Fay was not sorry to have a little longer rest. She was very comfortable lying in this pleasant sunny room, and she had fallen in love with Miss Ferrers. When they had left her to partake of the dainty little luncheon brought to her, she thought a great deal about the beautiful face that looked so pale and sad, and yet so kind. Had she known trouble, she wondered; she was quite young, and yet there was no look of youth about her. One would never speak of her as a girl, for example--she was much too grave and staid for that; but what a sweet voice she had, very low and harmonious, and yet so clear. Fay had forgotten her husband for the moment. Erle would explain everything to him, and of course he could not be vexed. What a tiresome thing that this misunderstanding had arisen. She must coax Hugh to put it right. She liked Miss Ferrers better than any of her neighbors. It made her feel good only to look at her. She wondered if she could venture to hint about the estrangement, or to say how sorry she was that anything should keep them apart. She had not quite made up her mind about it when the brother and sister returned, and Mr. Ferrers asked her playfully if she meant to take a nap, or whether they should stay and talk to her. "Oh, I would rather talk, please," with a wistful look at Margaret, who had taken up her work, and placed herself near the window. She wished she would not go so far away; but perhaps she wanted more light. But Mr. Ferrers had taken possession of the arm-chair again and seemed quite at her service, so Fay began chatting to him in her usual fashion. "I have always admired this old house so," she said, brightly; "but I was afraid I should never see the inside, because--" but here she hesitated and hurried on. "Redmond Hall is grander and larger of course, but this seems more homelike. I liked the hall so when the door opened, and Erle carried me in. It seemed like church, with that great painted window so still and solemn, and full of scented darkness." Margaret listened silently, but her brother answered rather sadly, "It is always full of scented darkness to me, Lady Redmond, and a darkness that may be felt; but of course I know what you mean, for the whole house is full of the perfume of Margaret's flowers. Sometimes our friends declare that they can smell them half-way down the road, but that is nonsense. Still flowers are my sister's hobby; she can not live without having them about her." "A very harmless hobby, Raby!" "Oh, it is a pretty fancy enough," he answered, smiling. "If you could walk, Lady Redmond, Margaret would show you our winter garden; the gallery upstairs is a perfect conservatory, and we walk up and down there on wet days, and call it our in-door garden." "What a nice idea, and you live together in this dear old house; how delightful!" Raby's smile grew perceptibly sadder. "We were not always alone. What is it Longfellow says?