open window, and bees buzzing about them from the outer world.

A young woman in deep widow's weeds rises as he enters, and makes
him one of those profound courtesies which were considered appropriate
for the fair sex to display to those in rank and honour in the good
old days when George was king, Surely a young woman still, despite
the fifteen years that have passed, with a young supple figure
and a pleasant unlined face. Eighteen years and fifteen only make
thirty-three, and one can scarcely believe in time's inroads looking
upon Sophie Pemberthy. The man cannot. He is surprised and he looks
at her through tears in his dark eyes.

"You asked to see Mr. Reuben Pemberthy," she says, sadly. "You did
not know that--"

"No, I did not know," he says, a little huskily; "I am a stranger
to these parts; I have been long abroad."

"May I inquire the nature of your errand, Sir Richard?" she asks,
in a low voice. "Though I am afraid I cannot be of any service as
regards any business of the farm."

"How is that?" he asks, steadily keeping gaze upon her.

"The farm passes to Mr. Pemberthy's cousin in a few days' time."

"Indeed! Then you--"

He pauses half-way for a reply, but it is long in coming. Only the
humming of the bees disturbs the silence of the room.