An old orchard, its trees gnarled and moss-grown, their blossoms lying thick upon the grass beneath. A little to the left the embowered gables and red chimneys of an old house. On the right, and stretching away towards the horizon, a wide expanse of quiet meadows starred with buttercups, and intersected by tall hawthorn hedges. Over all the delicate blue sky of an English summer day. It was a typical midland landscape, a landscape that possesses a quiet charm peculiarly its own; and Helen, swinging herself gently to and fro in a hammock under the bright sunshine, felt as much at home as though Longford Grange had been her habitation for as many years as it had been days. The sad days in Bloomsbury Square were things of the past. The dreary house was shut up; the precious china was carefully packed away, the chairs and tables were shrouded in their dust-sheets, and Mrs. Desmond's household gods were temporarily, at least, at peace. It had all been accomplished in far too great a hurry to please that lady; but Dr. Russell's orders that the colonel was to leave London directly he was well enough to be moved were peremptory, and Mrs. Desmond was forced to give way to necessity. The idea, too, of a country life was by no means pleasant to her, and she was wondering in a bewildered way what spot to fix upon as a temporary resting-place when a letter arrived from her half-sister, Mrs. Bayden, the wife of a country clergyman, saying that Longford Grange, a house within a quarter of a mile of the Rectory, was to let, and might suit her sister's purpose. The idea did not immediately approve itself to Mrs. Desmond, who disliked the too close neighbourhood of poor relations; but the colonel, hearing of the suggestion, expressed a desire to fall in with it, and the matter was settled. Helen's fate trembled in the balance for a few days, as Miss Walker found herself unable to leave town, and Mrs. Desmond seriously contemplated leaving her troublesome stepdaughter behind in the governess's charge. Upon the first suggestion of such a plan to the colonel, however, he spoke so decidedly of his determination not to be separated from Helen that Mrs. Desmond saw that, for the present at least, it was useless to argue the point. Dr. Russell, meeting his little friend upon the stairs one day clenched the matter by remarking upon her altered looks, and he went out of his way to urge upon her parents the necessity of change of scene and a life of freedom for their child after the evident strain she had undergone during her father's illness. Mrs. Desmond scarcely relished this advice; but even she looked a little anxiously at the girl, and wondered rather uncomfortably whether Helen's curiously changed manner could be due to physical causes. As for Colonel Desmond, he took fright at once. Helen must have a holiday, must run wild if necessary, he declared. He was very weak still, and in the full enjoyment of an invalid's privileges. Although