“It is very kind of you, cousin, to say such pretty things to me,” she replied, with a curious little tremor in her voice and a dim wistful smile. Then, more composedly: “But, indeed, I must ask you to believe me, when I assure you that I am as pleased to find myself again at the dear old Chase as you can possibly be to see me here. And now you must allow me to introduce to you Miss Ethel Thursby, a very dear young friend of mine, who is good enough to keep an old woman company, and put up with her vagaries while her regular companion is incapacitated by illness.” Then turning to Ethel: “Child, this is my kinsman, Sir Gilbert Clare, of whom you have many times heard me speak.” “It is a happiness to me to welcome Miss Thursby under my roof, not merely for my cousin’s sake, but also for her own,” said the Baronet, with simple old-fashioned courtesy as he took Ethel’s timidly offered hand in his. Next moment a thrill went through him from head to foot, which even extended to his fingertips and was perceptible to Ethel, while a strangely startled look leapt into his eyes. It was as if a ghost from out the dead past had suddenly confronted him. Then he passed his hand across his eyes as if to sweep away the vision, murmuring under his breath as he did so: “No—no; I must indeed be getting into my dotage even to imagine such a thing.” He turned away with a stifled sigh. Lady Pell had observed nothing. She was gazing round the old entrance-hall, all the features of which had that half-strange, half-familiar air which inanimate things have a way of putting on when we have not seen them for a long time, more particularly when they happen to have formed the framework of some unforgettable episode in our private history. Presently Mrs. Burton, the housekeeper, conducted the ladies to their rooms, and nothing more was seen of them till after the second dinner gong had sounded. It may be here recorded that when Ethel accompanied Lady Pell on her visit to Withington Chase, she was wholly unaware that Everard Lisle was living within half a mile of it, and that there was rarely more than one day out of the seven on which he did not spend some hours there. If the place had ever been mentioned in her hearing as that where Everard was now located, it had escaped her memory—which by no means implies that Everard himself was forgotten. To-day, however, Lisle had not been asked to dine at the Chase, for one reason, because Mr. Kinaby, the steward, whose health had improved during the last few days, was desirous of his help in going through certain accounts and other matters connected with his stewardship. On entering the drawing-room the two ladies found both the Baronet and Luigi there.