"Send her back her treasure, then, and tell her, as you are not selfish, you could not think of depriving _her_ of her services." "Is that a sample of your good advice?" asks she, with considerable scorn. "Besides, I can't; I have agreed with this woman to stay here for a month." "Fancy suet dumplings every day for a month," says Dicky Browne, unfeelingly; "that means four weeks--thirty-one days! We shall be dead, I shouldn't wonder, long before that." "No such luck," says Sir Mark. "Give her anything she wants, Dulce, and send her away," says Sir Christopher. "But she will think me so unkind and capricious," protests Dulce, who is an arrant little coward, and is afraid to tell cook she no longer requires her. The cook is a big Scotchwoman, with very large bones, and a great many of them. "Well, do whatever you like," says Uncle Christopher, wearily. The night is fine, calm, and cool, and sweet with many perfumes. Some of them at table cast lingering glances at the lawn without, and long, silently, to be standing on it. The moon has risen, and cast across it great streaks of silver light that brighten and darken as clouds race each other o'er Astarte's sacred brow. There is great silence on the air, broken only by a "murmuring winde, much like the sowne of swarming bees." A little rivulet in the far distance runs musically. "Let us all go out," says Julia Beaufort, suddenly, feeling she has already spent quite too long a time over her biscuit and claret. "Ah! thank you," says Portia, quickly, turning to her almost before she had finished speaking--her great, soft eyes even larger than usual. "I have been so longing to say that for the last five minutes." "The 'lost chord' has been struck again," says Dicky Browne. "Mrs. Beaufort, I won't be deserted in this barefaced fashion. If you are determined to court death through night dews, _I_ shall court it with you." Julia simpers, and looks delighted. Then they all rise from the table, and move towards the balcony; all--that is--except Sir Mark, who (though he would have dearly liked to accompany them into the mystic moonlight) still lingers behind to bear company with Sir Christopher, and strive to lay the ghost that so plainly is haunting him to-night. Joyously they all descend the steps, and then break into a little run as their feet touch the velvet grass. The sky is bright with pale blue light, the air is soft and warm as sultry noon. A little baby wind--that ought to be in bed, so sweet and tender it is--is roaming here and there amongst the flowers, playing with the scented grasses, and losing itself amongst the bracken, lower down. One can hear the roar of the distant ocean breaking itself against the giant rocks; one can hear, too, in strange contrast, the chirp, chirp of the green grasshopper. As they come within view of the fountain, all their mouths form themselves into many round Os, and they say, "Ah!" as with one breath.