Claudia was not emotional as a rule, but her eyes filled with tears at the paternal tone of the Rector's speech. She leant forward impetuously and took his hand. "You don't know how happy I am here," she cried, impulsively. "This place is like heaven to me. And yet perhaps it would be wiser for me to go away and forget Edwin." Mr. Craver patted her hand. "Why should you?" "Oh, my father and I are a kind of stormy petrel pair of birds. Wherever we go there is sure to be trouble. I should not like to bring trouble into this haven of peace." "We'll take the risk, Claudia. We all love you, and now that you are here, here you will remain until Edwin makes you his wife. There is no reason why you should go away." "I shall stay here willingly," she said, with a sigh of relief. "I am only too glad to stay here." Just as she made this speech the door opened, and Mrs. Craver rushed into the room with flushed face and startled eyes. Evidently Mrs. Mellin had told her something of moment. "Oh, George"--she spoke while moving into the room--"do you remember Laura Bright? I wonder I did not recognise her." "Laura Bright, Mrs. Mellin's sister, who ran away twenty and more years ago?" "Yes, yes! The same. I wonder I did not recognise her. She is Lady Wyke. I mean Lady Wyke is Laura. And I never recognised her." CHAPTER XIII. Little Mrs. Craver was greatly excited over the discovery that Lady Wyke was none other than flighty Laura Bright, the sister of the humble washerwoman. It was not surprising that the Rector's wife had not recognised her, as the brilliant woman of the world was very different from the pretty, discontented, and unformed girl who had gone away from Hedgerton some twenty and more years previous. Indeed, Mrs. Mellin herself confessed that she would never have recognised her sister, had not that sister called upon her to proclaim her identity. Evidently Lady Wyke had no false pride, for she calmly stated who she was, and talked over family affairs with Mrs. Mellin. Old James Bright, who had been the father of the two women, was dead, and so was the mother. The washerwoman's husband had passed away, leaving her with one son, and Lady Wyke was a widow, with no child at all. It was for this reason that she had called on Mrs. Mellin. "You could have knocked me down with a feather, ma'am, when that grand lady come along, saying as she was my very own sister Laura. Not a bit of pride about her, ma'am, for she sat down and took tea, just as if she was no one in pertic'ler." "It does her credit," said Mrs. Craver, approvingly. "I think the better of Lady Wyke for not being ashamed of her humble origin. She has greatly improved from the flighty girl she was." "Clever, ma'am," interposed Mrs. Mellin, proudly, "never flighty." "Pooh, pooh! She was a very feather, Mrs. Mellin. But we won't discuss her weaknesses. I suppose she called in order to help you?"