distance came the tireless music of the sea, which plays upon its gentlest instruments when the day is still. From the farmyard over the way the strains of yet another orchestra touched at moments on our ears. Neither the one nor the other clashed, for Nature chooses her instrumentalists, not for what they can do, but for what they must. This is not only the secret of harmony, it is the secret of all music and all art.

In the hedge of barberry across the lawn, the birds were building a very city of houses. In the high grass of the lawn itself, the daffodils lifted their trumpets, blowing a blast—young heralds announcing the entry of a knight into the lists, while all the little snowdrops bowed their heads, as maidens used, and trembled.

I sat down at the table facing the window in silence. Upon the clean white cloth was placed their set of Worcester-pink, with the color of roses, such as we scarce know how to handle upon china now. In the middle of it all stood one great bowl of primroses.

The maid came in and placed a basin of porridge before me—porridge! Such as I had not eaten for years and years.

"I'll ask them to let me off this to-morrow," I said to myself. "But this being my first day, 'twere better manners to take it now and say nothing." Therefore, I took it; and what is more, I am glad I said nothing. When I looked up out of the window again, that basin was empty.

Half way through breakfast, Cruikshank suddenly looked up. He directed his gaze at me.

"What was that about the Miss Fennells?" said he.

For a moment I felt confusion in my cheeks. The barest instant it lasted, and then was gone; yet in that very instant Bellwattle's eyes had sought my face. When a woman has instinct—and when has she not?—her heart has seen long before her eyes are warned of it. The abruptness of her husband's question had presupposed confusion in both of us, wherefore, while I was confused, her eyes were ready to my face to find it. I would swear Cruikshank were as ignorant of it as a helpless babe, for when he had waited but a second for my answer, he began again.

"That letter you wrote me," said he. "When you asked—"

"Of course—I know—and in the postscript I wanted to know if they lived here."

"That's it."

I made an effort to let him leave it 

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