“Now the ‘Souls’ pretend to have ideas,” continued Maryllia, still apostrophising the bland stillness; “But their ideas are low,—­ decidedly low,—­and decidedly queer.  And that Cabinet Ministers are in their set doesn’t make them any the better.  I could have been a ‘Soul’ if I had liked.  I could have learnt a lot of wicked secrets from the married peer who wanted to be my ’affinity,’—­only I wouldn’t.  I could have got all the Government ‘tips,’ gambled with them on the Stock Exchange, and made quite a fortune as a ‘Soul.’  Yet here I am,—­no ’Soul,’—­but only a poor little body, with something in me that asks for a higher flight than mere social intrigue.  Just a bit of a higher flight, eh, Plato?  What do you think about it?”

Plato the leonine, waved his plumy tail responsively and gently rubbed his great head against her arm.  Resting one hand lightly on his neck, she moved towards the house and slowly ascended the graduating slopes of the grass terrace.  Here she was suddenly met by Primmins.

“Beg your pardon, Miss,” he said, with an apologetic air, “but there’s an old man from the village come up to see you—­a very old man,—­he’s had to be carried in a chair, and it’s took a couple of men nigh an hour and a half to bring him along.  He says he knew you years ago—­I hardly like to send him away—­”

“Certainly not!—­of course you mustn’t send him away,” said Maryllia, quickening her steps; “Poor old dear!  Where is he?”

“In the great, hall, Miss.  They brought him through the courtyard and got him in there, before I had time to send them round to the back entrance.”

Maryllia entered the house.  There she was met by Mrs. Spruce, with uplifted hands.

“Well, it do beat me altogether, Miss,” she exclaimed, “as to how these silly men, my ‘usband, too, one of the silliest, beggin’ your parding, could bring that poor old Josey Letherbarrow up here all this way!  And he not toddled beyond the church this seven or eight years!  And it’s all about those blessed Five Sisters they’ve come, though I told ’em you can’t nohow be worrited and can’t see no one—­ "

“But I can!” said Maryllia decisively; “I can see anyone who wishes to see me, and I will.  Let me pass, Mrs. Spruce, please!”

Mrs. Spruce, thus abruptly checked, stood meekly aside, controlling her desire to pour forth fresh remonstrances at the unseemliness of any person or persons intruding upon the lady of the Manor at so late an hour in the evening as half-past nine o’clock.  Maryllia hastened into the hall and there found an odd group awaiting her, composed of three very odd-looking personages,—­much more novel and striking in their oddity than anything that could have been presented to her view in the social whirl of Paris and London.  Josey Letherbarrow was the central figure, seated bolt upright in a cane arm-chair, through the lower part of which a strong pole had been thrust, securely nailed and clamped,