THE , grim and silent as usual, opened the door. Her look and manner alone were sufficient to alarm Priscilla, and send her home with errand .  
“Is—is Mr. Winter at home?” she asked.
 
“Yes, he is,” answered the woman. She was so absorbed in staring at Priscilla, and studying every detail of her face and figure and clothing, one could have been excused for thinking she had not really taken in what was said to her. Under her rude stare and forbidding manner, a faint pink flush came into Priscilla’s pale cheeks.
 
“Is Mr. Winter at home, please?” repeated Priscilla; adding, as firmly as she could, “I want to see him.”
 
“Then you can’t,” answered the housekeeper rudely; “he don’t see visitors. What’s your name?”
 
“I think Mr. Winter would see me,” said Priscilla eagerly. The fear that after all she might not be able to reach him with her appeal made her desperate. She had never failure of that kind. “My name is Carlyon, but I don’t suppose Mr. Winter would know it. I want very much indeed to see him, though. It is most important.”
 
“What for? What can a little girl like you want to be troubling a gentleman like Mr. Winter for?” she asked roughly. “If you’re come begging for clubs or charities or things, I can tell you at once, it isn’t any good, and you can run away as quick as you come.”
 
“But I am not begging,” said Priscilla emphatically—“not for money.”
 
“Well, we haven’t got any flowers or fruit to give away. I can tell ’ee that too. So you may as well run ’long home to where you come from.”
 
“You shouldn’t speak like that,” said Priscilla indignantly; “you shouldn’t be rude.” She was hurt and insulted, and she felt that this woman would prevent her seeing her master if she possibly could. “I quite civilly to you, and I’ve come on important business, and I am sure Mr. Winter would see me if he knew I wanted him. But it doesn’t matter; I will write to him,” and she turned away with great dignity, but only just in time to prevent the woman from seeing the tears that would well up in her eyes.
 
Very angry indeed, Mrs. Tucker shut the door with a bang, while Priscilla walked down the path with great dignity, her head held high, but with, oh! such an aching heart, such despair and disappointment; and then, suddenly, a gentleman appeared at her side and was speaking to her quite .
 
“What is the matter?” he asked, not ungently; “you are in trouble? Can I do anything for you?”
 
Just for a second he had thought this must be his little culprit of a day or two since, but when he looked again he saw that the strange visitor was taller and older, and her face, though like that other one, was paler, and thinner, and graver.
 
For a moment Priscilla could not control the quivering of her lips, or choke back the tears which had forced their way up.
 
“I wanted to see Mr. Winter,” she . “I want very much to see him, and the woman was so rude, she wouldn’t even ask him if he would see me.”
 
“I know; I heard her,” said the stranger sternly. “But it is all right. I am Mr. Winter. What do you want with me?”
 
And then when she was face to face with him, with the , the mysterious who was going to do all sorts of unkind things to Loveday and Aaron, Priscilla could not for a moment think of anything she wanted to say.
 
“Please,” she , wondering where she could begin, “I have come to—to—to ask you to forgive my little sister, Loveday Carlyon. I know she was , but she didn’t mean to be—she didn’t, really; she wanted to be kind to you, because they said—because—oh, because she thought you were sad and lonely, and she—and she—oh! you won’t have her punished very , will you, or sent to ? Oh, please, don’t! She will never, never do such a thing again, I know!”
 
“Um! She won’t, won’t she?”
 
“Oh no!” said Priscilla eagerly; “never! She really did think it was the piskies that put the straw there to annoy you——”
 
“Nonsense!” said Mr. Winter sharply. Then he added, more gently: “The idea of any one believing such rubbish in these days!”
 
“Loveday does,” said Priscilla earnestly—“she does, really—and—and I want her to go on believing. I did once, and it was, oh! ever so much nicer than now when I know it isn’t any use to. I wish I’d never been told there aren’t any fairies, really. When you think there are, it seems as if such lots of beautiful things may happen, you never know what, and—and it always seems as if they were going to.”
 
“Ay, ay, little girl,” said Mr. Winter, looking down at her thoughtfully, “it is very sad when folk don’t leave us fairies, or—or anything else to believe in. But they won’t.”
 
Priscilla did not know what reply to make to this, so she made none. After a pause Mr. Winter looked at her again.
 
“You look pale and tired,” he said, trying still to speak coldly, but not succeeding very well. “You don’t look as strong as that mischievous sister of yours.”
 
“I have been ill,” said Priscilla, and she told him of the accident with the swing, and throwing back her cloak to show him her arm still in its , she saw, and for the first time remembered, her hat. For a moment a hot blush dyed her face, and then she burst into a of laughter. At the sound of it Mr. Winter started, then grew even paler than he had been. No sound of childish laughter had been heard in that place since the day his boy left him to start on his fatal expedition.
 
“I meant to have put it on,” she explained, “before I reached your gate; I thought it was more—more right to have on a hat when one paid a call. I only put on my cloak because I was afraid my dress would show as I came up the cliff, and I was afraid some one would see me and stop me.”
 
Mr. Winter had recovered himself by this time, and seeing that she could but badly manage with one hand to slip back the and put on her hat, he actually helped her. At the touch of the soft curls, at the fran............