died young, too, and her daughter Barbara had come as a child to
Aylingford. She did not remember her father, who subsequently died in
the East Indies, leaving his child and a great fortune to the care of
Sir John.

So the Abbey and the woods which surrounded it had been Barbara's world
for eighteen years, for only once had she been to London before her
visit to Lady Bolsover. In a measure this second visit was unhappily
timed, for the death of King Charles had cast a gloom over the capital,
and the accession of his brother James caused considerable apprehension
in the country. Still, Barbara had created a certain sensation, and,
according to Lady Bolsover, would have made a great match had not Sir
John foolishly recalled her to the Abbey.

"She was just getting free from pastry and home-made wine, and my
brother must needs plunge her back into them," Lady Bolsover declared to
her friends, who were neither so numerous nor so distinguished now that
Barbara had left St. James's Square.

Sir John had welcomed his niece, but had given no reason for bringing
her home. She did not expect one. She had been away a long while; it was
natural she should be home again, and she was glad. There was no real
regret in her mind that she had left London; yet, somehow, life was
different, and although she had been home nearly a week there was
something which kept her from settling down into the old routine.

"Why is it? What is it? I wonder."

She was sitting on one of the stone seats cut in the wall of the
terrace, leaning back to look across the woods. The morning sun flooded