When Lesbia returned to Rose Cottage, after her unlucky visit to The Court, she found that her father had never been near the place. Tim, who was alone in the house when she arrived, explained that Hale had gone to London within an hour of Lesbia's departure with Lady Charvington in the motor car. There was nothing in this to surprise the little Irishman, as Hale's comings and goings were always more or less abrupt. But he was amazed and startled when he heard what Lesbia had to tell; the revelation being occasioned by Tim's distressed remark on the girl's pallor. "Ah now, Miss, an' what hey ye bin doin' wid yer purty silf at all, at all? Sure the face av ye's as white as a carpse." Lesbia burst into tears. "Oh Tim, I sometimes wish that I was one, for I feel so very miserable. George will have nothing to do with me; Lady Charvington hates me, and my father, my father----" "Phwat av him?" asked Tim anxiously. "Can't you guess?" asked Lesbia, drying her eyes, and wondering how much or how little the man knew of Hale's rascalities. Tim's face remained passive, but he could not keep a certain amount of anxiety out of his eyes. "Sure, the masther isn't a good man," he said in a hesitating manner, "he trates ye like a brute baste, Miss." "It's worse than that," sobbed Lesbia, breaking down again. The servant changed colour and raised his hands in mute despair. When he did find his voice, it was to ask a leading question. "An' how much do ye know, me dear?" "I know that my father is a thief." "Augh! the shame av it," muttered Tim, but did not contradict. Lesbia noticed that he was less surprised than he should have been. "You knew that." "Mary be good to us all!" said Tim sadly. "But I know a mighty lot I'd rather not know, me dear. But are ye sure, Miss?" Lesbia sat up, dried her eyes, and detailed all that had happened. Tim listened in dismayed silence with his sad eyes on her pale face, and she heard him grind his teeth when it came to an account of Lady Charvington's accusation. When she ended he still kept silence. "What do you think of it all, Tim?" asked his mistress, anxious to hear what he had to say. "It's black lies that woman spakes," cried Tim vehemently. "Ye nivir knew av the masther's wrongdoin'." "Did you, Tim?" "I knew a trifle, an' guessed a mighty lot. Nivir ask me, miss, phwat I know till his lardship--an' sure he's a good man--spakes the wurrd. But I know wan thing, me dear heart, that the blackest clouds have the blissid sun behint thim." "There is no sun behind these clouds," said Lesbia, sighing. "An' there yer wrong, Miss," said Tim briskly. "Sure, whin them clouds do let the blissid sun sind out th' light av him, ye'll foind pace an' happiness an' joy galore. Lave things to his lardship. The crass began the throuble, an' the crass will end that same." "Tim! Tim, what do you know about the cross?"