The Boy's lips moved. "Christobel," he whispered. "Christobel--belovèd?" She was waiting; and he knew she was waiting for him. Presently he dropped the lath of the Venetian blind, and turned to go. But first he took out his pocket-book and fastened the lath which lifted most easily, to those above and below it, with halfpenny stamps. He knew old Martha would take a hint from him. There must be no eyes on the mulberry-tree to-day. In the kitchen the tray was ready; tea freshly made, thin bread-and-butter, cucumber sandwiches; hot buttered-toast in perfection; cornflour buns, warranted to explode; all the things he liked most; and, best of all, cups for two. He grasped the tray firmly with both hands. "Martha," he said, "you are a jewel! I give you leave to watch me down the lawn from the kitchen window. But when I have safely arrived, turn your attention to your own tea, or I shall look up and shake my fist at your dear nice old face. And, I say, Martha, do you ever write postcards? Because, if you want any ha'penny stamps, you will find some on the storeroom blind. Only, _don't want them_, Martha, till this week is over, and I am gone." Whereupon the Boy lifted the tray, and made for the door. Down the lawn he bore it, and set it safely on the rustic table. He was very deft of movement, was the Boy; yet, remembering his instructions, he contrived to set it down with something of a clatter. Miss Charteris did not turn her head Her eyes, half closed beneath the long lashes, were on the postern gate. "Jenkins?" she said. "Yes, ma'am," replied the Boy, in excellent imitation of the meek tones of Jenkins. "Should any one call this afternoon, Jenkins, please remember that I am not 'at home.'" "Hip, hip, hurrah!" said the Boy. Then she turned--and her face was all, and more than all, he had hoped it might be. "Oh, Boy," she said. "Oh, Boy dear!" * * * * * After that, it was a very happy tea. Neither had been quite natural, nor had they been really true to themselves, the day before; so the delight of meeting seemed to follow a longer parting than the actual twenty-four hours. The Boy's brown eyes rested in tenderness on the hand that filled his cup, and she did not say "Don't"; she merely smiled indulgently, and added the cream and sugar slowly, as if to let him do what he willed. The hum of bees was in the garden; a sense of youth was in the air. The sunbeams danced among the mulberry leaves. The Boy insisted upon carrying back the tray, to do away at once with the possibility of interruption from Jenkins. Then he drew their chairs into the deeper shade of the mulberry-tree, a corner invisible from all windows. The Boy had learned a lesson while looking through the storeroom blind.