Ae ee ee SS

THE PANELLED HOUSE.

He walked up and down in the gathering dark-
ness, kicking the dry leaves to right and left as
they touched him, nursing his foolish anger and
suspicion. When dinner-time arrived, and he came
in, not a word could be extracted from him: and

| finally he retreated to his room, having added
| nothing to the conversation or the pleasantness of
the Manor. He was in a very different mood from
that which had held him the night before. No
musings over “Elaine”—no tender thoughts of
Winny. He was standing beside his window, when
he heard a low, peculiar whistle outside. He
eaught up his hat, and hastily descended from his

window: the way was easy, for his window opened |

upon a low sloping roof which led to within four

which had been built and added to the Manor at
various times. Once arrived at the bottom, he like-
wise gave an answering whistle, and his mysterious
visitor and he soon met with a laugh. ~

“Come after you myself, you see, you renegade.
I couldn’t stand two nights alone, one after the
other. Ah, Armyn! I know well enough what
they have been after with you—the old story, isn’t
it? I should not wonder if they made that pretty
little Miss Williams lecture you on the subject—
confess now !”

Escott was silent. Mr. Algernon Smith for once
had guessed the truth—save that no one but her
own heart had impelled Winny to speak on the
subject.

“JT tell you what, old fellow, I can’t stand this.
It’s all very well for you, with your heaps of
| friends, and good name, and all, to give up a poor
devil like me because a prim little girl tells you
you ought: but all I can say is, that if you treat
me in such a rascally way—you, that Pve looked
on as my friend ever since that Westshire match—
I shall be very near cutting my throat. There.”

Escott was touched. “Im not going to give
you up, Algernon. I'll come and sit with you
to-night to prove it, if you like.”

“Do, my dear fellow. I’ve got a new lot of
Chartreuse down that I want you to help me try.”
And the two walked off together down the drip-
ping glades of the wood, till they vanished from
sight in the shimmering moonlight.

Winny’s window was the only one which looked
out over the same corner of the house as Escott’s.
She did not see him go, but as she was lying
awake, long past midnight—for she was not a good
sleeper at any time—she heard footsteps on the
roof. Burglars, of course, were her first thought,
but the little thing had plenty of courage, and in-
stead of hiding her*head under the bed-clothes, as
some young ladies in her place might have done,
she sprang up and looked out of the window. Yes
—there was the burglar; and she was just about

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263

to run away to call for help when another look
made her stop. It was Escott, she could see his
face in the moonlight; but he seemed more un-
certain in his proceedings than was at all necessary
from the clear moonshine. She could hear him
talking to himself in a thick voice, not like his
own, and once or twice he sat down helplessly on
the wet tiles, and seemed inclined to stay there.
Winny had never seen any one the worse for liquor
before, except here and there a drunken man in the
street; and at first she thought that he was ill.
But the terrible certainty came over her before
long: and when the suspense was over, and Escott
had succeeded in finding his way back to his own

room, poor little Winny crept back to her bed, and
feet of the ground, part of the kitchen offices,

lay sobbing there for hours, in an intensity of
misery she had never known before.

Some girls might have tried to make the best of
it, and told themselves that many men had taken
too much once in their lives, and yet had been
none the worse for it afterwards. Winny could
not comfort herself in this way. She loved Escott
so dearly that when she saw him thus. degraded
she felt as though it was herself who had been to
blame. ‘I would bear the shame and the punish-
ment willingly if I could only save him from the
sin,” she sobbed to her wet pillow. The blind
was up, and the moonlight shone into the room—
cruel and cold it seemed to Winny, as she lay
shivering and sobbing in her little white bed. It
seemed to her such a hopeless sorrow, this one of
hers ; what could there be in earth or heaven to
comfort her, if Escott was wicked? Doubtless
there was a world of peace, and righteousness, and
rest; but what had she to do with it if Escott was
shut out? Winny could only lie and sob, and
pray inarticulate prayers, until she fell asleep at
last from sheer exhaustion.

She came down to breakfast the next morning
looking wan and heavy-eyed, and confessed—not
untruly—to a bad head-ache. They were all very
kind to her; Flora brought her sal-volatile, Mrs.
Escott brought her silver vinaigrette, and Colonel
Armyn insisted, in a fatherly manner, that she
should not overtire herself with work, as he was
sure she had done yesterday. Escott was not
down, and Winny was rather relieved ; the remem-
brance of last night was so dreadful to her that it
was a relief to her to think of any thing else if she
could.

However, she refused to be idle, and after break-
fast she made Flora set to work again at the
decorations for the wedding. She was rather
silent during the first part of the morning, until
the monotony of their own company was relieved by
the appearance of Mr. Burnet, who came this time
with a box of dried heliochrys,—which he thought
might help in their labours. He did not say that,