Barbara Rebell

FIFTEEN years had gone by since the eventful birthday and meeting at St. Germains. As Barbara Rebell, still Barbara Rebell, though she had been a wife, a most unhappywife, for six years, stepped from the small dark vestibule into the dimly-lighted hall ofChancton Priory, her foot slipped on the floor; and she would have fallen had not a man'shand, small but curiously bony and fleshless, grasped her right arm, while, at the samemoment, a deep voice from out the darkness exclaimed, "A good omen! So stumbled theConqueror!"The accent in which the odd words were uttered would have told a tale as to thespeaker's hard-bitten nationality to most English-speaking folk: not so to the woman towhom they were addressed. Yet they smote on her ear as though laden with welcome, forthey recalled the voice of a certain Andrew Johnstone, the Scotch Governor of the WestIndian island of Santa Maria, whose brotherly kindness and unobtrusive sympathy hadbeen more comfortable to her, in a moment of great humiliation and distress, than hisEnglish wife's more openly expressed concern and more eagerly offered friendship. And then, as the stranger advanced, hesitatingly, into the hall, she found herselfconfronted by an odd, indeed an amazing figure, which yet also brought a quick sense ofbeing at last in a dear familiar place offering both welcome and shelter. For she was at onceaware that this must be the notable Jane Turke, Madame Sampiero's housekeeper, one towhom Barbara's own mother had often referred when telling her little daughter of thedelights of Chancton Priory-of the Sussex country house to which, when dying, thethoughts of Richard Rebell's wife seemed ever turning with sick longing and regret. Mrs. Turke wore a travesty of the conventional housekeeper's costume. There, to besure, were the black apron and lace cap and the bunch of jingling keys, but the watered silkof which the gown was made was of bright yellow, and across its wearer's ample bosomwas spread an elaborate parure of topazes set in filigree gold, a barbaric ornament which, however, did not seem out of place on the remarkable-looking old lady. Two earrings, evidently belonging to the same set, had been mounted as pins, and gleamed on the blacklace partly covering Mrs. Turke's grey hair, which was cut in a straight fringe above theshrewd, twinkling eyes, Roman nose, and firm, well-shaped mouth and chi