"She's in the housekeeper's room, I think," said Una. "Auntie will take you there, and when you are done with her I'll go to Garsworth with you." "Will you, really? I'm so glad!" said Reginald, eagerly. "I want to see Cecilia in the church," replied Miss Challoner, "about the concert." "What concert?" "Don't you know? Oh, we're going to have a concert in the school-room shortly. You are to be asked to sing." "Delighted." "Cecilia will play a piece--she doesn't like the piano as much as the organ, but we can hardly get that out of the church." "I'm going to sing also," said Miss Cassy, shaking her curls, "so nice--quite operatic. I'll sing a duet with you, Mr. Blake, if you like." Blake hastily excused himself, as he had great dread of Miss Cassy's vocal performances, which were, to say the least, somewhat screechy. The lady accepted his apology graciously, and then led him out of the room to find the housekeeper, leaving Una to get ready for the walk. Miss Cassy, being delighted to have a charming young man for audience, chattered all the way in a disconnected fashion. "So damp, isn't it--quite chilly. I never did like the weather. Very watery--rheumatic, you know. I mean the weather, of course--not myself! I think Patience is in her room--so kind of you to see your old nurse--quite delightful! Light of what's his name, you know--Moore--exactly; Irish melodies--so pretty! This is the door. Oh, Patience--you are in--so glad--here is Mr. Blake to see you! The squire's easier--yes, nerves, of course--I knew it. I'll go back to Una, Mr. Blake, and see you later on--very pleased, indeed--quite a treat to see a male. Sounds like the post--very odd, isn't it?--yes!" And Miss Cassy, closing the door after her, departed leaving Reginald alone with his old nurse. The tall, placid woman, standing near the fireplace, made a step forward, as if to embrace Reginald, but restrained herself, as though doubtful how to proceed. Blake, however, crossed over to her and kissed her affectionately, which seemed to awaken a feeling of emotion in her breast, for she flushed a little at the caress, and smiled lovingly at him. In her demure, slate-coloured dress, with the white apron and pale, rigid face, she looked like a woman who had never known what it was to love or be loved; but every now and then a flash in the sombre depths of her eloquent eyes betrayed the fiery nature hidden beneath that calm exterior. The young man's kiss seemed to warm her frozen soul to life, and, as she resumed her seat, her face was rose-flushed, her eyes soft, and the hard lines about her mouth disappeared under the magic of Reginald Blake's presence. He, dark and handsome, leaned against the mantelpiece, looking down at her curiously, as if puzzled how to begin the conversation. "I am so glad to see you, Master Reginald," she said, the hard voice in which she habitually spoke becoming soft and tender. "I have not seen you for a long time."