was. I hardly dare tell you how much I shall like this sketch.'

He was not quite sure whether she heard this latter sentence
before she went to the brook to wash her palette. She came back
rather flushed, but looking perfectly innocent and unconscious.
He was glad of it, for the speech had slipped from him
unawares--a rare thing in the case of a man who premeditated his
actions so much as Henry Lennox.

The aspect of home was all right and bright when they reached it.
The clouds on her mother's brow had cleared off under the
propitious influence of a brace of carp, most opportunely
presented by a neighbour. Mr. Hale had returned from his
morning's round, and was awaiting his visitor just outside the
wicket gate that led into the garden. He looked a complete
gentleman in his rather threadbare coat and well-worn hat.

Margaret was proud of her father; she had always a fresh and
tender pride in seeing how favourably he impressed every
stranger; still her quick eye sought over his face and found
there traces of some unusual disturbance, which was only put
aside, not cleared away.

Mr. Hale asked to look at their sketches.

'I think you have made the tints on the thatch too dark, have you
not?' as he returned Margaret's to her, and held out his hand for
Mr. Lennox's, which was withheld from him one moment, no more.

'No, papa! I don't think I have. The house-leek and stone-crop