I laid down my book and fell into a waking dream; my thoughts seemed to take bird-flights into all sorts of strange places; the summer sounds and scents seemed to lull me into infinite content.  Now I heard a drowsy cluck-cluck from the poultry-yard,—­Dame Partlet remonstrating with her lord; then a faint moo from the field where pretty brown-eyed Daisy was chewing the cud; down below they were singing in the little dissenting chapel; sweet shrill voices reached me every now and then.  I could hear Nathaniel chanting in a deep bass, as he worked in the back-yard, ’All people that on earth do dwell,’—­the dear homely Old Hundredth.  It was no wonder that a light, very light, footstep on the gravel outside did not rouse me.  The door behind me opened, and Tinker turned his head lazily, and his tail began to flop heavier against the floor.  The next moment two soft arms were round my neck.

‘Gladys,—­oh, Gladys!’ and for the moment I could say no more, in my delight and surprise at seeing the dear beautiful face again.

‘I wanted to surprise you, Ursula dear,’ she said, laughing and kissing me.  ’How still and quiet you and Tinker were!  I believe you were both asleep.  When I heard you were coming home I planned with Lady Betty that I would creep down to the cottage and take you unawares.  I made Mrs. Barton promise not to betray me.’

‘When did you come back?’ I asked, bewildered.  ’Why did you not write and tell me you were coming?’

’Oh, it was decided all in a hurry.  The Maberleys heard that their daughter, Mrs. Egerton, would arrive in England this week, a whole month before they expected her, so they have gone down to Southampton, and left me to find my way home alone.  I arrived last night, much to Giles’s astonishment.  You know Dora is their only surviving child, and she has been in India the last five years.  She is bringing her two boys home.’

‘Last night.  Then you did not get my letter?’

’No; but it will follow me.  How good you have been to write so often, Ursula!  I have quite lived on your letters.’

‘Let me see how you look,’ was my answer to this; and indeed I thought she had never looked more beautiful.  There was a lovely colour in her face, and she seemed bright and animated, though I could not deny that she was still very thin.

‘You have not grown fatter,’ I went on, pretending to grumble; ’you are still too transparent, in my opinion; but Jill’s snow-maiden has a little life in her.’

‘Does Jill call me that?’ she returned, in some surprise.  ’Oh, I am quite well:  even Giles says so.  He declares he is glad to have me back, and poor little Lady Betty quite cried with joy.  It was nice, after all, coming home.’

‘I am so glad to hear you say that.’

’Etta is away, you know:  that makes the difference.  Gladwyn never seemed so homelike before.  By the bye, Ursula, Giles has sent you a message; he—­no, we all three, want you to spend a long evening with us to-morrow.  He has been called away to Brighton, and will not be back until mid-day; but we all three agreed that it would be so nice if you came early in the afternoon, and we would have tea in the little oak avenue.  Etta never cares about these al fresco meals, she is so afraid of spiders and caterpillars; but Lady Betty and I delight in it.’