’I don’t know what he meant by this scene.  I have no idea whether he was acting, or lost his head, or, in fact, why or how it occurred; but I am glad, darling, that, unlike myself, I was calm, and that a quarrel has not been forced upon me.’

When our turn came and we were summoned to the presence, Uncle Silas was quite as usual; but Cousin Monica’s heightened colour, and the flash of her eyes, showed plainly that something exciting and angry had occurred.

Uncle Silas commented in his own vein upon the effect of Bartram air and liberty, all he had to offer; and called on me to say how I liked them.  And then he called Milly to him, kissed her tenderly, smiled sadly upon her, and turning to Cousin Monica, said—­

’This is my daughter Milly—­oh! she has been presented to you down-stairs, has she?  You have, no doubt, been interested by her.  As I told her cousin Maud, though I am not yet quite a Sir Tunbelly Clumsy, she is a very finished Miss Hoyden.  Are not you, my poor Milly?  You owe your distinction, my dear, to that line of circumvallation which has, ever since your birth, intercepted all civilisation on its way to Bartram.  You are much obliged, Milly, to everybody who, whether naturally or un-naturally, turned a sod in that invisible, but impenetrable, work.  For your accomplishments—­rather singular than fashionable—­you are indebted, in part, to your cousin, Lady Knollys.  Is not she, Monica? Thank her, Milly.’

‘This is your truce, Silas,’ said Lady Knollys, with a quiet sharpness.  ’I think, Silas Ruthyn, you want to provoke me to speak in a way before these young creatures which we should all regret.’

’So my badinage excites your temper, Monnie.  Think how you would feel, then, if I had found you by the highway side, mangled by robbers, and set my foot upon your throat, and spat in your face.  But—­stop this.  Why have I said this? simply to emphasize my forgiveness.  See, girls, Lady Knollys and I, cousins long estranged, forget and forgive the past, and join hands over its buried injuries.’

‘Well, be it so; only let us have done with ironies and covert taunts.’

And with these words their hands were joined; and Uncle Silas, after he had released hers, patted and fondled it with his, laughing icily and very low all the time.

‘I wish so much, dear Monica,’ he said, when this piece of silent by-play was over, ’that I could ask you to stay to-night; but absolutely I have not a bed to offer, and even if I had, I fear my suit would hardly prevail.’

Then came Lady Knollys’ invitation for Milly and me.  He was very much obliged; he smiled over it a great deal, meditating.  I thought he was puzzled; and amid his smiles, his wild eyes scanned Cousin Monica’s frank face once or twice suspiciously.

There was a difficulty—­an undefined difficulty—­about letting us go that day; but on a future one—­soon—­very soon—­he would be most happy.