width of the Manor, with its ancient rose-brick frontage and glorious oaken gables shining in the warm afternoon sunlight,—­the old Tudor courtyard spreading before it, its grey walls and paving stones half hidden in a wilderness of spring blossom.  Here, too, the gates were open, and the one-horse fly made its lumbering and awkward entrance within, drawing up with a jerk at the carved portico.  The young person in blue serge jumped out, purse in hand.

“Ten shillings, I think?” she said; but before the driver could answer her, the great iron-clamped door of the Manor swung open, and a respectable retainer in black stood on the threshold.

“Oh, will you pay the driver, please?” said the young lady, addressing this functionary; “He says his fare is ten shillings.  I daresay he would like an extra five shillings for himself as well,” and she smiled—­“Here it is!”

She handed the money to the personage in black, who was no other than the former butler to Sir Morton Pippitt, now at the Manor on temp’ry service,’ and who in turn presented it with an official stateliness to the startled fly-man, who was just waking up to the fact that his fare, whom he had considered as a person of no account whatever, was the actual mistress of the Manor.

“Drive out to the left of the court,” said the butler imperatively; “Reverse way to which you entered.”

The submissive Jehu prepared to obey.  The young person in blue serge smiled up at him.

“Good afternoon!” said she.

“Same to you, mum!” he replied, touching his cap; “And thank ye kindly!”

Whereat, his stock of eloquence being exhausted, he whipped up his steed to a gallop and departed in haste for the ‘Mother Huff,’ full of eagerness to relate the news of Miss Vancourt’s arrival, further embellished by the fact that he had himself driven her up from the station, ‘all unbeknown like.’

Miss Vancourt herself, meanwhile, stepped into her ancestral halls, and stood for a moment, silent, looking round her with a wistful, almost pathetic earnestness.

“Tea is served in the morning-room, Madam,” said the butler respectfully, all the time wondering whether this slight, childlike-looking creature was really Miss Vancourt, or some young friend of hers sent as an advance herald of her arrival.  “Mrs. Spruce thought you would find it comfortable there.”

“Mrs. Spruce!” exclaimed the girl, eagerly; “Where is she?”

“Here, ma’am-here, my lady,” said a quavering voice-and Mrs. Spruce, presenting quite a comely and maternal aspect in her best black silk gown, and old-fashioned cap, with lace lappets, such as the late Squire had always insisted on her wearing, came forward curtseying nervously.

“I hope, ma’am, you’ve had a pleasant journey—­”

But her carefully prepared sentence was cut short by a pair of arms being flung suddenly round her, and a fresh face pressed against her own.