eight iron shoes told her that Miss Wendover had returned.

She ran to the gate to welcome that kind friend, looking so fresh and
bright in her clean white gown that Aunt Betsy saw no sign of the past
struggle.

'Mr. Wendover is here,' she said, shyly, when Aunt Betsy had kissed her
and given her some brief account of the day's adventures. The rest of the
party had been deposited at The Knoll.

'Whom do you mean by Mr. Wendover, child?'

'Mr. Wendover of the Abbey. He is reading in the orchard.'

'Of course, I never saw him without a book in his hand. So he has
come back at last. I am very glad. He is a good fellow, a little too
reserved and self-contained, too fond of brooding over some beautiful
truism of Plato's when he ought to be thinking of deep drainage and a new
school-house; but a good fellow for all that, and always ready with his
cheque-book. Let us go and look for him.'

'You will find him in the orchard,' said Ida. 'I will go and hurry on the
tea. You must want some tea after your dusty drive.'

'Dusty!' exclaimed Miss Wendover; 'we are positively smothered. Yes. I am
dying for my tea; but I must see this nephew of mine first.'

Ida went back to the drawing-room, where everything was perfectly ready,
as she knew very well beforehand; but she shrank with a sickly dread from
any further acquaintance with the master of Wendover Abbey. She hoped