his song--more perfect for the space and loneliness.

The Romilly pair became silent. Conversation seemed almost irreverent.

They were approaching the Folly Ho turn. Suddenly into the quiet broke a monotonous light sound--the tapping of feet on hard ground; someone was running at an even pace.

"We’re not the only people alive to-night," said Christobel in a low voice, "I thought we were."

"Coming from Peterock way," Adrian said, "we shall see who it is in a jiff; they are bound to come in front of us, unless they jump the hedge into the field. Sounds like a girl running."

"Why?" asked Christobel, "much more likely to be Peter Cherry, or someone like that. There are not many girls to run when one comes to calculate."

They were approaching the turn. The road before them was white and clear, the trees at the corner looking curiously distinct. With one accord both ceased to speak, and gave all attention to the light regular sound that drew nearer.

Pat, pat, pat--fell the running feet, and from the side-road appeared a figure. In a moment it was speeding down hill in front of the interested pair.

"_Addie!_" gasped Christobel, with startled emphasis.

"My only aunt!" ejaculated Adrian, "who’d have thought it."

"You see who it is?"

"Rather!"

"But, Addie, what’s she doing coming from Folly Ho, this time of night?"

"Why ask me?" said her brother with reason.

"Mother thinks she’s in bed, of course," went on Christobel in a troubled voice; "I’m sure it can be explained, but it is horrid. It’s utter bad form. I wouldn’t have believed it of Pam."

Adrian maintained a gloomy silence. Brothers never approve of unconventional explosions on the part of sisters; especially very pretty sisters of Pamela’s age. It is taken as a matter of course that they are not old enough for independent action.

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