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‘Yes; go in, my child.’

The gardens were in tumult of leaf and bloom, and the little girl ran hither and thither, gathering single flowers, and then everything that came under her hands, binding them together in bouquets–one for mother, one for the Major, and one for herself. Mrs Shepherd only smiled a little bitterly when Nellie came running to her with some new and more splendid rose. She did not attempt to reprove the child. Why should she? Everything here would one day be hers. Why then should the present be denied them? And so did her thoughts run as she walked across the sward following Nellie into the beech wood that clothed the steep hillside. The pathway led by the ruins of some Danish military earthworks, ancient hollows full of leaves and silence. Pigeons cooed in the vast green foliage, and from time to time there came up from the river the chiming sound of oars. Rustic seats were at pleasant intervals, and, feeling a little tired, Mrs Shepherd sat down. She could see the river’s silver glinting through the branches, and, beyond the river, the low-lying river lands, dotted with cattle and horses grazing, dim already with blue evening vapours. In the warm solitude of the wood the irreparable misfortune of her own life pressed upon her: and in this hour of lassitude her loneliness seemed more than she could bear. The Major was good and kind, but he knew nothing of the weight of the burden he had laid upon her, and that none should know was in this moment a greater weight than the burden itself. Nellie was exploring the ancient hollows where Danes and Saxons had once fought, and had ceased to call forth her discoveries when Mrs Shepherd’s bitter meditation was broken by the sudden sound of a footstep.

The intruder was a young lady. She was dressed in white, her pale gold hair was in itself an aristocracy, and her narrow slippered feet were dainty to look upon. ‘Don’t let me disturb you,’ she said. ‘This is my favourite seat; but I pray you not to move, there is plenty of room.’ So amiable was she in voice and manner that Mrs Shepherd could not but remain, although she had already recognized the girl as one of the Major’s sisters. Fearing to betray herself, greatly nervous, Mrs Shepherd answered briefly Miss Shepherd’s allusions to the beauty of the view. At the end of a long silence Miss Shepherd said–

‘I think you know my brother, Major Shepherd.’

Mrs Shepherd hesitated, and then she said: ‘No. I have never heard the name.’

‘Are you sure? Of course, I may be mistaken; but–‘

Ethel made pause, and looked Mrs Shepherd straight in the face. Smiling sadly, Mrs Shepherd said–

‘Likenesses are so deceptive.’

‘Perhaps, but my memory is pretty good for faces…. It was two or three months ago, we were going up to London, and I saw my brother get into the train with a lady who looked like you. She really was very like you.’

Mrs Shepherd smiled and shook her head.

‘I do not know the lady my brother was with, but I’ve often thought I should like to meet her.’

‘Perhaps your brother will introduce you.’

‘No, I don’t think he will. She has come to live at Branbury, and now people talk more then ever. They say that he is secretly married.’

‘And you believe it?’

‘I don’t see why it shouldn’t be true. My brother is a good fellow in many ways, but, like all other men, he is selfish. He is just the man who would keep his wife hidden away in a lonely little lodging rather than admit that he had made a mesalliance. What I don’t understand is why she consents to be kept out of the way. Just fancy giving up this beautiful place, these woods and fields, these gardens, that house for, for–‘

‘I suppose this woman gives up these things because she loves your brother. Do you not understand self-sacrifice?’