id="id00050">'Thank you, Sir!' he said, saluting. 'My wife was very nearly thrown off. That horse has been giving trouble all the way.'

'Must be content with what you can get, in war-time!' said the other smiling, as he raised his hat to the young woman he had befriended, whom he now saw plainly. 'And there are so few visitors at present in these parts that what horses there are don't get enough to do.'

The face turned upon him was so exquisite in line and colour that Sir William, suddenly struck, instead of retreating to his car, lingered while the soldier husband—a lieutenant, to judge from the stripes on his cuff,—collected a rather large amount of luggage from the top of the coach.

'You must have had a lovely drive along Windermere,' said Sir William politely. 'Let me carry that bag for you. You're stopping here?'

'Yes—' said Mrs. Sarratt, distractedly, watching to see that the luggage was all right. 'Oh, George, do take care of that parcel!'

'All right.'

But she had spoken too late. As her husband, having handed over two suit cases to Mrs. Weston's fourteen-year old boy, came towards her with a large brown paper parcel, the string of it slipped, Mrs. Sarratt gave a little cry, and but for her prompt rush to his assistance, its contents would have descended into the road. But through a gap in the paper various tin and china objects were disclosed.

'That's your "cooker," Nelly,' said her husband laughing. 'I told you it would bust the show!'

But her tiny, deft fingers rapidly repaired the damage, and re-tied the string while he assisted her. The coach drove off, and Sir William patiently held the bag. Then she insisted on carrying the parcel herself, and the lieutenant relieved Sir William.

'Awfully obliged to you!' he said gratefully. 'Good evening! We're stopping here for a bit' He pointed to the open door of the lodging-house, where Mrs. Weston and the boy were grappling with the luggage.

'May I ask—' Sir William's smile as he looked from one to the other expressed that loosening of conventions in which we have all lived since the war—'Are you home on leave, or—'

'I came home to be married,' said the young soldier, flushing slightly, while his eyes crossed those of the young girl beside him. 'I've got a week more.'

'You've been out some time?'

'Since last November. I got a scratch in the Ypres fight in April—oh, nothing—a small flesh wound—but they gave me a month's leave, and my medical board has only just passed me.'

'Lanchesters?' said Sir William, looking at his cap. The other nodded pleasantly.

'Well, I am sure I hope you'll have good weather here,' said Sir
William, stepping back, and once more raising his hat to the bride.
'And—if there was Anything I could do to help your stay—'

'Oh, thank you, Sir, but—'

The pair smiled again at each other. Sir William understood, and smiled too. A more engaging couple he thought he had never seen. The young man was not exactly handsome, but he had a pair of charming hazel eyes, a good-tempered mouth, and a really fine brow. He was tall too, and well proportioned, and looked the pick of physical fitness. 'Just the kind of splendid stuff we are sending out by the ship-load,' thought the elder man, with a pang of envy—'And the girl's lovely!'

She was at that moment bowing to him, as she followed her husband across the road. A thought occurred to Sir William, and he pursued her.

'I wonder—' he said diffidently—'if you care for boating—if you would like to boat on the lake—'

'Oh, but it isn't allowed!' She turned on him a pair of astonished eyes.

'Not in general. Ah, I see you know these parts already. But I happen to know the owner of the boathouse. Shall I get you leave?'

'Oh, that would be delightful!' she said, her face kindling with a child's joyousness. 'That is kind of you! Our name is Sarratt—my husband is Lieutenant Sarratt.'

—'Of the 21st Lanchesters? All right—I'll see to it!'

And he ran back to his car, while the young people disappeared into the little entrance hall of the lodging-house, and the door shut upon them.

Miss Farrell received her brother with gibes. Trust William for finding out a beauty! Who were they?

Farrell handed on his information as the car sped along the Keswick road.

'Going back in a week, is he?' said the convalescent officer beside him.
Then, bitterly—'lucky dog!'

Farrell looked at the speaker kindly.

'What—with a wife to leave?'

The boy, for he was little more, shrugged his shoulders. At that moment he knew no passion but the passion for the regiment and his men, to whom he couldn't get back, because his 'beastly constitution' wouldn't let him recover as quickly as other men did. What did women matter?—when the 'push' might be on, any day.

Cicely Farrell continued to chaff her brother, who took it placidly—fortified by a big cigar.

'And if she'd been plain, Willy, you'd never have so much as known she was there! Did you tell her you haunted these parts?'

He shook his head.

* * * * *

Meanwhile the bride and bridegroom had been met on the lodging-house stairs by the bride's sister, who allowed herself to be kissed by the bridegroom, and hugged by the bride. Her lack of effusion, however, made little impression on the newcomers. They were in that state of happiness which transfigures everything round it; they were delighted with the smallest things; with the little lodging-house sitting room, its windows open to the lake and river; with its muslin curtains, very clean and white, its duster-rose too, just outside the window; with Mrs. Weston, who in her friendly flurry had greeted the bride as 'Miss Nelly,' and was bustling to get the tea; even, indeed, with Bridget Cookson's few casual attentions to them. Mrs. Sarratt thought it 'dear' of Bridget to have come to meet them, and ordered tea for them, and put those delicious roses in her room—

'I didn't!' said Bridget, drily. 'That was Milly. It didn't occur to me.'

The bride looked a little checked. But then the tea came in, a real Westmorland meal, with its toasted bun, its jam, and its 'twist' of new bread; and Nelly Sarratt forgot everything but the pleasure of making her husband eat, of filling his cup for him, of looking sometimes through the window at that shining lake, beside which she and George would soon be roaming—for six long days. Yes, and nights too. For there was a moon rising, which would be at the full in two or three days. Imagination flew forward, as she leant dreamily back in her chair when the meal was over, her eyes on the landscape. They two alone—on that warm summer lake—drifting in the moonlight—heart against heart, cheek against cheek. A shiver ran through her, which was partly passion, partly a dull fear. But she banished fear. Nothing—nothing should spoil their week together.

'Darling!' said her husband, who had been watching her—'You're not very tired?' He slipped his hand round hers, and her fingers rested in his clasp, delighted to feel themselves so small, and his so strong. He had spoken to her in the low voice that was hers alone. She was jealous lest Bridget should have overheard it. But Bridget was at the other end of the room. How foolish it had been of her—just because she was so happy, and wanted to be nice to everybody!—to have asked