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hill the other side of the house?"
    "I didn't know there was another way round Crags' Height."
    "There arc several. Come on, I'll show you one of them—Lloyd's Folly. It's well known around here and you can't live near Cwmllan without seeing it."
    They skirted the village and after crossing the main road leading to Crags' Height walked up a tortuous,
    narrow line that wound around the mountainside. It was so steep that Barbara had to stop every now and then to get her breath, but her companion urged her on. "Don't look back until we reach the top or you'll spoil the view for yourself."
    "How much further is it?" she gasped. "Not very far."
    He took her hand and pulled her up the last few yards, and she found herself on a concrete platform about ten feet wide with a stone shelter and wooden bench. A high railing ran round it, for there was a drop of several hundred feet, and Barbara gasped at the beauty of the view.
    "Look, you can see the whole of the village," Mark made a wide gesture with his arm, "and there's Crags' Height over there."
    She looked in the direction of his hand, drinking in the beauty all around. The afternoon was dull and grey, yet it in no way lessened the loveliness of the scene. The road they had just climbed looked like a long, narrow snake winding into the heart of the hill which was covered with gorse bushes and patches of fern and fell steeply to the valley, giving the impression that it was going to topple and crush the puny little houses at its foot, while far away to the left was Crags' Height, soft ened by distance into a beauty of its own.
    They turned and made their way down the narrow path again, Mark catching her hand and steadying her as they ran the last few yards, arriving breathless at the bottom.
    Barbara felt closer to him after this, for the walk had established them on a friendly footing, and weather per mitting they went out every afternoon to explore the countryside together. The days flew past, and occasion ally glancing at the calendar, Barbara was amazed how quickly they merged into weeks.
    One afternoon when they were all sitting in front of the drawing-room fire Aunt Ellie surprised them by an nouncing that it was her birthday, and Mark jumped up with an exclamation and kissed her warmly on both cheeks.
    "This calls for a celebration! We'll all put on our best bibs and tuckers and have a proper dinner party tonight, with some of mine host's wine and a bottle of that lovely Bristol sherry."
    The old woman clasped her hands together. "What a good idea! I love parties, and it's a long time since we had one. The last I can remember was when Margaret was fifty. It was the last one she gave before—"
    "Let's talk about something more cheerful," Mark interrupted. "It's no good thinking about the past, espe cially on your birthday. Look to the future and to blazes with everything else is my motto!"
    The old woman beamed. "You are a naughty boy!" Then to Barbara: "Now what shall I wear—my wine or black dress? No, not black today, I think I'll wear something gay. Black is too depressing and funereal." She stood up. "If you'll help me to my room, dear, I'll have a little lie down and be fresh for this evening."
    When Barbara had settled her to rest she went down stairs again and found Mark sitting thoughtfully in front of the fire.
    He looked up at her approach and smiled cheerfully. "Settled her?"
    "Yes." She moved closer to the blazing logs and warmed her hands. "It was sweet of you to think of having a party, Mark. Aunt Elite's life is so uneventful that she'll remember this for months."
    "I know, poor old girl—I'm sorry for her. I only wish I could do a bit more to cheer her up."
    "Well, you certainly do what you can. If only"
    she stopped and bit her lip.
    "If only what?"
    "Nothing. I was just letting my tongue run away with me."
    "Tut-tut, that's something no nice girl should do, especially if she happens to be thinking about her employer! You were going to say something about