sting, as she remembers all the gay and laughing hours that she must lose. For indeed her time at Herst has proved a good time. "I have had a letter from my brother, grandpapa: he thinks it is time I should return," she says, accosting the old man as he takes his solitary walk up and down one of the shaded paths. "Do you find it so dull here?" asks he, sharply, turning to read her face. "Dull? No, indeed. How should I? I shall always remember my visit to you as one of the happy events of my life." "Then remain a little longer," he growls, ungraciously. "The others have consented to prolong their stay; why should not you? Write to your--to Mr. Massereene to that effect. I cannot breathe in an empty house. It is my wish, my desire that you shall stay," he finishes, irritably, this being one of his painful days. So it is settled. She will obey this crabbed veteran's behest and enjoy a little more of the good the gods have provided for her before returning to her quiet home. "You will not desert us in our increased calamities, Molly, will you?" asks Cecil, half an hour later, as Molly enters the common boudoir where Lady Stafford and Marcia sit alone, the men being absent with their guns, and Mrs. Darley consequently in the blues. "Where have you been? We quite fancied you had taken a lesson out of poor dear Maudie's book and retired to your couch. Do you stay on at Herst?" She glances up anxiously from her painting as she speaks. "Yes. Grandpapa has asked me to put off my departure for a while. So I shall. I have just written to John to say so, and to ask him if I may accept this second invitation." "Do you think it likely he will refuse?" Marcia asks, unpleasantly. "He may. But when I represent to him how terribly his obduracy will distress you all, should he insist on my return, I feel sure he will relent," retorts Molly, nonchalantly.