"Yes, there is," said Miss Chattaway, with flashing eyes. "There is harm because I desired you not to come. A pretty thing for Mrs. Ryle to be invaded by half-a-dozen of us! Have you no sense of propriety?" "Not a bit of it," gaily interrupted George. "No one understands that in connection with a harvest-home. I have been to the Hold for Maude, Octave; and should have brought Edith and Emily, but they were in bed." "In bed!" exclaimed Caroline Ryle, in surprise. "Having retired in mortification and tears at being excluded from the delights of a harvest-home," continued George, with mock gravity. "Miss Chattaway had preached propriety to them, and they could only bow to it. We must manage things better another time." Octave's cheeks burnt. Was George Ryle speaking in ridicule? To stand well with him, she would have risked much. "They are better at home," she quietly said: "and I have no doubt Mrs. Ryle thinks so. Two of us are sufficient to come. Quite sufficient, in my opinion," she pointedly added, turning a reproving look on Maude. "I am surprised you should have intruded----" "Blame me, if you please, Miss Chattaway--if you deem blame due anywhere," interrupted George. "I have a will of my own, you know, and I took possession of Maude and brought her, whether she would or no." Octave pushed her hair back with an impatient movement. Her eyes fell before his; her voice, as she addressed him, turned to softness. George was not a vain man; but it was next to impossible to mistake these signs; though neither by word nor look would he give the faintest colouring of hope to them. If Octave could only have read the indifference at his heart! nay, more--his positive dislike! "Did you see anything of Rupert?" she asked, recalling his attention to herself. "I saw nothing of any one but Maude. I might have laid hands on all I found; but there was no one to meet, Maude excepted. What makes you so cross about it, Octave?" She laughed pleasantly. "I am not cross, George," lowering her tones, "sometimes I think you do not understand me. You seem to----" Octave's words died away. Coming in at the door was the tall, conspicuous form of the parsonage guest, Mr. Daw. Maude was just then standing apart, and he went deliberately up to her and kissed her forehead. Startled and resentful, a half-cry escaped her lips; but Mr. Daw laid his hand gently on her arm. "My dear young lady, I may almost claim that as a right. I believe I was the first person, except your mother, who ever pressed a kiss upon your little face. Do you know me?" Maude faltered in her answer. His appearance and salutation had altogether been so sudden, that she was taken by surprise; but she did not fail to recognise him now. Yet she hesitated to acknowledge that she knew him, on account of Octave Chattaway. Rupert had told her all about the stranger; but it might be inconvenient to say so much to an inmate of Trevlyn Hold.