A merry "ting-tang clank" came from the blacksmith's shop, ringing out brightly in the bright air, and as she drew near the gate of the Old House, whom should she see but the postman! "No. There ain't no letter for you," said the Postman--a sly old crab-apple of a man who always knew far too much--"but what should you say," he dangled it before her as a sweetmeat before a child, "what should you say if as how I had a telegram for 'ee?" --"That you were talking nonsense, William. There can't be a telegram. It's far too early!" "Well, then, there _is_!" said William triumphantly, "'anded in at the St. James' Street office, London, at eight-two! Either Mr. Lothian's up early or he ain't been to bed. It come over the telephone from Wordingham while I was a sorting the letters. Mrs. Casley took'n down. So there! Mr. Lothian's a coming home by the nine-ten to-night." Mary tore open the orange envelope:-- "_Arrive nine-ten to-night all my love Gilbert_" was what she read. Then, with quick footsteps, she hurried through the gates. Her eyes sparkled, her lips had grown red, and as she smiled her beautiful, white teeth flashed in the sunlight. She looked like a girl. Tumpany was propped against the lintel of the back door. Phoebe was talking to him, the Dog Trust basked at his feet, and he had a short briar pipe in his mouth. "Master is coming home this evening, Tumpany!" Mary said. Tumpany snatched the pipe from his mouth and stood to attention. The cook vanished into the kitchen. "Can I see you then, Mum?" Tumpany asked, anxiously. "After breakfast. I've not had breakfast yet. Then we'll go into everything." She vanished. "Them peas," said Tumpany to himself, "he'll want to know about them peas--Goodorg!"--accompanied by Trust, Tumpany disappeared in the direction of the kitchen garden. But Mary sat long over breakfast that morning. The sunlight painted oblongs of gold upon the jade-green carpet. A bee visited the copper bowl of honeysuckle upon the sideboard, a wasp became hopelessly captured by the marmalade, and from the bedrooms the voice of Blanche, the housemaid, floated down--tunefully convinced that every nice girl loves a sailor. And of all these homely sounds Mary Lothian's ear had little heed. Sound, light, colour, the scent of the flowers in the garden--a thing almost musical in itself--were as nothing. One happy fact had closed each avenue of sense. Gilbert was coming home! Gilbert was coming home! CHAPTER II AN EXHIBITION OF DOCTOR MORTON SIMS AND MR. MEDLEY, WITH AN ACCOUNT OF HOW LOTHIAN RETURNED TO MORTLAND ROYAL "Seest thou a man diligent in his business: He shall stand before Kings. He shall not stand before mean men." --_The Bible._ About eleven-thirty in the morning, Mr. Medley, the curate, came out of the rectory where he lived, and went into the village.