a school-treat-her first picnic! Her first English outdoor entertainment!

Jem asked, rather hesitatingly, how she liked England, and she replied so well that she never intended to leave it.

"I shall take care of Aunt Emma, when you marry and go away," she daringly replied. "Oh, I don't mean that I shall oust you, because, of course, you would live quite near. But you wouldn't want to leave And your wife wouldn't care to

her alone, would you?
be a lodger, would she?"

"I haven't asked her yet,” said Jem, a reply which Vernon seemed to find humorous.

"Who is the lady cyclist coming to meet us?" she cried in a minute.

"It looks like Selma," said Jem.

Selma it was, and Vernon was much pleased. She flashed up like a whirlwind, circled round in the road behind them, and joined their line, riding in between them.

"Oh, I am so glad I've met you, I've waited more than half-an-hour on this beastly road," she said, “and I shall be late for dinner, and Frampie will storm. But I felt I had to tell you both how angry I was yesterday, and how perfectly rotten it was for Miles not to let me ride with you. I can't think what he has got into his head, but he will have to learn that I am going to stick to my friends, and not behave like a cad to please his silly ideas. I am sure he need not be so proper, for he goes pretty well every day to see Mrs. Trent, so very soon people will talk about him a great deal more than they do about me."

"We were very disappointed that you could not

come," said Vernon warmly. She showed the utmost cordiality to the young girl, hoping that Jem was duly grateful for her help. She kept tossing the talk over to those two, and Selma laughed and sparkled; and as they rode to the lower gate of Carronlea-the gate at the foot of the hill,—said she never had enjoyed a ride so much before.

"You'll see her home, of course," said Vernon to Jem.

"Of course," he replied, and Selma and he cycled off together, leaving Vernon to push her machine up the hill, with a heart full of warring ideas. Her brain still rang with the story she had heard that afternoonthe record of Evelyn's martyrdom. Next to that, her own and Lionel's future throbbed and palpitated: and floating over all was her sympathy for Jem and Selma. Had Miles discovered that they loved each other, and did he wish to discourage the match? If so, why? She could form no conjecture.

CHAPTER XXI

ON THE CASTLE WALL

"There the castle stood up black with the red sun at its back, Like a sullen smouldering pyre with a top that flickers fire When the wind is on its track."

The Rhyme of the Duchess May.

FOR a little space all about the gray ruin known as Lancelot's Tower, the beech forest gave way in favor of a hazel coppice, broken here and there by open glades, and in early spring a famous primrosing pre

serve.

The tower was not, as used to be supposed, the sole remains of an extensive castle. Probably it had never been more than an outpost, a keep surrounded by a double fosse, and used only by a small garrison kept there to intimidate the valley below.

As keeps go, it was a spacious one. The history of it had never been written, and could not be ascertained. Lancelot was a purely legendary personage, confused by some with the great Knight of the Round Table. But one thing was certain-namely that the keep had been used as a habitation long after its original purpose had ceased to exist: for somebody had put in a stone stairway, running round two sides of it, and hanging now, perilously in the air as it approached the highest remaining portion of the broken wall.

The newel, in the thickness of the wall, which had originally been the sole method of ascent, was still perfect, except at the top, where its protecting turret

had been broken away. But it was up the later and wider stair that the phantom steed was said to labor, his hoofs by some declared to strike sparks from the stone, his panting breath and stumbling tread plainly to be heard, as also the low, encouraging tones of his crazed master, urging him upward.

Within the walls the ground was dank and the grass long, plentifully bespread with the stinging-nettle, which lingers for centuries to mark the spot of any human habitation with its noxious presence.

The party therefore picnicked outside on the mossy turf among the hazel bushes beyond which the line of the Quarrymoor Hills stood boldly out against the faint dreamy blue of the June sky.

Lady Bunbury had, at the urgent desire of Mrs. Bardsley, brought not only Adelaide, but a whole crowd of younger Buns, who were greatly enjoying the festivity. The fine day had tempted even Mr. and Mrs. Turpin, who, however, brought their own provisions with them, and spent a most enjoyable time, inducing Sophia Tarlton to sample their new patent foods. Father Conroy was also there, but with these exceptions the whole party was young, and it was very merry.

Evelyn Morrison took her pleasure like a lighthearted child, infecting every one else with her own gayety. To Vernon, still vibrating with the thrill of yesterday's poignant history, her mirth seemed miraculous: as in all probability it really was.

Mr. Turpin maintained, in presence of Father Conroy, an attitude of nervous retirement. He seemed afraid to talk. Father Conroy, on the contrary, attached himself to the small Buns, asked riddles, cracked

jokes, and told stories, till the audience consisted of all the party, with the chilly exceptions of Lady Bun, Sophia, and the two Turpins.

The intimacy between him and Jem struck Vernon like a revelation. He used sometimes his Christian name, and sometimes called him "my boy," which seemed a curious title to apply to so large and mature a person.

His evident affection and confidence inspired Mrs. Bardsley with a new hope. Surely, surely, he would not make so much of Jem, had he known the discreditable rumor to be true. There was no doubt of Miles's mistrust. He held aloof from the merry group as long as he could: but finally, the shouts of laughter were too much for his most uncharacteristic stiffness, and it melted for the time in the fast-flowing current of fun and nonsense.

Instigated by Father Conroy, they played a game called "Soul-searching," which consisted of the asking of questions, all of which the players pledged themselves beforehand to answer to the best of their ability. One of these was the following:

"If you saw a rhinoceros asleep in your garden, what would you do?"

To this amazing interrogation, Mrs. Bardsley's reply was: "I should on no account disturb it.” " Wire to Jamrack's to send a van," was Miles's suggestion. "Write to the Spectator of course," said Evelyn Morrison. "Let the house," hazarded Adelaide Noble, seemingly rather alarmed at the prospect. "Take the pledge," opined Jem, lying in his favorite attitude, digging holes in the turf.

When the small Buns tumbled to the true inward