"Piers!" she said in distress.

He was silent for a s.p.a.ce, then slowly raised himself. She had a sense of shock at sight of his face. It looked haggard and grey, as if a withering hand had touched him and shorn away his youth.

"Avery,--oh, Avery," he said, "I wish I were a better man!"

It was a cry wrung from his soul--the hungry cry which she had longed to hear, and it sent a great joy through her even though it wrung her own soul also.

She bent to him swiftly. "Dearest, we all feel that sometimes. And I think it is the Hand of G.o.d upon us, opening our eyes."

He did not answer or make any response to her words. Only as he clasped her to him, she heard him sigh. And she knew that, strive as he might to silence that soul-craving with earthly things, it would beat on unsatisfied through all. She came nearer to understanding him that night that ever before.

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST GUEST

"I am greatly honoured to be your first guest," said Crowther.

"The honour is ours to get you," Avery declared. She sat on the terrace whither she had conducted him, and smiled at him across the tea-table with eyes of shining friendship.

Crowther smiled back, thinking to himself how pleasant a picture she made. She was dressed in white, and her face was flushed and happy, even girlish in its animation. There was a ring of laughter in her voice when she talked that was very good to hear. She had herself just brought him from the station in Piers' little two-seater, and her obvious pleasure at meeting him still hung about her, making her very fair to see.

"Piers is so busy just now," she told him. "He sent all sorts of messages. He had to go over to Wardenhurst to see Colonel Rose. The M.P.

for this division retired at the end of the Session, and Piers is to stand for the const.i.tuency. They talk of having the election in October."

"Will he get in?" asked Crowther, still watching her with friendly appreciation in his eyes.

"Oh, I don't know. I expect so. He gets most things that he sets his heart on. His grandfather--you knew Sir Beverley?--was so anxious that he should enter Parliament."

"Yes, I knew Sir Beverley," said Crowther. "He thought the world of Piers."

"And Piers of him," said Avery.

"Ah! Was it a great blow to him when the old man died?"

"A very great blow," she answered soberly. "That was the main reason for our marrying so suddenly. The poor boy was so lonely I couldn't bear to think of him by himself in this great house."

"He was very lucky to get you," said Crowther gravely.

She smiled. "I was lucky too. Don't you think so? I never in my wildest dreams pictured such a home as this for myself."

A great magnolia climbed the house behind her with creamy flowers that shed their lemon fragrance all about them. Crowther compared her in his own mind to the wonderful blossoms. She was so sweet, so pure, yet also in a fashion so splendid.

"I think it is a very suitable setting for you, Lady Evesham!" he said.

She made a quick, impulsive movement towards him. "Do call me Avery!" she said.

"Thank you," he answered, with a smile. "It certainly seems more natural.

How long have you been in this home of yours, may I ask?"

"Only a fortnight," she said, laughing. "Our honeymoon took ten weeks.

Piers wanted to make it ten years; but the harvest was coming on, and I knew he ought to come back and see what was happening. And then Mr.

Ferrars resigned his seat, and it became imperative. But isn't it a beautiful place?" she ended. "I felt overwhelmed by the magnificence of it at first, but I am getting used to it now."

"A glorious place," agreed Crowther. "Piers must be very proud of it.

Have you begun to have many visitors yet?"

She shook her head. "No, not many. Nearly all the big people have gone to Scotland. Piers says they will come later, but I shall not mind them so much then. I shall feel less like an interloper by that time."

"I don't know why you should feel like that," said Crowther. Avery smiled. "Well, all the little people think that I set out to catch Piers for his money and his t.i.tle."

"Does what the little people think have any weight with you?"

asked Crowther.

She flushed faintly under the kindly directness of his gaze. "Not really, I suppose. But one can't quite shake off the feeling of it. There is the Vicar for instance. He has never liked me. He congratulates me almost every time we meet."

"Evidently a cad," commented Crowther in his quiet way.

Avery laughed a little. She had always liked this man's plain speech. "He is not the only one," she said.

"But you have friends--real friends--also?" he questioned.

"Oh yes; indeed! The Vicarage children and their mother are the greatest friends I have." Avery spoke with warmth. "The children are having tea down in one of the cornfields now. We must go and see them presently. You are fond of children, I know."

"I sort of love them," said Crowther with his slow, kind smile. "Ah, Piers, my lad, are you trying to steal a march on us? Did you think I didn't know?"

He spoke without raising his voice. Avery turned sharply to see her husband standing on the steps of a room above them. One glimpse she had of Piers' face ere he descended and joined them, and an odd feeling of dismay smote her. For that one fleeting moment there seemed, to be something of the cornered beast in his aspect.

But as he came straight down to Crowther and wrung his hand, his dark face was smiling a welcome. He was in riding-dress, and looked very handsome and young.

"How did you know it was I? Awfully pleased to see you! Sorry I couldn't get back sooner. I've been riding like the devil. Avery explained, did she?" He threw himself into a chair, and tossed an envelope into her lap.

"An invitation to Ina Rose's wedding on the twenty-third. That's the week after next. They are sorry they can't manage to call before, hope you'll understand and go. I said you should do both."

"Thank you, Piers." Avery laid the envelope aside unopened. She did not feel that he was being very cordial to Crowther. "I am not sure that I shall go."

"Oh yes, you will," he rejoined quickly. "You must. It's an order, see?"

His dark eyes laughed at her, but there was more than a tinge of imperiousness in his manner. "Well, Crowther, how are you? Getting ready to scatter the Philistines? Don't give me milk, Avery! You know I hate it at this time of day."

She looked at him in surprise. He had never used that impatient tone to her before. "I didn't know," she observed simply, as she handed him his cup.

"Well, you know now," he rejoined with an irritable frown. "Hurry up, Crowther! I want you to come and see the crops."

Avery was literally amazed by his manner. He had never been so frankly and unjustifiably rude to her before. She came to the conclusion that something had happened at the Roses' to annoy him; but that he should visit his annoyance upon her was a wholly new experience.

He drank his tea, talking hard to Crowther the while, and finally sprang to his feet as if in a ferment to be gone.