So the old lady took her silver-headed cane, and pouring out a flood of memories as she went, accompanied us to the shady seat where Pierce was sitting, with my little gray-headed Paudeen comfortably curled up at his feet. CHAPTER XII. A SECRET ROOM. I went before to set a seat for the old lady, and to tell Pierce she was coming; and indeed I had no need to hurry myself, for at every bush she stopped and appeared to be reciting with animation some memory of her youth. At last she caught sight of Pierce and quickened her pace. "Well, young man," she said as she took the chair beside him, "the last time I saw you you were in white frilled trousers and a petticoat." But though she said it to make us laugh, I could see that the shrewd old eyes looked at him with great compassion. Poor Pierce brightened up immediately. "And the last time I saw you, Lady O'Brien, you were the toast of the county and the acknowledged reigning beauty." "Hear the boy," said the old lady; "he was five years old, and I was near my fifties." She took up his hand and patted it as if he were yet five. "They tell me you're not strong. Dear, dear, how did that come? You were a beautiful strong child as I remember you." [Illustration: "WHAT A FIGURE OF A MAN YOUR GRANDFATHER WAS! ... I MIGHT HAVE BEEN YOUR GRANDMOTHER!"] "He went seeking his fortune in Africa," said Aline quickly, "and took cold, and was neglected." "Dear, dear!" said the old lady again, managing to get a great deal of tender kindness into the simple ejaculation. Then she passed easily to other subjects, seeing that we could hardly bear this. "How this garden brings me back things! Not things I'm going to tell you children about. What a figure of a man your grandfather was! I remember walking by his side in this very garden, and he wore a maroon silk coat and silver-gray stockings. Ah, the men have no such calves to show nowadays!" She shook her old head for a minute or two. "There," she said, "I might have been your grandmother. And poor Peter had never a calf to him at all; he was beef to the heels, as they say, and he born into the time of small clothes too. What's become of that rapscallion De Lacy?" "He still lives over there at Castle Angry, but he is seldom seen, I believe. He keeps within his own walls," said Aline. "He hasn't found the grace of God yet?" Aline shook her head. "Well, well. He was always a bad lot, was De Lacy. I must drive over some day and give him a bit of my mind. He was in love with your grandmother, but I think he had a bit of a soft place in his heart for me too." "It wouldn't be safe, Lady O'Brien. Sir Rupert lives in almost savage isolation, at least he did up to quite recently, with barred gates and bloodhounds walking about inside." "Like an opera," said the old lady, delightedly. "But why do you say up to recently? Have you any hope that he has mended his ways?"