"Perhaps it is a poacher," says Kit, brightly, her general reading being deeply imbued with those characters. "Perhaps," says Miss Priscilla, grimly. "Yet I feel sure it is your brother!" Then she throws wide the sash, and calls aloud to the culprit,-- "Terence! Terence, come here!" At this, Mr. Beresford loses his presence of mind, and stands bolt upright, gun in hand: the words have come to him distinctly across the soft green grass, and fallen upon his ears with dismal distinctness. Throwing up the sponge, he shoulders the offending weapon and marches upon the foe with head erect and banners flying. Even if death is before him (meaning the confiscation of the gun), he vows to himself he will still die game. "Really, it _is_ Terence," says Miss Penelope, as he approaches; "but where _can_ he have got the gun?" "I _know_!" says Miss Priscilla, whereupon Monica feels positively faint. Feeling she is growing very pale, she rises hurriedly from her seat, and, going to the lower window, so stands that her face cannot be seen. If Terence is cross-examined, will he tell a lie about the obtaining of the gun? And if he does _not_, what will happen? what dreadful things will not be said and done by Aunt Priscilla? Her breath comes quickly, and with horror she finds herself devoutly hoping that Terence on this occasion _will_ tell a lie. By this time Terence has mounted the balcony, and is standing in a somewhat defiant attitude before his inquisitors. "Where have you been, Terence?" began Miss Priscilla. "Shooting, aunt." "And where did you get the gun, Terence?" Silence. "You certainly had no gun yesterday, and none this morning, as far as I can judge. Now we want the truth from you, Terence, but we do not wish to coerce you. Take time, and give us an answer your heart can approve." Such an answer is evidently difficult to be procured at a moment's notice, because Terence is still dumb. "I am afraid your nature is not wholly free from deceit, Terence," says Miss Priscilla, sadly. "This hesitation on your part speaks volumes; and such unnecessary deceit, too. Neither your aunt Penelope nor I have any objection to your borrowing a gun if you find such a dangerous weapon needful to your happiness. But why not confide in us?" "Is it possible she would not be really angry if she knew?" thinks Monica, breathlessly. I regret to say that both Kit and Terence take another view of Miss Blake's speech, and believe it an artful dodge to extract confession. "I--" says Terence, to gain time, and because speech of some kind at this moment is absolutely necessary--"I didn't think----"