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Her face clouded at mention of her aunt and Hoodie and the second bell rang out. "Only three more minutes," called a steward close to Marcella's side. "All for the shore ready, please!" "You'll be looking after Aunt Janet, doctor?" she said gravely. "And Wullie? He'll miss me if you'd make it possible to call and have a few words with him at the hut when you're passing."

To Marcella's left, far below the high terrace of the hotel, the green and azure of the Salernian gulf shone and danced in the sun, to her right a wood of oak and arbutus stretched up into a purple cliff a wood starred above with gold and scarlet berries, and below with cyclamen and narcissus.

Professor Kraill read Marcella's letter and thought she was probably a rather emotional, rather intense and rather original lion-hunter. But she had the redeeming feature of living in the Bush, thirty miles from anywhere. Conceivably, thirty miles from anywhere, there would be no festivities. He tossed up between the City and the Bush, and the Bush won.

French and I could arrange everything. "Believe me, "Yours most sincerely, "You will find it difficult, my dear, to write a snub in answer to that letter," said Mrs. Boyce, drily, as Marcella laid it down. Marcella's face was, indeed, crimson with perplexity and feeling. "Well, we can think it over," she said as she went away. Mrs. Boyce pondered the matter a good deal when she was left alone.

His wife's sarcastic freedom of manner was less apparent; and he was obviously less in awe of her. Meanwhile he was as sore as ever towards the Raeburns, and no more inclined to take any particular pleasure in Marcella's prospects, or to make himself agreeable towards his future son-in-law. He and Mrs.

Boyce, remembering a child in white frock and baby shoes "if you wished to make her want anything, you had to take it away from her." Meanwhile the mere thought that matters might even yet so settle themselves drew from the mother a long breath of relief. She had spent an all but sleepless night, tormented by Marcella's claim upon her.

And it pleased their mother's grim humour to creep about the battlefield in the darkness until she found banners and trappings of the Southrons, whom she hated, to act as birth-clothes for her son and daughter when she carried them back mile after mile to brooding Lashnagar. It was the boy who was Marcella's ancestor. Lashnagar was her nursery. On Lashnagar she had seen queer things.

Then Letty found a cloak that had been sent for being drawn round her shoulders, and was coaxed to put on her hat. In another minute she was in the Maxwells' brougham, with her hand clasped in Marcella's. "They will want me to sit up," she said, dashing an irrelevant tear from her eyes, as they drove away. "I am so tired and I hate illness!" "Very likely they won't let you see her to-night.

The two brothers, both of them skilful and artistic designers in different lines, and hard at work all day, were members of a rising Socialist society, and spent their evenings almost entirely on various forms of social effort and Socialist propaganda. They seemed to Marcella's young eyes absolutely sincere and quite unworldly.

"Don't don't repulse me," she said, with trembling lips, and suddenly Letty yielded. She found herself sobbing in Lady Maxwell's embrace, while all the healing, all the remorse, all the comfort that self-abandonment and pity can pour out on such a plight as hers, descended upon her from Marcella's clinging touch, her hurried, fragmentary words.