CHAPTER IX.

WHEN, late at night, the party reached Kingcombe, it was resolved that the Harpers should remain there until morning. Agatha, worn out with bodily fatigue and the great tension of her mind during so many hours, laid her head down on her pillow, closed her aching eyes, and never opened them till near upon broad noon. Then she found breakfast was long over in the early house of the Dugdales, and that Nathanael had been gone out some hours.

"He would not let me come and wake you-he said you slept so heavily and looked so tired. Certainly, he is the very kindest

husband! Who ever would have believed that stiff, cold, disagreeable Nathanael, who came home from America some months ago, puzzling us all, would have turned out so well. It is your ladyship's doing, I suppose."

So ran on Mrs. Dugdale, nor noticed how beneath her words her sister-in-law writhed, as though they had been sharp swords. Harrie was not a penetrating woman; Agatha had already discerned that, and thought, with a self-contemning, bitter smile, that it was well they were coming to live at Kingcombe, and that Mrs. Dugdale would be a very safe and amusing companion.

"Now, what is to be done to-day?" said she, as she ate the breakfast which Harrie brought her, and looked round the strange room, which made her feel more bewildered than ever. So many phases, so many lives did she seem to have passed through since she was married.

"The first thing to be done, my dear, is to

take you back to Kingcombe Holm, to do respectful to your papa-in-law. Very punctilious is the Squire. If Nathanael had not ridden over there at some unearthly hour this morning, he never would have forgiven your not returning at night—the last night too, for I see your husband is determined to be settled at the cottage this evening."

"Ah, that is well." Agatha breathed more freely. She was so glad to hide herself under any roof that was her own. And perhaps a vague thought crept up, that some time -not for days yet, but when she could bend her pride to soften him-when they were living quite alone together, during the quiet walks, the long still evenings, just like honeymoon-season-all might be gradually explained, nay, healed, between her and her husband. She was on the whole not sorry to go "home."

"I see you two are quite agreed," laughed

Harrie. "Marvellous union, Mrs. Locke Harper. You'll be really a pattern couple soon, and throw Duke and me cruelly in the shade. Now, dress like lightning, and I'll drive you and the children over to grandpapa's. Most likely we'll meet Pa and Nathanael somewhere about the town."

But, with the general vagueness of the Dugdale habits, that meeting did not arrive, nor was Mr. Harper anywhere to be seen.

"I dare say he is at the cottage, where I was bid not to take you upon any account. Charming little mysteries, I suppose, attendant on bringing home the bride. Very nice. Heigh-ho! I remember how happy I was when my poor dear Duke brought me home for the first time!"

"Where was that?" They were dashing over the moors, Agatha sitting rather silent, and Harrie's tongue galloping as fast as Dunce, her steed. Little Brian was perched on his

mother's knee, holding the reins-a baby Phaeton, though with small danger of setting the world on fire-at least just yet.

"Where was it, my dear? Why, to the same old house we live in, empty and gloomy then, though it's full enough now. And I had been married (hold your tongues, Fred and Gus! you can't have the whip, simpletons!) -married only three weeks, and it was queer coming back to my native place; and my father was rather cross that I had married Duke at all, and I was foolish enough to cry."

Here Harrie laughed, and gave Dunce a lash that quite discomposed his pony faculties, and made Brian scream with delight. "And what did your husband say ?"

"Say? Nothing! He never speaks when he's vexed or hurt; only, a little while afterwards, he came beside me, and said something about my being such a young girl, so gayhearted and pretty-(bah!-though I was