the wind had fallen, and a soft mist lay about the house next day, when marion opened her eyes. she lay for a long while in drowsy content, lost between sleep and waking, opening her eyes and closing them again on the dear delight of home. the sense of peace that had fallen on her spirit the previous night when she had returned from the manor and stolen straight to her own chamber, seemed still more to fill the place where she lay. it was as if she had sailed into a familiar haven after long tossing on strange seas. all the dear associations of her childhood leapt from nook and shelf to greet her. she lay and smiled at roof and window, rug and chair. and behind her warm feeling of content lay a thought that was like a caress: roger was safe; roger was happy at sea; roger was coming back soon. a rosy flush tinted her face as she remembered—would she ever forget? 'good-bye just for a little time, mawfy!'

while she was still half dreaming, the housekeeper gently opened the door.

'come in, curnow, dear!' called marion. 'i know 'tis you. i have never known any one come into a room quite so gently as you do.' she smiled at the old woman. ''tis good to see you again, curnow. what is that? bread and milk? fie, fie, curnow! do you suppose i have become an elegant old lady like aunt keziah, already? i cannot abide food in bed. it makes the whole chamber taste queer.'

there were tears in mrs. curnow's eyes as she threw a covering over marion's shoulders and handed her the bowl. if only the admiral would return, her cup of joy would be full. the same thought was passing through marion's mind as she obediently began to drink the milk.

'i wish father were home. i felt wretched last night when you said he was away. but he will soon be back. he must have left london for exeter by this time.'

mrs. curnow watched her young mistress in silence for a time; then she began moving restlessly about the room, putting a chair here and a stool there.

'come and sit down, curnow,' said marion. 'you will be tired before dinner time.'

''tis past dinner time already,' said the housekeeper, looking at her indulgently.

'what! how could you let me sleep so, and all that there is to be done?'

'there bean't no tur'ble call for 'ee to get up, mistress marion.'

'but there is much to be done. there are the guest chambers to be got ready for colonel sampson and my aunt keziah. my aunt said she would follow in the coach with simone. most likely they lay at tavistock last night. they should be here this afternoon, if nothing has delayed them. i do want my aunt keziah's chamber to look beautiful, curnow.'

the housekeeper smiled fondly at the girl she had tended from babyhood. indeed, she had lain awake most of the night pondering on marion's story, and trying to see her 'little maid' in the light of its revelation.

'you will like simone, curnow,' marion continued. 'i told you i am going to persuade my father to let me keep her here with us, did i not? she is french, you know, but very different from——' marion stopped abruptly.

the smile on her hearer's face gave way to the grave, unhappy look the old woman had worn of late.

'what is it, curnow?'

'i ought to tell you, mistress marion. i scarce know what to do,' the housekeeper slowly began. ''tis mademoiselle.'

marion handed the speaker her bowl, and lay back on the pillow. 'i know all about that,' she said quietly. mrs. curnow stared.

'i did not tell you last night,' pursued marion. 'there were so many other things to tell.'

'you know——'

'i know she betrayed roger, if that is what you mean. charity borlase told me in a letter. does my father know?'

'not of my telling. 'tis now,' the housekeeper counted on her fingers, 'eight days since the admur'l came home, changed the horses, and straight up over for london. the admur'l had heard down along about master roger, and with the look on his face no one dared speak to un—leastways not me. mayhap silas have told. and there be other things too,' wearily added the old woman. 'i scarce do know where to begin.'

'leave it till my father comes, curnow. it is all over now—all the trouble, i mean. the rest is for him to settle. where—where is mademoiselle?' marion spoke with an effort.

'in her chamber. her've never left un since the day charity came up to have a few words, private-like, with she. fear of what folk may do to un, may be. zora have been telling that victoire do say——'

'victoire!' there was a curious look on marion's face. 'when did victoire come home?'

'the very day afore you did, mistress marion. that is to say, the night before last, when the house was abed. all unbeknownst her came in a coach from plymouth. seemingly the old woman in france yonder do be better. and yesterday—' a grim smile came on the housekeeper's face—'heart-sore and sick as i was, with the thought of dear master roger pressing on me, as 'ee might say, i couldn't forbear a smile when i saw victoire eagerlike to talk to the wenches in the kitchen, and me having forbade they, most severe, to say one word to she.'

marion got out of bed and began to dress. 'curnow,' she said abruptly, 'i was never so thankful for anything in my life as that my aunt keziah is coming. until father returns, aunt keziah will see to victoire and mademoiselle. don't let us talk of it, curnow. i am trying not to think of it, even. it is horrible. master roger is safe. that is all that matters.'

the housekeeper presently went below, and marion finished her dressing with a sober look on her face. the early joy and peace of the waking had vanished. for marion, the last fortnight had been too much filled with immediate action to leave room for plans about the prime defaulter in the sorry affair. what should she say or do if she met elise?

at length, feeling as uncomfortable as if she had to walk about alone in a haunted house, marion went out of her chamber and set about the supervision of rooms for the coming guests.

in the meantime, victoire sat talking by elise's bed, talking softly, rapidly, in what the domestics called her heathen tongue. victoire was angry, and elise trembled as she listened. just so, all her life, had that quiet, angry voice dominated her.

it had needed far less insight than victoire possessed to learn that there was a new and bitter and unexplained feud between the household and herself and her young mistress.

she had found elise in bed on the night of her arrival, and a feigned drowsiness on the girl's part had postponed any conversation till the morrow. with the morrow, however, a strange elise had met her eyes, an elise thin, worn, with a hunted, frightened look that perplexed victoire. elise was suffering from the old enemy, migraine, and preferred not to leave her bed. the waiting woman had descended to the kitchen, and at once became aware of the ban imposed by mrs. curnow. the serving girls answered her in yea and nay, and that was the sum of their speech. neither did they talk in her presence, being only too pleased to carry out to the letter the housekeeper's instructions. victoire, baffled, ascended to her mistress's room again. elise's sufferings were not feigned, and she only prayed to be left alone till the pain became easier to bear. she would tell victoire all the news later on.

victoire, watching, saw that underlying the girl's physical suffering was the mental strain of some overpowering dread. elise insisted on keeping the bolts of the chamber drawn; watched the door as footsteps passed without. in vain victoire prayed for an explanation; at length she lapsed into sullen silence. in the late afternoon, while elise was dozing victoire crept downstairs. the kitchen was rocking with joyous sounds; laughter and tears, it would seem, and mid hilarious voices crying out on some unforeseen tremendous event. victoire listened at the door long enough to disentangle the story wherein marion's name and roger's were freely tossed about. the waiting woman had known nothing of the happenings in garth during the past month. wrath at elise's reticence, and amazement at the story she had heard sent her hot-foot to the girl's room. she strode noisily to the bedside, and elise, waking from a slight doze, started up in speechless terror.

'what is this,' cried victoire, 'about roger trevannion being rescued from gaol by marion?'

she got no farther. elise gave a low cry, and sank fainting on her pillow.

the rest of the evening victoire spent in real anxiety by the girl's bed. with the morning elise rallied under the effects of the medicine given her, and while mrs. curnow and marion were discussing her in marion's chamber, elise gave a faithful history of the neighbourhood during victoire's absence in brittany. and victoire was angry; not, it appeared, because elise had done roger a grievous wrong, but because she had made a fatal blunder. elise's poignant remorse she brushed aside as being of no moment; elise's terror of charity borlase's threat of vengeance she passed by in contempt.

'it is monstrous, inconceivable,' she went on, her voice becoming softer and softer as rage consumed her. 'here fate has worked in the kindest possible way. that stupid, inquisitive old lawyer lebrun who might have ruined our plans, has by a merciful providence been allowed to die. for young lebrun i do not care a straw. the anxiety of years has been removed. your inheritance lies clear before you, the d'artois estates only waiting for a mistress. and just when we could have departed in friendliness from that fool, the admiral, you have committed this indescribable folly. why could you not leave roger trevannion alone?'

'did i not tell you,' said elise sulkily, 'that he spied on me, that he had found out all about the cove and the man?'

'nonsense! he just happened to pass that way, and he saw you.'

'he would have told.'

'nonsense, again! you do not know the world. had it been a woman, a village girl, there might have been danger—even then supposing the admiral would have listened to one word from a village girl concerning his guest. but a young man like roger trevannion! roger is gentilhomme, vois-tu?—gentilhomme. he might have given evidence if asked, and only then if he had thought it was his honourable duty. they mind their own business, ces gens-là! you have judged him as if he were a fisher lad. and if you had wanted to get rid of him—and i should not have had anything to say about that if you had been successful and done it properly'—elise shuddered—'why, could you not have gone down to the cove and signalled to the man to do it for you? he would do anything for money, and you had plenty of money. but to go yourself to bodmin! i am speechless! you have ruined us, do you hear?'

'i wish from the bottom of my heart,' suddenly said elise, her face mottled yellow and white, 'that i had never seen garth. the whole thing has been monstrous. for my part, i am willing to confess.'

victoire stood and looked at the girl, and laughed. elise sank back in bed, and hid her face.

'we will talk about that later,' went on the mocking, silky voice. 'in the meantime, prepare for a long walk, my good girl. as soon as dusk falls to-night, we set out.'

for a long time no more was said. victoire busied herself with certain preparations, sewing money and jewels into the folds of her dress. the girl made no effort to rise and help her. she lay with closed eyes, from time to time falling into convulsive weeping whose sounds she stifled in the bed clothes. her companion, busy among the garments hanging in the press in the inner room, failed to note, for all her caution, the dull sound of wheels, and if elise heard, she made no comment.

'listen to that!' said victoire presently, emerging from her closet with a length of priceless lace on her arm. 'there is the kitchen still uproarious. they will be singing and dancing all night because of this escape. but—ah, good! while they are amusing themselves, i will get into the buttery for food for our journey. if i go through the hall, the wenches will not see me.'

'marion may,' faltered elise.

'and do you suppose the princess royal will speak to me?'

with a little laugh, victoire went boldly downstairs, and entered the hall, one door of which gave access to the butler's pantry and the buttery. too late she realised her mistake. several people were sitting there, and mrs. curnow was carrying a tray of wine and cake from guest to guest. the open door in her hand, ready to retrace her steps, victoire paused long enough to note the new arrivals. her beady black eyes ran from face to face. there was a gentleman whom she did not recognise, standing by the window; in the big chair sat mistress keziah penrock. victoire had scarcely time to feel alarmed at the sight of the lady, for on the instant she caught sight of another figure, that of a young girl who was talking eagerly with marion. victoire's other hand clutched at the door post, and at the same moment marion caught sight of her. a sudden pause in the conversation made simone look curiously round. she gave a sharp cry, and passing her hand over her eyes, stared about the room, then seized marion's arm with both hands. from that support she turned her head slowly, like a frightened child, and looked again at the woman clinging to the door. across the room two pairs of eyes stared, each at a ghost. simone dropped marion's arm, and stepped forward. suddenly the face at the door became distorted, the hand shot out to ward off simone's approach, a broken gabble fell from the ashen lips. then silence again.

simone stepped quite close, and looked steadfastly at her.

'victoire!'