“It does not seem to have much to do with it,” she said doubtfully, “and yet, perhaps it does.  You know my mother is not quite of the same opinion as my father, although she never says so to him; but, when we are alone together, sometimes she shakes her head and says she fears that trouble is coming, and it makes her very unhappy.  One day I was in the garden, and they were talking loudly in the dining room—­at least, he was talking loudly.  Well, he said—­But I don’t know whether I ought to tell you, Charlie.”

“Certainly you ought not, Ciceley.  If you heard what you were not meant to hear, you ought never to say a word about it to anyone.”

“But it concerns you and Sir Marmaduke.”

“I cannot help that,” he said stoutly.  “People often say things of each other, in private, especially if they are out of temper, that they don’t quite mean, and it would make terrible mischief if such things were repeated.  Whatever your father said, I do not want to hear it, and it would be very wrong of you to repeat it.”

“I am not going to repeat it, Charlie.  I only want to say that I do not think my father and yours are very friendly together, which is natural, when my father is all for King William, and your father for King James.  He makes no secret of that, you know.”

Charlie nodded.

“That is right enough, Ciceley, but still, I don’t understand in the least what it has to do with the servant.”

“It has to do with it,” she said pettishly, starting the swing afresh, and then relapsing into silence until it again came to a standstill.

“I think you ought to know,” she said suddenly.  “You see, Charlie, Sir Marmaduke is very kind to me, and I love him dearly, and so I do you, and I think you ought to know, although it may be nothing at all.”

“Well, fire away then, Ciceley.  There is one thing you may be quite sure of, whatever you tell me, it is like telling a brother, and I shall never repeat it to anyone.”

“Well, it is this.  That man comes over sometimes to see my father.  I have seen him pass my window, three or four times, and go in by the garden door into father’s study.  I did not know who he was, but it did seem funny his entering by that door, as if he did not want to be seen by anyone in the house.  I did not think anything more about it, till I saw him just now, then I knew him directly.  If I had seen him before, I should have told you at once, but I don’t think I have.”

“I daresay not, Ciceley.  He does not wait at table, but is under the steward, and helps clean the silver.  He waits when we have several friends to dinner.  At other times he does not often come into the room.

“What you tell me is certainly curious.  What can he have to say to your father?”

“I don’t know, Charlie.  I don’t know anything about it.  I do think you ought to know.”

“Yes, I think it is a good thing that I should know,” Charlie agreed thoughtfully.  “I daresay it is all right, but, at any rate, I am glad you told me.”