In the midst of her chatter the girl looked up, and uttered an exclamation of dismay. Her grandmother's head still lay back against the cushion of the chair; her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be laughing to herself. But the tears were pouring down her cheeks. At May's exclamation she opened her arms wide, and then pressed the girl's bright brown head against her breast, saying brokenly-- "Don't be feared, child! I'm all right. I couldn't help laughing a bit. It's so--so funny to think of old Joshua and--and Miss Patty!" "But you are crying, too, granny! Is anything the matter? Do tell me." "Nothing, child; I'm all right. Poor Joshua! He was a good lad when he worked for your grandfather. And--and--I remember _her_ a little miss in a white frock and blue sash. It brings up old times, that's all, May. Lord, what fools we are when we try to be cunning!" and Mrs. Dobbs went off again into a fit of laughter, interspersed with sobs. "I didn't try to be cunning!" said May indignantly. "_You_, my lamb! Whoever thought you did?" returned her grandmother, wiping her eyes and kissing May's forehead. By and by she resumed her usual solid self-possession. She told May that she did not agree in her view of the state of the case, and advised her not to hint her matchmaking project to any one. "You have said a word to Miss Bertram, and that can't be taken back; but she is wise beyond her years, and will not chatter." "But there's nothing wrong in the idea, granny," protested May, who was considerably puzzled by her grandmother's unusual demeanour. "No, no, nothing wrong; only Mr. Bragg might not like it--he might be looking after a young wife, who knows? Anyway, we will keep our ideas to ourselves." As she spoke, the latch of the garden-gate clicked, and, following May's glance, Mrs. Dobbs saw from the open window Owen Rivers advancing up the path towards the house. The "gentleman of princely fortune," whose image had interposed between her shrewd apprehension and the facts before her, having melted away like a phantom, she perceived that here was a new influence to be reckoned with--a new force which, whether for good or ill, might help to shape her grandchild's future. "May I come in?" asked Owen. "Come in, Mr. Rivers." Mrs. Dobbs felt as though she had invited embodied Destiny to cross her threshold--Destiny, in the prosaic guise of a blue-eyed, square-built young man, in a shooting-jacket and a wide-awake hat. But that Power does not often appear to mortals with much outward pomp and circumstance. We are like children who think a king must needs go about in royal robes, crowned and sceptred. But the decree which changes our lives is mostly signed by some plain figure in everyday clothes, whom we should not turn our heads to look upon. Owen entered the little parlour, and came and stood opposite to Mrs. Dobbs's chair, without any of the customary salutations. "Well," said he eagerly; "I have some news for you."