After a pause the Vicar proceeded, with a spiteful glance at Avery.  “It is my intention to impose a holiday-task of sufficient magnitude to keep you all out of mischief during the rest of the holidays.  You will therefore commit to memory various different portions of Milton’s Paradise Lost which I shall select, and which must be repeated to me in their entirety without mistake on my return from my own hard-earned holiday.  And let me give you all fair warning,” he raised his voice and looked round again, regarding poor Jeanie with marked austerity, “that if any one of you is not word-perfect in his or her task by the day of my return—­boy or girl I care not, the offence is the same—­he or she will receive a sound caning and the task will be returned.”

Thus he delivered himself, and turned to go; but paused at the door to add, “Also, Mrs. Denys, will you be good enough to remember that it is against my express command that either you or any of the children should enter any part of Rodding Park during my absence.  I desire that to be clearly understood.”

“It is understood,” said Avery in a low voice.

“That is well,” said the Reverend Stephen, and walked majestically from the room.

A few seconds of awed silence followed his departure; then to Avery’s horror Gracie snatched off one of her shoes and flung it violently at the door that he had closed behind him.  Luckily for Gracie, her father was at the foot of the stairs before this episode took place and beyond earshot also of the furious storm of tears that followed it, with which even Avery found it difficult to cope.

It had been a tragic day throughout, and she was thankful when at length it drew to a close.

But when night came at last, and she lay down in the darkness, she found herself much too full of thought for sleep.  Till then, she had not had time to review the day’s happenings, but they crowded upon her as she lay, driving away all possibility of repose.

What was she going to do?  Over and over again she asked herself the question, bringing herself as it were each time to contemplate afresh the obstacle that had arisen in her path.  Had she really promised to marry Piers?  The Squire evidently thought she had.  The memory of those last words of his came back to her again and again.  He had been very much in earnest, very anxious to provide for his boy’s future, desperately afraid of leaving him alone.  How would he view his impetuous action, she wondered, on the morrow?  Had he not even now possibly begun to repent?  Would he really desire her to take him literally?

And Piers,—­what of Piers?  A sudden, warm thrill ran through her.  She glowed from head to foot.  She had not seen Piers since that morning by the sea.  She had a feeling that he was purposely avoiding her, and yet deep in the secret heart of her she knew that what she had rejected over and over again was still irrevocably her own.  He would come back to her.  She knew he would come back.  And again that strange warmth filled her veins.  The memory of him just then was like a burst of sunshine after a day of storm.