But then her head went down in her hands, and she cried as bitterly as only those women who rarely cry at all can do--silently, uncontrollably, shaken like a young willow by this sudden flood which had burst its bounds. Cherry could not stay the tears, could not look up nor speak. And Magnus on his part ventured neither word nor touch, and after a minute or two no look. The sight of the dear head, bowed so low in its distress, was more than he could bear. He turned away, with a sort of groan, thinking of that miserable night with unmeasured scorn of himself. Not that he had by any means gone the length of many another man; no one had been obliged to call him to order or see him home. But he knew that both dignity and manhood had been tampered with, and the scorn was deep. Not even a poor storm flag out that night! Would Cherry ever speak to him again? And now he turned towards her once more. One long curly brown tress had slipped from the comb, and lay waving down at his side. Magnus looked at it, touched it softly, then turned away again. There came a sound of steps and voices, and, too quick to be hindered, Cherry sprang to her feet and darted away; and Magnus was taken possession of by his two young sisters, one on either side. "What are you doing?" said Violet gaily. "Composing a sonnet to the summer girl's eyebrows?" "They are not always her own. What are _you_ about, chicks? wandering round at this time of night." "We came to help you get home," said Rose. "Or to find out if you were coming." "Because, if you are not, one pint of flannel cakes for breakfast will be enough," said Violet. "Where is Cherry?" "I do not know." "Oh, you took her home, and got moonstruck on the way back," said Rose. "Struck with something. It was more like Ithuriel's spear," said Magnus absently. "But what were you at, sure enough?" "Getting photographs of myself in the moonlight." "Snap-shots?" Rose asked, laughing at him. "Just that. You are good little girls to look me up. Come, let us go." And with a sort of bitter-sweet sense of holding fast what he had, Magnus put his arm round each, and so led them down the hill, their young voices making merry, the girlish arms locked round him, fast and true. This did not lay his thoughts, however. Should _he_ ever mar the joy of these gay tones? ever make the innocent eyes look down in shame, for him? Thoughts, questions, purposes, surged through the young cadet's head as he walked along, and Magnus would fain have gone straight to the silence of his own room. But they had waited prayers for him, and of course he must take his place.