At this moment, while the name of the god was still on her lips, the high open window of the drawing-room was darkened, and Bernard entered, followed by Mr Crosbie.

“Who is talking about Apollo?” said Captain Dale.

The girls were both stricken dumb.  How would it be with them if Mr Crosbie had heard himself spoken of in those last words of poor Lily’s?  This was the rashness of which Bell was ever accusing her sister, and here was the result!  But, in truth, Bernard had heard nothing more than the name, and Mr Crosbie, who had been behind him, had heard nothing.

“’As sweet and musical as bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair,’” said Mr Crosbie, not meaning much by the quotation, but perceiving that the two girls had been in some way put out and silenced.

“What very bad music it must have made,” said Lily; “unless, indeed, his hair was very different from ours.”

“It was all sunbeams,” suggested Bernard.  But by that time Apollo had served his turn, and the ladies welcomed their guests in the proper form.

“Mamma is in the garden,” said Bell, with that hypocritical pretence so common with young ladies when young gentlemen call; as though they were aware that mamma was the object specially sought.

“Picking peas, with a sun-bonnet on,” said Lily.

“Let us by all means go and help her,” said Mr Crosbie; and then they issued out into the garden.

The gardens of the Great House of Allington and those of the Small House open on to each other.  A proper boundary of thick laurel hedge, and wide ditch, and of iron spikes guarding the ditch, there is between them; but over the wide ditch there is a foot-bridge, and at the bridge there is a gate which has no key; and for all purposes of enjoyment the gardens of each house are open to the other.  And the gardens of the Small House are very pretty.  The Small House itself is so near the road that there is nothing between the dining-room windows and the iron rail but a narrow edge rather than border, and a little path made with round fixed cobble stones, not above two feet broad, into which no one but the gardener ever makes his way.  The distance from the road to the house is not above five or six feet, and the entrance from the gate is shut in by a covered way.  But the garden behind the house, on to which the windows from the drawing-room open, is to all the senses as private as though there were no village of Allington, and no road up to the church within a hundred yards of the lawn.  The steeple of the church, indeed, can be seen from the lawn, peering, as it were, between the yew-trees which stand in the corner of the churchyard adjoining to Mrs Dale’s wall.  But none of the Dale family have any objection to the sight of that steeple.  The glory of the Small House at Allington certainly consists in its lawn, which is as smooth, as level, and as much like velvet as grass has ever yet been made to look.  Lily Dale,