the bench a moment and thought it over; then I succeeded in discovering a path to the house. The carriage was at the door for our drive home, but my companions, who had had tea, were waiting for our hostess, of whom they wished to take leave and who had not yet come in. I reported her as engaged with the wife of one of the gardeners, but we lingered a little in the hall, a largeish group, to give her time to arrive. Two other persons were absent, one of whom was Louisa Chantry and the other the young man whom I had just seen quitting her in the garden. While I sat there, a trifle abstracted, still somewhat agitated by the sequel to that incident and at the same time impatient of our last vague dawdle, one of the footmen presented me with a little folded note. I turned away to open it, and at the very moment our hostess fortunately came in. This diverted the attention of the others from the action of the footman, whom, after I had looked at the note, I immediately followed into the drawing-room. He led me through it and through two or three others to the door of the little retreat in which, nearly an hour before, I had come upon Louisa Chantry and Mr. Brandon. The note was from Louisa, it contained the simple words "Would you very kindly speak to me an instant before you go?" She was waiting for me in the most sequestered spot she had been able to select, and there the footman left us. The girl came straight at me and in an instant she had grasped my hands. I became aware that her condition had changed; her tears were gone, she had a concentrated purpose. I could scarcely see her beautiful young face--it was pressed, beseechingly, so close to mine. I only felt, as her dry, shining eyes almost dazzled me, that a strong light had been waved back and forth before me. Her words at first seemed to me incoherent; then I understood that she was asking me for a pledge. "Excuse me, forgive me for bringing you here--to say something I can't say before all those people. _Do_ forgive me--it was so awfully kind of you to come. I couldn't think of any other way--just for two seconds. I want you to swear to me," she went on, with her hands now raised and intensely clasped. "To swear, dearest child?" "I'm not your dearest child--I'm not anyone's! But _don't_ tell mamma. Promise me--promise me," she insisted. "Tell her what?--I don't understand." "Oh, you do--you do!" she kept on; "and if you're going to Chantry you'll see her, you'll be with her, you may see her before I do. On my knees I ask you for a vow!" She seemed on the point of throwing herself at my feet, but I stopped her, I kept her erect. "When shall _you_ see your mother?" "As soon as I can. I want to get home--I want to get home!" With this I thought she was going to cry again, but she controlled herself and only pressed me with feverish eyes. "You have some great trouble--for heaven's sake tell me what it is." "It isn't anything--it will pass. Only don't breathe it to mamma!"