“I wish we could get to the bottom of this mystery. Would she receive me, do you think, if I were to go over to the cottage?” “Most likely not I suspect whatever it be that has led to this estrangement will be a passing cloud; let us wait and see. Who are those coming up the bend of the road? The horse looks fagged enough, certainly.” “The Grahams, I declare! Oh, I must find Mark, and let him be caught here when they arrive.” “Don't let the Commodore get at _me_ before dinner; that's all I ask,” said Sir Arthur, as he rode round to the stables. When Alice entered the house, she found Mark at the open window watching with an opera-glass the progress of the jaunting-car as it slowly wound along the turns of the approach, lost and seen as the woods intervened or opened. “I cannot make it out at all, Alice,” said he; “there are two men and two women, as well as I can see, besides the driver.” “No, no; they have their maid, whom you mistake for a man.” “Then the maid wears a wideawake and a paletot. Look, and see for yourself;” and he handed her the glass. “I declare you are right,--it is a man; he is beside Beck. Sally is on the side with her father.” “Are they capable of bringing some one along with them?” cried he, in horror. “Do you think they would dare to take such a liberty as that here?” “I 'm certain they would not. It must be Kenrose the apothecary, who was coming to see one of the maids, or one of our own people, or--” Her further conjectures were cut short by the outburst of so strong an expletive as cannot be repeated; and Mark, pale as death, stammered out, “It's Maitland! Norman Maitland!” “But how, Mark, do they know him?” “Confound them! who can tell how it happened?” said he., “I 'll not meet him; I 'll leave the house,--I 'll not face such an indignity.” “But remember, Mark, none of us know your friend, we have not so much as seen him; and as he was to meet these people, it's all the better they came as acquaintances.” “That's all very fine,” said he, angrily; “you can be beautifully philosophical about it, all because you have n't to go back to a mess-table and be badgered by all sorts of allusions and references to Maitland's capital story.” “Here they are, here they are!” cried Alice; and the next moment she was warmly embracing those dear friends to whose failings she was nowise blind, however ardent her late defence of them. Mark, meanwhile, had advanced towards Maitland, and gave him as cordial a welcome as he could command. “My sister Mrs. Trafford, Mr. Maitland,” said he; and Alice gave her hand with a graceful cordiality to the new guest. “I declare, Mark is afraid that I 'll kiss him,” cried Beck. “Courage, _mon ami_, I'll not expose you in public.” “How are you? how are you?” cried the Commodore; “brown, brown, very brown; Indian sun. Lucky if the mischief is only skin-deep.”