meanwhile winifred was in sore trouble at the downs, for sir lester was very ill, and the doctors took a grave view of his case. he caught a chill at gatwick, and the cold which followed, being neglected, as such ailments often are, congestion of the lungs followed, and he was now fighting for his life.

at times he was unconscious, and winifred, almost worn out with watching, sometimes thought he had gone, so still and quiet he lay.

the crisis came at last, and he pulled through, but she felt she would never forget that time of anxiety, almost of despair.

sir lester knew what she had done for him, all she had gone through, and her drawn white face showed how she had suffered.

"if it had not been for your daughter, i believe we should have lost you, sir lester," said his favourite doctor. "she worked day and night, and orders given were attended to with even more promptitude than in a hospital. she is a wonderful girl, and you are right in being proud of her."

during his days of convalescence sir lester found in winifred a constant companion who never failed to interest and amuse him.

he thought she deserved every happiness this life could give, and knowing what was dearest to her heart, he longed for jack redland to come home. he cared not now whether he returned rich or poor; in any case he would offer no opposition, and as winifred was his only child, there would be sufficient for them when he was gone, and he could look after them during his lifetime.

he had great faith in jack, and something told him he was prospering, and that when he came home it would not be with empty hands. winifred guessed his thoughts, and was happy. the colour returned to her cheeks, and she was soon her light-hearted merry self again, although his illness had made a deep impression upon her that would never be effaced. it is in times of sickness and sore distress that the best feelings in our natures are roused. there is the need to act, the necessity for self-denial, duties to be done that cannot be evaded, annoyances that will not be thrust aside. there must be no putting off for to-morrow what can be done to-day, for delay means death maybe, and that ends all in this life.

sir lester's illness put the finishing touch to winifred's womanhood; it brought her to maturity; it roused in her the feelings of maternity, which reliance upon herself always brings to a woman. her father had been as helpless as a child, and she had nursed him, attended to his every want, anticipated his unspoken wishes, ministered to his pain, and did all that a brave woman knows so well how to do in battling with death, in peace or in war.

she felt the change in herself, but did not quite understand it. something had been given to her that she lacked before, and it was very wonderful, strangely beautiful and satisfying. she was as gay and light-hearted as ever, but there was more depth in her, a firmness she had hitherto lacked possessed her, and she felt better able to grapple with the world.

sir lester was amused. he noticed all these traits and knew the little girl he so fondly loved had developed into a very beautiful woman. he had watched her grow year by year, and hungrily begrudged the advancing age which must make her less reliant upon him. man-like, he wanted her to be solely dependent upon him, and yet now the time was come, when she was a woman, he loved her better than ever. what a prize she would prove to jack redland; he thought of no other man in connection with her: the mere idea seemed desecration. had he been glad when jack went away? he doubted it. relief was the feeling he experienced. and he would again feel it on his return.

roaming about the country lanes one day, winifred chanced to linger on the spot where she had last seen jack turn and wave his farewell. was it a chance she came there? she tried to convince herself such was the case, but it proved a failure, for she knew she had deliberately walked in that direction.

was it by chance that the self-same gypsy woman came along at the time and saw her? probably it was, for she seldom wandered that way. the woman hesitated, and then approached. she knew it was winifred dyke, and was aware that sir lester disliked liked her and all her tribe. she had not forgotten the handsome young man she had met not far away some year or two before, and something told her there was a connecting link between them. they are wonderfully shrewd, the women of her class, and have a marvellous way of putting things together and weaving elegant and generally acceptable little romances therefrom.

winifred started when she saw her, and at once it flashed across her mind that this might be the same woman jack had told her about. the thought interested her strangely. if this were the woman then she had much to do with jack's going away, ridiculous though it appeared.

"may i look at your hand?" said the gypsy, as though it was the most natural request in the world.

winifred smiled as she held it out and said—

"if it will give you any satisfaction."

"it is not for my satisfaction, but for your own."

she examined her hand closely, it was beautiful, well shaped, and daintily pink.

"you have had trouble."

winifred started; then she thought, "she knows who i am, and that my father has been ill; how absurd of me."

"you are happy again. there will be no more clouds. there is someone coming from across the seas. he is a good man and generous. strange, very strange!"

"what is strange?" asked winifred.

"there is much money coming to you. see, look at that mark."

there was a tiny line on her hand, and as winifred looked at it the mark seemed to grow larger.

"there is great wealth, it increases. look, the line is quite clear now," said the gypsy excitedly.

"it has become clearer because i extended my hand," said winifred, interested in spite of herself.

"that is not the cause. only once before have i seen this sign in a woman's hand, and she became a great lady."

winifred laughed merrily as she replied—

"i am afraid i shall never be a very great lady."

the gypsy curtsied as she answered—

"you are a very beautiful lady, and beauty is greatness."

then taking winifred's hand in her own brown one she said—

"you will have good news when you return home—a letter from across the seas."

"when?" asked winifred.

"to-night, or to-morrow; it is very near."

"i hope so."

"and there will be pleasure for you in it—a surprise; something i do not quite understand."

"then you cannot tell me the contents of my supposed letter," said winifred banteringly.

"no; that is hidden from me; but the writer loves you, as many will love you and fail, all but one."

"and what of him?" asked winifred softly.

she knew it was all nonsense, but it was very sweet foolery and she loved to hear it.

"he is a man who will prove worthy of you, and your life will be full of happiness. i wonder if he is the brave gentleman who helped me a year or two ago, when i saw him not very far from here. i had a sick child, and he gave me all the money he had with him and walked back to brighton. he was a noble man, worthy of a great love."

winifred coloured as she said—

"i heard about it; he told me before he went to australia."

"then it is the same?" said the woman. "may god bless you both."

winifred offered her money, and the gypsy eyed it greedily, but shook her head and said—

"no, kind lady, i do not want money for what i have told you."

"but you have a little boy; take it for him."

"yes, i will take it for him."

winifred changed her mind, and gave her half a sovereign. the woman's gratitude was unbounded and she showered many blessings on winifred's head as she went on her way.

winifred remained standing on the spot looking after her. she wondered if jack would really come back with the fortune he said he went out to make. it mattered little to her whether he was rich or poor, but she wished him to succeed, and knew how he felt about it.

as she walked slowly home she revolved in her mind all that had taken place since he left. how lonely she had been at first, her old playmate gone, and no prospect of seeing him for some years. she knew she loved him when he had acted under that sudden impulse and taken her in his arms and kissed her. the memory of that embrace was very dear to her. gradually as she became accustomed to his absence she grew to love him more and more. he was constantly in her thoughts; she wondered where he was, what he was doing. she listened eagerly to captain seagrave's account of the voyage, and could have hugged the rough old seaman when he praised jack up to the skies. the arrival of his first letter was a great event. she read it again and again; it opened up to her a new field of thought, and she wrote him glowing epistles of their doings at the downs. she knew even trivial things would interest him because she wrote of them, and they told of the dear old country where they had spent so many happy hours together. there were no words of love in her letters; she would not write them, but he would understand, and she meant to leave him perfectly free. the mere thought of jack falling in love with some other girl sent her into a cold shiver, but she quickly smiled and reassured herself when she thought of that kiss. then came more letters, and she gloated over his wonderful adventures and pictured him fighting hordes of terrible savages, and diving to the bottom of the sea for pearls. her father laughed at her, and said that on the whole he fancied jack was having a very good time, and was far more likely to be dancing with native beauties in scanty costumes than battling with blacks, at which assertion she was highly indignant.

when she entered the house sir lester said—

"a letter for you, win, from——"

"jack!" she exclaimed.

"yes, i expect so; we have not many friends in australia."

she thought of the gypsy woman, and how quickly her words had come true.

she opened the letter and read it eagerly, devouring every word before she proclaimed the contents to her father; but he was contented to wait. he knew how much these letters meant to her.

"well, what news, my girl?" he asked.

"oh, it's splendid; it sounds too good to be true—too much like a fairy tale."

"read and i shall understand," he replied smiling.

she read jack's long letter, telling her of the adventure of the great black pearl, and how he was determined to secure it for her, and bring it home in triumph. it was one of the finest of pearls, and no one was half so worthy of it as she. he had meant it for her the moment he had found it in the shell. now an "old thief of a pearl dealer had it," but barry tuxford said it was safe, and what barry affirmed was gospel. then she read about gold discoveries, mining shares, racehorses, and many other things, and finally wound up by saying on her own account that she always knew jack would be a success, and that he would make a fortune.

"what do you think of him, father?"

"he is a brave fellow, and worthy of my daughter's love."

"how do you know he has it, or that he wants it?" she asked slily.

"there are certain symptoms, win, i cannot fail to understand, and if jack does not want my little girl he's about as big a fool as the earth holds," replied sir lester laughing.

"a black pearl. fancy me wearing such a precious thing. i shall be frightened to touch it, after all the adventures it has passed through."

"you have not got it yet."

"but jack says he will get it for me, and that is quite sufficient."

"his friend, barry tuxford, must be an extraordinary man. i should like to meet him," said sir lester.

"and so should i, to thank him for all he has done for jack."

"send him a special message in your next letter. he deserves a page to himself," said her father.

"and he shall have it; a whole page," said winifred.