Angela felt the tell-tale blood rise to her face as he praised her eyes, and bit her lips with vexation; it seemed to her that she had suddenly caught an epidemic of blushing.

“I cannot tell you very much about my father, because I do not know much; his life is, to a great extent, a sealed book to me.  But they say that once he was a very different man, when he was quite young, I mean.  But all of a sudden his father—­my grand-father, you know—­whose picture is on the stairs, died, and within a day or two my mother died too; that was when I was born.  After that he broke down, and became what he is now.  For twenty years he has lived as he does now, poring all day over books of accounts, and very rarely seeing anybody, for he does all his business by letter, or nearly all of it, and he has no friends.  There was some story about his being engaged to a lady who lived at Rewtham when he married my mother, which I daresay you have heard; but I don’t know much about it.  But, Mr. Heigham”—­and here she dropped her voice—­“there is one thing that I must warn you of:  my father has strange fancies at times.  He is dreadfully superstitious, and thinks that he has communications with beings from another world.  I believe that it is all nonsense, but I tell you so that you may not be surprised at anything he says or does.  He is not a happy man, Mr. Heigham.”

“Apparently not.  I cannot imagine any one being happy who is superstitious; it is the most dreadful bondage in the world.”

“Where are your ravens to-day?” asked Arthur, presently.

“I don’t know; I have not seen very much of them for the last week or two.  They have made a nest in one of the big trees at the back of the house, and I daresay that they are there, or perhaps they are hunting for their food—­they always feed themselves.  But I will soon tell you,” and she whistled in a soft but penetrating note.

Next minute there was a swoop of wings, and the largest raven, after hovering over her for a minute, lit upon her shoulder, and rubbed his black head against her face.

“This is Jack, you see; I expect that Jill is busy sitting on her eggs.  Fly away, Jack, and look after your wife.”  She clapped her hands, and the great bird, giving a reproachful croak, spread his wings, and was gone.

“You have a strange power over animals to make those birds so fond of you.”

“Do you think so?  It is only because I have, living as I do quite alone, had time to study all their ways, and make friends of them.  Do you see that thrush there?  I know him well; I fed him during the frost last winter.  If you will stand back with the dog, you shall see.”

Arthur hid himself behind a thick bush and watched.  Angela whistled again, but in another note, with a curious result.  Not only the thrush in question, but quite a dozen other birds of different sorts and sizes, came flying round her, some settling at her feet, and one, a little robin, actually perching itself upon her hat.  Presently she dismissed them as she had done the raven, by clapping her hands, and came back to Arthur.