I sat down and had a good cry when he had left us, and there was no denying that I was homesick that night, and wanted Aunt Agatha. I felt a poor creature in my own estimation. Perhaps I was impatient; Dr. Staples told me I was, and his eyes twinkled as he said it; but it seemed to me I recovered very slowly. The burns were healing nicely; in a few more days I could put on my dress and enjoy the country drives; but I did not resume my usual duties for some time. I could not dress and undress the children; walking tired me, and my spirits were sadly variable. The news from Prince’s Gate did not cheer me: my mistress continued in the same unsatisfactory state. Mr. Morton wrote every day, and both Mrs. Markham and Gay had gone up to town for a few hours. I heard more from Mrs. Markham than from Gay. She thought her sister looking very ill, and considered there was grave cause for anxiety. She had an excellent nurse, and her husband was most devoted in his attentions; she had never seen anyone to equal him. Here Mrs. Markham sighed; but her sister looked dull and depressed, and she thought she missed the children. The bright September days passed away very slowly. I was growing weary of my banishment; and yet Marshlands and Netherton had become very dear to me, and I had grown to love the quaint old nursery. I was thankful when my strength permitted me to resume our mornings on the beach and our afternoons in the orchard. I felt less restless out of doors, and I liked to have Rolf with me. I saw very little of Gay; just then she was busy with parish work. I heard from her casually one day that Mr. Hawtry had gone to Italy. I suppose I looked astonished, for she said, quickly— “He called the other afternoon and asked to see the children, but Adelaide had taken you all for a drive. I thought he seemed a little sorry not to say good-bye to them, as he expected to be away some time. He hoped you were better, Merle, and desired his kind regards.” “And he has gone to Italy?” “Yes; a young cousin of his is lying dangerously ill at Venice, and so this Don Quixote has started off to see after him. It is just like him, he is always doing things for other people.” And with this speech she left me. I was sorry not to say good-bye to Mr. Hawtry; he had been very kind to us, and it seemed such a pity that we had missed him that afternoon. I often thought about our visit to the Red Farm, and how pleasant and hospitable he had been. It seemed rather tantalising just to make friends (and he had always been so friendly to me) and then not to see them again, but perhaps next summer we should come down to Marshlands again. (_To be continued._) THE SHEPHERD’S FAIRY A PASTORALE. BY DARLEY DALE, Author of “Fair Katherine,” etc. CHAPTER XX. THE LEWES CARNIVAL.