The dreaminess of tone and words smote upon her senses like a knell. Again she tried to find some comforting words, but they were checked by the sight of Ruth coming across the grass in her light, confident fashion. They all watched her, as it were by common consent. She was singing to herself, her little tuneless song. “Strange!” said the old man suddenly. “They say that blind birds always have the sweetest notes.” He moved to meet the child, and she put out her hand to him with a smile. “Oh, Grandpa, are you back again? I am so glad you are back.” “Are you glad, little one?” He stooped to kiss the upturned face. “Have you missed the old man all this time?” “I like it best when you are here,” she answered. “We all do. Shall we go for a walk now, Grandpa? My dear Granny said I might go to the Stones. I want to gather some giant harebells for Miss Thorold.” “May I have my pouch?” said Arthur. She had it in her hand. She turned and gave it to him. “And there is a letter for Miss Thorold Aunt Maggie told me to bring out. Old Mrs. Trehearn has just brought it.” “A letter!” said Frances, and felt her heart jerk upon the word. Silently Arthur handed it to her. One glance at the address was enough. She could not control the swift tremor that went through her as she murmured her thanks. “And Dr. Square is here,” said Ruth. “He is drinking elder-flower wine in the kitchen. He told me to say he is just coming out to see Miss Thorold.” “Then we will go,” said Mr. Dermot, turning towards the couch with a courteous gesture. “Miss Thorold, I hope I have not tired you. You are very pale. Give Dr. Square my compliments, Arthur! Tell him I am back again and feeling much better. Good-bye, Miss Thorold! When next I have the pleasure of seeing you, I shall be bringing you my book to read.” He went, Ruth treading lightly by his side, noiseless and dainty as a scrap of thistledown. Arthur had not stirred from his post by the foot of the couch. He stood there, massively, filling his pipe. And Frances lay, breathing quickly, her letter unopened in her hand. Suddenly the man’s eyes looked across at her, straight and challenging. “Aren’t you going to read it?” he said. She quivered at the abrupt question. She knew that she could not open that letter in his presence. He realized the fact instantly, and she saw an odd gleam of triumph in his eyes. He turned and picked up his cap. “All right. I’m going. But don’t forget—whatever he has to say—you’ve promised to stay here for the present!” He was gone with the words, striding away towards the house, leaving her oddly disconcerted and unsure of herself.