She stole at him a curious, somewhat anxious glance—but soon laughed, and raised her eyebrows and shoulders with an affected gesture— “Fie, sir! is that all you can find to say to me? I vow your manners have grown rusty during these seven years. I protest when I visited you last you had more politeness. Do you wish, sir, to forbid me entrance?” “By no means, madam. Pray come in. Such entertainment as this poor house can afford shall be yours.” He led the way into the parlour, and soon was on his knees by the hearth kindling a fire. Outside, the snow drifted past the window, and within all was silence, save for the rustling of Lady Lucy’s silken garments as she breathed quickly, and the click of flint and steel. The tinder caught at last, and by-and-by the flame leaped in the chimney. Then John Cotley rose from his knees, and found Lady Lucy earnestly considering him. “You have not changed much, John, these seven years.” “Have I not, madam?” said he. “The place,” she went on, “the place is so oddly familiar I could almost fancy that I had been here yesterday.” “Could you indeed, madam?” said John. Leaning forward in the flickering light, and with that earnest expression she looked wonderfully, perilously like the other Lady Lucy whom he had once known. He averted his eyes, and began to move slowly towards the door. She followed him with a curious intent gaze. “’Tis a pity that it should be snowing, John,” she said, and the soft voice sounded almost caressing. “I have a mind to see the garden. If by chance it clears up by-and-by, I shall ask you to conduct me there.” “Nay, madam,” said John, pausing in the doorway, and turning upon her a very resolute face, “the garden would scarcely be worth your notice.” “Do you suppose I have forgotten it?” whispered she. “Shall I ever forget that sunny morning, and the roses, and—” “Nay, forget it, madam,” said John, sternly. “I assure you the roses are dead.” And then he went away and left her, and presently old Molly came, all in a flutter of wonder and delight. “’Tis herself, sure,” she cried, peering into the beautiful pensive face of the visitor; “’tis Lady Lucy. Master come to me and says, says he, ‘Get tea ready, and everything of the best,’ he says, ‘A lady has come who must be well attended to’; but he didn’t never say it was your ladyship. Dear, my lady, what a merry company you was, to be sure. Do you mind how you all made your own beds. I’ll wager your ladyship has never made your bed since.” “Yes, yes,” said Lady Lucy, “I have made my own bed, Molly, and I must lie on it.”