believe that he was really unwilling to venture out in the dark.  “I’ll see you safe across the churchyard,” he said; “and the vicar’s servant will see you safe back.”  The tone in which he spoke instantly roused Sir Joseph.  “I am not in my second childhood yet, Richard,” he replied, testily.  “I can find my way by myself.”  He kissed his daughter on the forehead.  “No fear, Natalie.  I shall be back in time for the mulled claret.  No, Richard, I won’t trouble you.”  He kissed his hand to his sister and went out into the hall for his hat:  Turlington following him with a rough apology, and asking as a favor to be permitted to accompany him part of the way only.  The ladies, left behind in the drawing-room, heard the apology accepted by kind-hearted Sir Joseph.  The two went out together.

“Have you noticed Richard since his return?” asked Miss Lavinia.  “I fancy he must have heard bad news in London.  He looks as if he had something on his mind.”

“I haven’t remarked it, aunt.”

For the time, no more was said.  Miss Lavinia went monotonously on with her knitting.  Natalie pursued her own anxious thoughts over the unread pages of the book in her lap.  Suddenly the deep silence out of doors and in was broken by a shrill whistle, sounding from the direction of the church-yard.  Natalie started with a faint cry of alarm.  Miss Lavinia looked up from her knitting.

“My dear child, your nerves must be sadly out of order.  What is there to be frightened at?”

“I am not very well, aunt.  It is so still here at night, the slightest noises startle me.”

There was another interval of silence.  It was past nine o’clock when they heard the back door opened and closed again.  Turlington came hurriedly into the drawing-room, as if he had some reason for wishing to rejoin the ladies as soon as possible.  To the surprise of both of them, he sat down abruptly in the corner, with his face to the wall, and took up the newspaper, without casting a look at them or uttering a word.

“Is Joseph safe at the vicarage?” asked Miss Lavinia.

“All right.”  He gave the answer in a short, surly tone, still without looking round.

Miss Lavinia tried him again.  “Did you hear a whistle while you were out?  It quite startled Natalie in the stillness of this place.”

He turned half-way round.  “My shepherd, I suppose,” he said after a pause—­“whistling for his dog.”  He turned back again and immersed himself in his newspaper.

Miss Lavinia beckoned to her niece and pointed significantly to Turlington.  After one reluctant look at him, Natalie laid her head wearily on her aunt’s shoulder.  “Sleepy, my dear?” whispered the old lady.  “Uneasy, aunt—­I don’t know why,” Natalie whispered back.  “I would give the world to be in London, and to hear the carriages going by, and the people talking in the street.”

Turlington suddenly dropped his newspaper.  “What’s the secret between you two?” he called out roughly.  “What are you whispering about?”