There, hidden away, he lay in solitude, eating his bread and cheese, drinking from a tiny spring which he knew like an intimate friend, and trying to still the wild thoughts in his heart by reading a book he had brought in his pocket. But his heart refused to be stilled. He had had nothing to love for so long--nothing ever to love much, for his feeling for his mother had been merely instinctive, and had grown less with advancing intelligence. Now all of a sudden, he loved--for no reason than because a helpless creature had sought his protection. He was going to look once more into her "lost dog" eyes. And to say good-by, after ... that was the bitter thing. As afternoon faded into evening, he walked by hidden ways down to the old home. The air was full of church bells. He knew every note, and they cried out to him of his boyhood, of his days of innocence and youth. He shook with emotion, he could have wept for the thought of those two dread years cut from his wayward life. As he approached the corner of the shrubbery he did not meet a soul. All was whelmed in Sabbath peace and stillness. Then he noticed something fresh. A young plantation of healthy-looking beech and copper beech, fenced round from the cattle in the park. He stopped to look at that; and as he halted he saw someone strolling along through the pasture grass, apparently bound for an inspection of this very plantation. It was his brother Denzil. He wore his Sunday clothes, and a decorous hat, and held his Prayer Book under his arm. He stood in contemplation of the promising growth of his new venture--and his reprobate brother stood behind the trees of the shrubbery in contemplation of him. Then a voice called, "Denzil! Denzil! Are you coming?" The sound of steps on the gravel sounded, not at all far from where he stood. Miss Rawson was coming down the long drive, and by her side, walking slowly, was a girl as tall as she herself, with chestnut hair falling below her waist, and with a cloak wrapped about her to shelter her from the keen air of the April evening. CHAPTER XII RONA'S KNIGHT "Lady," he said, "your lands lie burnt And waste: to meet your foe All fear: this have I seen and learnt. Say that it shall be so, And I will go." * * * * And there the sunset skies unseal'd Like lands he never knew, Beyond to-morrow's battlefield Lay open out of view To ride into. --D. G. ROSSETTI. This was something new--something for which Felix, unused to women, to society, to youth and charm, was oddly unprepared. Was that Rona? That young immortal, with faintly blooming cheeks, elastic tread, and all those burnished locks? As frequently happens to girls of her age, she had grown considerably taller during the weeks of her illness.