"Peter Brome, pale with recent sickness, but no other man." "The saints save us! I did not think he had it in him!" gasped Betty with astonishment.
"They would not let me go," went on Margaret; "they forced me to see it all.

The pair tarried for a while beneath some trees by the bath and were hidden there.

Then they came out again and sat them down upon a marble seat, while the woman sang songs and the man leaned against her lovingly.

So it went on until the darkness fell, and we went, leaving them there.

Now," she added, with a little sob, "what say you ?" "I say," answered Betty, "that it was not Master Peter, who has no liking for strange ladies and secret gardens." "It was he, and no other man, Betty." "Then, Cousin, he was drugged or drunk or bewitched, not the Peter whom we know." "Bewitched, perchance, by that bad woman, which is no excuse for him." Betty thought a while.