‘Alas! sir, I fear so!’  He sank on his knees as he spoke and took him, his second father, in his arms.

‘Is it close?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then listen to me!  If I don’t see Stephen, give her my love and blessing!  Say that with my last breath I prayed God to keep her and make her happy!  You will tell her this?’

‘I will!  I will!’  He could hardly speak for the emotion which was choking him.  Then the voice went on, but slower and weaker:

‘And Harold, my dear boy, you will look after her, will you not?  Guard her and cherish her, as if you were indeed my son and she your sister!’

‘I will.  So help me God!’  There was a pause of a few seconds which seemed an interminable time.  Then in a feebler voice Squire Norman spoke again:

‘And Harold—bend down—I must whisper!  If it should be that in time you and Stephen should find that there is another affection between you, remember that I sanction it—with my dying breath.  But give her time!  I trust that to you!  She is young, and the world is all before her.  Let her choose . . . and be loyal to her if it is another!  It may be a hard task, but I trust you, Harold.  God bless you, my other son!’  He rose slightly and listened.  Harold’s heart leaped.  The swift hoof-strokes of a galloping horse were heard . . . The father spoke joyously:

‘There she is!  That is my brave girl!  God grant that she may be in time.  I know what it will mean to her hereafter!’

The horse stopped suddenly.

A quick patter of feet along the passage and then Stephen half dressed with a peignoir thrown over her, swept into the room.  With the soft agility of a leopard she threw hersel