"You're the best pal I ever had, Peter," she said unsteadily, "and
you've given all your life to us Cravens."

The sudden gripping of his hands was painful, then he bent his head and
unexpectedly put his lips to the fingers he held so closely.

"I'm always here--when you want me," he said huskily, and was gone.

Miss Craven stood still looking after him with a curious smile.

"Thank God for Peter," she said fervently, and went back to her station
by the window. It was considerably darker than before, but for some
distance the double avenue leading to the stables was visible. As she
watched, playing absently with the blind-cord, her mind dwelt on the
long connection between Peter Peters and her family. Thirty years--the
best of his life. And in exchange sorrow and an undying memory. The
woman he loved had chosen not him but handsome inconsequent Barry Craven
and, for her choice, had reaped misery and loneliness. And because he
had known that inevitably a day would come when she would need
assistance and support he had sunk his own feelings and retained his
post. Her brief happiness had been hard to watch--the subsequent long
years of her desertion a protracted torture. He had raged at his own
helplessness. And ignorant of his love and the motive that kept him at
Craven Towers she had come to lean on him and refer all to him. But for
his care the Craven properties would have been ruined, and the Craven
interests neglected beyond repair.

For some time before her sister-in-law's death Miss Craven had known, as
only a woman can know, but now for the first time she had heard from his
lips a half-confession of the love that he had guarded jealously for