was not likely to be home till afternoon tea. Bessie was left in charge
of the younger members of the household, and was further deeply engaged
in an elaborate piece of ecclesiastical embroidery, all crimson and gold,
and peacock floss, which she hoped to finish before All Saints' Day.

Old Mrs. Rowse, the gatekeeper, was delighted to see Miss Palliser. The
young lady was a frequent visitor, for the old woman was entitled to
particular attention as a sufferer from chronic rheumatism, unable to
do more than just crawl into her little patch of garden, or to the
grass-plat before her door on a sunny afternoon. Her days were spent, for
the most part, in an arm-chair in front of the neat little grate, where a
handful of fire burnt, winter and summer, diffusing a turfy odour.

Ida liked to hear the old woman talk of the past. She had been a bright
young girl, under-nurse when the old squire was born; and now the squire
had been lying at rest in the family vault for nigh upon fifteen years,
and here she was still, without kith or kin, or a friend in the world
except the Wendovers.

She liked to hold forth upon the remarkable events of her life--from her
birth in a labourer's cottage, about half a mile from the Abbey, to the
last time she had been able to walk as far as the parish church, now five
years ago. She was cheerful, yet made the most of her afflictions, and
seemed to think that chronic rheumatism of her particular type was a
social distinction. She was also proud of her advanced age, and had hopes
of living into the nineties, and having her death recorded in the county
papers.

That romantic feeling about the Abbey, which had taken possession of
Ida's mind on her first visit, had hardly been lessened by familiarity