"Oh, I am so sorry. The picture of a young girl in white? I thought Ted told me it was a sister who died. She is rather like your father in face, don't you think so? You mustn't be vexed with me, my dear Sidney, for trying to improve this old house. It really was sadly in want of a little renovation and change. I know old people don't like change as a rule, but I have always found men better than women in that respect, and I think that if you show a little of your good sense, you will soon persuade your father to welcome my improvements." "I don't think that will be necessary," said Sidney, looking at her with quiet dignity, "for we shall not be here much longer. My father and I are going to make ourselves another home." "That is very sensible of you. It is a mistake to have amalgamated households, and quite as difficult for me as for you. I am sure Ted will be pleased to hear of that arrangement. Are you going to bed? Good-night." And as she swept off to join her husband in the smoking-room, triumph was in her eyes. Sidney went upstairs and cried bitterly. The next morning, when she came down to breakfast, she heard that her father had gone out into the garden. For a moment she thought of joining him, but did not do so, as she knew he sometimes liked a quiet smoke before breakfast, and the morning was a lovely one. Major Urquhart came to the table more like his old self. "We have missed you, Sid—haven't we, Ethel? And I always feel a lost dog without your father. He must help me in these new garden plans of ours. I'm always a duffer about flower-beds and vegetables." Sidney made some vague response. As she glanced out of the window opposite her, she saw a flock of finches and thrushes breakfasting off the green lawn. The lilac and laburnums were coming into full flower, a cherry tree was white with blossom, and the beds round the house were full of narcissus and daffodils. Beyond the sloping lawns was the river, edged with young larches and copper beech. What a sweet house to leave, she thought; and then she rose from her seat, feeling as if her food would choke her. "Excuse me," she said to Mrs. Urquhart; "I must go and bring father in. He is forgetting the time." "I don't think he slept too well," the Major said. "He was pacing his room half the night. My room is just below his, so I heard him." Sidney stepped out of the French window. "Oh," she said to herself, "how could he sleep? I believe he will be pretty nearly broken-hearted when it comes to leaving his old home." She wandered round the garden walks, but nowhere could she see her father. At length she went down to the lower lawn, and there she stood aghast. The turf had been cut and taken up, and the guns which had stood there for so many years were gone! Two or three men were at work. The old gardener was not there. Sidney knew the men—they were labourers in the village. "Have you seen my father?" she asked. One of them rubbed his head rather ruefully.