great heiress like Marion Arleigh.

"By all means, stay at home, my love, if you wish, and Miss Lyster, too.
She is an admirable young person; so prudent, so discreet. I could not
leave you in better hands."

Marion Arleigh lived afterward to be presented at Court, but she never
again felt the same diffidence, the same trepidation, as when, with her
false friend by her side, she went down the steps that led to the
orchard. The hedge was high and thick, tall trees formed a complete
barrier between the grounds and the high road, no strangers or passersby
could be seen. Miss Lyster had chosen her time well. She knew that in
the lady superintendent's absence the servants would hold high revels;
there was no fear of interruption.

In after life Marion Arleigh remembered every detail of that evening. It
was May then, and the hedge was white with hawthorn; there was a gleam
of gold from the laburnums, and the scent of the lilacs filled the air;
the apple trees were all in blossom, the birds were singing, the sun
shining, warmth and fragrance and beauty lay all around her.

Far down the orchard, standing sketching a picturesque old tree, was the
artist, Allan Lyster. He looked up as the sound of light footsteps
rustled in the grass. When he saw who was coming he flung down his
pencils and advanced, hat in hand.

There was something graceful and poetical, after all, in the way in
which he went up to Miss Arleigh and knelt lightly on one knee.

"I would kiss the hem of your robe if I dared," he said. "How am I to