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Gunnard Engebreth and Satej Kumar Sahu

PHP 8 Basics
For Programming and Web Development
Gunnard Engebreth
Madison, WI, USA

Satej Kumar Sahu

Bangalore, India

ISBN 978-1-4842-8081-2 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-8082-9

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-8082-9

© Gunnard Engebreth, Satej Kumar Sahu 2023

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively
licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is
concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of
illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in
any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or
dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.

The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks,

service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the
absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the
relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general
use.

The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the
advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate
at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the
editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.
This Apress imprint is published by the registered company APress
Media, LLC, part of Springer Nature.
The registered company address is: 1 New York Plaza, New York, NY
10004, U.S.A.
This book is dedicated to my wife Erica and to my boys Trip and
Wyatt.Also, you the reader. Thank you!
Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God
all things are possible.”
—Matthew 19:26!
Introduction
Developing web pages and applications is still, after many years, one of
the most fascinating endeavors for developers. The idea of taking a
simple idea and developing it, seeing it coming alive and imagining the
experience the user will have is something very magical.
The experience of programming as web developer should, of course,
also be easy, user-friendly, and flexible—all characteristics of the
programming language this book is all about: PHP version 8.
The first version of PHP was created by Rasmus Lerdorf in 1994 and
he mainly used it on his home page to keep track of who was looking at
his online resume. In 1995, the first public version was published as the
Personal Home Page Tools.
In the beginning, PHP was just a simple programming language with
a very easy parser engine that only understood a small number of
utilities and macros.
PHP usage grown. In 1996, about 15,000 web sites were developed
with PHP; by 1997, it was up to 50,000. In 1999, about 1 million web
sites were developed with PHP. At the time of writing, 78 million of web
sites have been developed with PHP to give you a perspective of how
popular this programming language has become. Why?
Simple. Because after many years it is still easy to use, user-friendly,
and clearly organized. This helps would-be programmers easily
understand and run PHP commands and functions.
We want to help PHP beginners and would-be developers explore
the new features added to this version 8 and see how easy, flexible, and
powerful it can be to develop new web sites and applications.
You will find all the basic information about how to install and
configure PHP version 8.
All basic PHP concepts like data types, functions, regular
expressions, form handling and verification, sessions, cookies, and
filters are introduced and demonstrated with many examples.
We also introduce the basic information of object-oriented
programming and its classes and objects.
This book also provides some simple examples about how to use
PHP version 8 with one of the most powerful and used databases for
developers, MySQL. You learn how to develop an entire web application
using PHP version 8 and MySQL.
You also learn about PHP frameworks and why they are so
important to use. This book focuses on just two of the many PHP
frameworks available, Symfony and Laravel, and the development of
web applications following the model–view–controller architectural
pattern.
Who This Book Is For
The book assumes you have some web development and DB handling
knowledge. The book is written mainly for the beginning web
developer who wants to learn how to use PHP version 8 and how it can
be used with MySQL and PHP frameworks like laravel and Symfony. It
also assumes you have some knowledge of programing language
frameworks and how and when you should use them with PHP.

Prerequisites
The examples in this book were built with PHP version 8. We also used
MySQL for Ubuntu Linux version 22.04 DEB Bundle. As a testing tool,
we used the latest Postman API client version available on the Web, but
you are free to use any testing tool you feel comfortable with. Finally,
we introduced and utilized two different PHP Frameworks named
Laravel and Symfony, which will be needed for the examples of this
book.

Downloading the Code

The source code for the examples in this book is available at
www.github.com/apress/php8-basics.
Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the
author in this book is available to readers on GitHub
(https://github.com/Apress). For more detailed information, please
visit www.apress.com/source-code.
 Visit https://ebookmass.com
now to explore a rich
collection of eBooks and enjoy
exciting offers!
Acknowledgments
I would like to dedicate this book to my parents for always believing in
and having patience with me while I pursued my interest in technology,
and gave me the freedom to explore and try different things. Also,
thanks to my sister Lipsa for always being beside me whenever I
needed her. I would like to thank all my teachers for being with me
during my journey, Runish for the foundational mentoring support at
the start of my career, Mindfire Solutions for my first career
opportunity, and to all with whom I had an opportunity to interact and
learn from. Last but not least I would like to thank Mark for the
awesome opportunity to write my first book and the wonderful team at
Apress for all their support without whom this book would not have
been possible.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:​Getting Started
Why Use PHP?​
Using PHP
Why PHP, Ngnix, and MySQL?​
Installing Docker
Windows
Mac OS
Linux
Installing Docker-Compose
The Development Environment
Summary
Chapter 2:​PHP Fundamentals
Variables
Using Errors As Tools
Objects
Verbs:​GET and POST
Summary
Chapter 3:​Functions, Classes, and Traits
OOP
Reviewing Class Definitions
Class Visibility
A Closer Look at Class Inheritance
Polymorphism and Abstract Classes
Constants
Constructs
 Traits
Namespaces
Summary
Chapter 4:​Data and Data Types
PHP Data Types
PHP Data Types:​Scalar Types
Boolean
Integer
Float
String
PHP String Functions
substr( )
strlen( )
str_​replace()
trim( )
strpos( )
strtolower( )
strtoupper( )
is_​string( )
strstr( )
PHP Data Types:​Compound Types
Array
Object
PHP Data Types:​Special Types
NULL
resource
 Summary
Chapter 5:​Form Data
PHP POST Form
PHP GET Form
Summary
Chapter 6:​Arrays
PHP Indexed and Associative Arrays
PHP Multidimensional​Arrays
PHP Array Functions
array_​change_​key_​case
array_​chunk
array_​column
array_​combine
array_​count_​values
array_​diff_​assoc
array_​diff_​key
array_​diff_​uassoc
array_​diff_​ukey
array_​diff
array_​fill_​keys
array_​fill
array_​filter
array_​flip
array_​intersect_​assoc
array_​intersect_​key
array_​intersect_​uassoc
array_​intersect_​ukey
array_​intersect
array_​is_​list
array_​key_​exists
array_​key_​first
array_​key_​last
array_​keys
array_​map
array_​merge_​recursive
array_​merge
array_​multisort
array_​pad
array_​pop
array_​product
array_​push
array_​rand
array_​reduce
array_​replace_​recursive
array_​replace
array_​reverse
array_​search
array_​shift
array_​slice
array_​splice
array_​sum
array_​udiff_​assoc
array_​udiff_​uassoc
array_​udiff
array_​uintersect_​assoc
array_​uintersect_​uassoc
array_​uintersect
array_​unique
array_​unshift
array_​values
array_​walk_​recursive
array_​walk
array
arsort
assort
compact
count
current
each
end
extract
in_​array
key_​exists
key
krsort
ksort
list
natcasesort
 natsort
next
prev
range
reset
rsort
shuffle
sizeof
sort
uasort
uksort
usort
Summary
Chapter 7:​Sessions and Cookies
PHP Sessions
PHP Cookies
Summary
Chapter 8:​Objects
Output
Summary
Chapter 9:​PHP Exceptions, Validation, and Regular Expressions
PHP Exceptions
PHP Form Validation
PHP Regular Expressions
Regular Expressions Modifiers
Regular Expression Metacharacters
 Regular Expression Square Brackets
Regular Expression Quantifiers
Regular Expression Functions
Summary
Chapter 10:​PHP and MySQL Working Together
PHP Communication with MySQL
PHP Communication with the MySQLi Method
PHP Communication with the PDO Method
MySQLi Advantages
PDO Advantages
PHP Connection to a Database
Summary
Chapter 11:​Data
Planning for a New Database
Creation of a New Database
Summary
Chapter 12:​Website with a DB
Summary
Chapter 13:​Introduction to Frameworks
Introduction to Frameworks
Pros and Cons of Frameworks
Pros of Using Frameworks
Cons of Using Frameworks
MVC Pattern
Different Layers of a Framework
Different Types of Frameworks
 Role of Composer
Introduction of PHP Standard Recommendation (PSR)
PHP Frameworks
Choosing a Framework
Summary
Chapter 14:​Introduction to Laravel
Introduction to Laravel
Installing Laravel
Database Setup and Configuration
Database Migrations
Controller Route
Registration View Form
Storing User Data in a Database
Summary
Chapter 15:​Introduction to Symfony
Introduction to Symfony
Installing Symfony
Creating a Symfony Application
Summary
Chapter 16:​A Basic Symfony Application
Creating a New Symfony Project
Database Setup and Configuration
Controller Route
Registration View Form
Storing User Data in a Database
Summary
 Visit https://ebookmass.com
now to explore a rich
collection of eBooks and enjoy
exciting offers!
Index
About the Authors
Gunnard Engebreth
began coding at the age of 11 through a
“Learning BASIC” book given to him by
his father. Technology was changing fast,
and Gunnard rode the wave from 1200
to 56k baud modems. Logging into BBSs,
Prodigy, CompuServe, Delphi, and IRC, he
could see the world changing and he
wanted to be a part of it. He soon got
involved in the ANSI/demo scene,
making several application generators
for many groups in the 1990s. Visual
Basic was his next language of choice,
allowing him to develop “tools” for
online systems such as AOL. This
introduced many aspects of
development, security, and user interfaces while they were still in their
infancy. Once the World Wide Web arrived via Mindspring in Atlanta,
Georgia, Gunnard quickly joined in the race for the Web. Learning
HTML, PERL, and Linux (Slackware at the time), he began to build his
skill set, which led to a full-time systems administrator position at the
age of 20 (2000) at Activegrams/Silverpop. Gunnard has moved around
the IT industry from SAN/NAS storage at IBM to custom WordPress
sites for marketing companies, but one thing has stayed the same: his
passion for learning and problem solving. Gunnard also DJs drum and
bass as Section31, plays drums, and bakes bread
(www.gunnard.org).

Satej Kumar Sahu

works in the role of Senior Software Data Architect at Boeing. He is
passionate about technology, people, and nature. He believes that
through technology and conscientious decision making, each of us has
the power to make this world a better place. In his free time, he can be
Random documents with unrelated
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 In the late afternoon, the Captain turned to his architect, who had been
saying good-bye to the Harland party, and took out his watch.

"You have three quarters of an hour before your fly comes to fetch you,"
he said, "and Mayne has taken the Helstons to look at the church. I want to
show you something, if you would stroll down the lane with me."

To refuse would have been ridiculous; but as they went, she was acutely
conscious that this was the first time they had been alone together since the
day she had recognised him.

They were walking towards Lone Ash, and the wonderful beauty of the
May evening breathed incense about them as they went. Orchards
everywhere made the whole earth seem a-bloom. A glory of distant gorse
blazed on the horizon line.

After a few moments Melicent grew nervous, and felt she must speak.

"Is the first consignment of dressing-stone delivered?" she asked.

"Up at the station," he replied eagerly, as if the question pleased him.

"We bring some down to-morrow; it ought to be on the ground at ten
o'clock. I took a look at it to-day, and thought it was up to sample; but I
should like you to see it."

"It's a pity the journey from London is so long," she said regretfully.

"The very point I want to raise," returned he, with unconcern which was
not overdone. "I think I need my architect on the spot, and I'm prepared to
pay to have her there. Ah!" as they turned a corner and a charming cottage
faced them, "this is what I want to show you. How do you like it?"

She stopped short, with a certain glow of feature and glint of the eye,
which was characteristic. As usual, when very pleased, she did not speak.
He watched her eyes as they dwelt on the rustic English beauty of the place.

The white smother of cherry-blossom melted against the mellow red

tiles. By the garden-gate a big Forsythia bush bore a burden of honey-
coloured flowers. The garden was a tangle of periwinkle, woodruff, and
forget-me-not, with the all-pervading sweetness of wallflower; and the
glowing coral of the ribes nestled against the tumble-down porch.

"It will be a mass of lilac-bloom in a fortnight," said the girl, hardly

knowing she spoke.

"I want you to come in," Brooke told her.

The door was ajar. It opened upon a kitchen, beautifully clean and tidy,
evidently for ornament, not use. Within was a tiny parlour, with gate-leg
table, grandfather's clock and oak dresser.

"This is what I would ask my architect to put up with now and then, to
save her a good deal of going to and fro," said Brooke. "I have taken it for
three months, to accommodate my visitors, as there is no room in the inn."

Carried away by the sweetness of the place, she sat down upon the
window-seat.

"This is Arcady!" she said.

He leaned against the print valance of the mantel, looking very large in
the tiny place.

"Do you like it? Would you like to stay here now and again?"

She turned her little head, its outlines sungilt against the light without,
and looked at him; and she answered like a child, accepting unconsciously
the suggestion of an older person.

"I like it very much. It would be a great convenience to be able to stay. I

am so anxious about the house."

"If that is so, you shall wait here and talk to Mrs. Barrett, and ask her to
show you the upstairs rooms, while I go and fetch the Helstons to look at it.
There will just be time."
 CHAPTER XXIX

THE FRIENDSHIP GROWS

"A whole white world of revival awaits May's whisper a while,
Abides and exults in the bud as a soft hushed laugh in a smile.
As a maid's mouth, laughing with love and subdued for the love's
sake, May
Shines, and withholds for a little the word she revives to say."
—A. C. SWINBURNE.

For three weeks, Melicent came down to the cottage on Tuesday and
stayed till Friday. The first twice Brenda had accompanied her; but Pater
grumbled, and the third time she came alone.

She was growing bold. Brooke's behaviour never varied. He was

courteous and easy, but never confidential. He would come down the lane
with his dogs, whistling, and lean over the gate among the lilacs until
Melicent appeared from the cottage door, and they went on to Lone Ash
together. His first greeting always was:

"How are you? Good news of Burmester, I hope?"

He was in great social request, and dined out most nights, often
hurrying away from the absorbing spectacle of the rising walls of his home
to lunch with some neighbouring magnate.

During the third week, except for their morning chat together, she
scarcely saw him at all until Friday afternoon.
 The week had been wet and cold, and she had been tramping about in a
mackintosh and gaiters; but to-day was brilliantly fine, and she was
lunching al fresco, up at the works, being immensely interested in some
fresh boring operations then in progress in connection with her beloved
fish-pond. She was sitting upon a pile of dry planks, making a dessert of
almonds and raisins, and deep in a book, when she saw the Captain drive
up. He seldom brought the motor up to the works. He had his own cart now,
and a fast cob; and a trim young groom to look after them.

He sprang out, came up to where she sat, and began asking eager
questions about the boring. They talked shop for several minutes, he sitting
among the planks a little below her perch, bare-headed, and with his gaze
upon the long foundation-lines.

Then a short silence fell, while the exhilarating May air sang about
them. Looking straight before him, he said unconcernedly:

"Came to see if you cared for a drive this afternoon. It's a jolly day, and
I've got to go to Arnstock. Care to come?"

She hesitated. Why not? She had evicted Mrs. Grundy long ago, and on
what other grounds could she refuse? Yet something within said, "Don't," so
loudly as to drown the voice of calm reason.

"I think I'd better not. I'm waiting here to see them begin to lay the
damp course. Thanks all the same."

He looked at his watch. Then turned to her with a gleam in his eye.

"They quit work in an hour, so that reason won't do. Don't you trust
me?"

"I have no notion what you mean," said Melicent, instantly frozen.

"Well," he said, "of course I know you despise conventionalities or you

would not be following your present profession. When a girl steps down
into the arena and joins the wrestling, one takes it for granted that she
doesn't mind what folks say. So, if you refuse to let me take you a drive, I
have to conclude that your objection is personal, don't I?"

"Then you don't consider it possible that I really may not wish to take a
drive this afternoon?"

"Seeing what the weather's been this week, and what it is to-day, and the
way you've been sticking to work, I think it's unlikely," he said calmly. He
rose. "Pity you won't come," he added. "They're enlarging Arnstock
Churchyard, and they've unearthed the head of a Saxon cross." Melicent
sprang involuntarily to her feet. He looked at her steadily. "Knot-work," he
said firmly. "As clean-cut as if it had been carved last week. They have got
several bits. Harland thinks they may find it all. That's what I'm going to
see."

She laughed a little uneasily. "I don't believe I can resist that," she said.

"Come along then," he replied coolly, picking up her warm coat from
the planks. "There's Alfred to play propriety, you know."

"I don't believe you've ever been to Arnstock," he said, as they bowled
lightly along the firm high-road. "You do nothing but stick to work. It isn't
good for you."

"I have been to tea with the Harlands, and I am going to dine there next
week. I don't know what more you can suggest in the way of dissipation.
I'm sorry if I am ridiculous about Lone Ash, but you must consider the
fascination of it. My first house—my dream! To see it taking shape before
my eyes!"

She gazed before her with eyes that saw visions, and Hubert looked at
her.

"I feel great scruples about monopolising you so much," he remarked.

"Ought not all your energies just now to be concentrated on your
trousseau?"
 He was in a position to see the full play of expression in the face she
sought to avert He marked the instinctive repugnance, the effort at
concealment, the cold annoyance.

"Lancelot understands that I must first do what I undertook to do," she

said stiffly.

"Then I am actually postponing the wedding arrangements? This is

serious. My only excuse must be that there was no one who had a prior
claim when you pledged yourself to me."

For just one moment she misunderstood—for one second she was on the
verge of self-betrayal. It was on her tongue to say: "I never pledged myself
to you!" when she saw the trap laid for her. Was it intentional? Swiftly she
flashed a look at him. No babe could have been more innocent in
expression.

"My private concerns will never be allowed to clash with business

arrangements," she said haughtily. "What man would postpone, or throw up
good work, just because he was going to be married?"

"Marriage is a mere episode nowadays, isn't it?" he said. "Just a holiday

experience. The English fashion of it wouldn't content me."

"Marriage is not a thing you can talk about in the abstract," she said
irritably. "One marriage is not a bit like another. You can choose your own
kind, I suppose."

"Can you?" he asked urgently, in the candid tones of one seeking useful
information.

There was a shadow of emphasis on the pronoun. She made no reply,

and he went on:

"People's circumstances are so different I can imagine that you might

face the idea of marriage as a mere interlude, because your life is so full,
and holds so much else of love and fame and what not. Now in my case ...
will you allow a lonely man the luxury of talking about himself for five
minutes?"

"I am interested," said Melicent, quite politely.

"Well, you see, here am I, alone in the world. I can hardly remember my
mother. I never had but one real friend—a man. I don't think I can
remember a woman speaking one solitary kind word to me until I turned up
in England with money. Now do you see, that friendless as I am, without
human ties of kith or kin, what seems to you just a convenient arrangement,
is to me the one possibility life offers? ... I wonder if you have ever thought
what it must be to live altogether without intimacies, as I have done, for
thirty years?"

There was a quiet, earnest simplicity in his voice which disarmed her.
Suddenly she saw him in a new light. He was no longer the relentless
pursuer, the man who hunted down a girl as his desired quarry. He was a
lonely, heart-hungry fellow, who had been starving for kind words, thirsting
for feminine sympathy. Seeing him in the light of what he had since
become, she revolted from the memory of her own hardness. She had been
the only English girl—the only creature with whom he felt affinity—in
Slabbert's Poort. Among all the degradation and savagery of the place, he
had stretched out appealing hands to the one woman who might have
understood. And she had never given him one kind word! He said he could
not remember one!

Without her own volition she felt her heart assailed with a rush of pity
and tenderness wholly new in her self-centred, balanced experience.
Without a word of reproach, with an almost bald simplicity, this man had
opened the flood-gates of compassion. He had done more; made her
ashamed of herself. She felt her face suffused with colour—she knew that
her eyes swam with tears. The brilliant sun, facing them as they drove
westward, almost blinded her. She felt she must say something; but the
effect of his words had been so unexpected, so overwhelming, that she
could not control her voice at once. At last, feeling that her lack of response
must seem unkind, she faltered out:

"I—I am so sorry for you. I never guessed you were so—lonely!"

 And to her rage and fury, her eyes over-brimmed and two tears—rare
indeed with her—splashed down upon the rug that covered her knees.

Hubert made some kind of an inarticulate exclamation, and an abrupt

movement, abruptly checked by the consciousness of the neatly apparelled
back of Alfred, the groom, almost touching his own. He maintained
complete silence for a long minute, then, bending towards Melicent:

"Were those tears for me?" he asked, very low.

She had hastily found her handkerchief.

"I—I think so. I can't quite explain; what you said recalled something
else ... and I suppose I'm tired."

"Nevertheless," he replied, still below his breath, "I have had, at least
for a moment, the sympathy of a woman. I shan't forget that. I hope you
don't think I am in the habit of puling and drivelling about my lonely lot. I
don't know what impelled me to sentiment, but I assure you it is all over
now. See, there is Arnstock Church! We will have tea at the inn, and then
the workmen will be gone home, and we can have the churchyard to
ourselves."

They pulled up at a little low inn, covered with wisteria and

honeysuckle. As he helped her down, she realised that her fear of him had
suddenly disappeared.

Seated by a little table at an open window over-looking a quaint garden,

she poured out tea for him, and enjoyed home-made bread, and honey from
the row of hives which stood before the hawthorn hedge.

They talked easily and naturally, like two between whom a barrier has
been swept away. Hubert told her of his search among his mother's papers,
his discovery there of the name of his grandfather's native village, his
coming to England, and his quest of what Lance called his ancestral acres.

Tea over, they proceeded to the churchyard, and spent a vivid half-hour
with the fragments of the Saxon cross and its knot-work. Melicent was in a
fever of eagerness to discover runes, but there were none. However, they
found what was almost as good, a series of grotesques down the sides of the
shaft.

The workmen had turned up almost all the pieces, and when Melicent
suggested, in a moment of inspiration, that the Captain should pay for its
restoration and erection in the churchyard, by way of inaugurating his reign
at Clunbury, he took up the idea with avidity.

They drove back almost in silence; but a silence so full for both, that
they hardly realised their lack of words.

At the lilac-decked cottage gate, Hubert jumped out, and as usual held
his hands to help her down. She had just drawn off her leather gloves, and
there seemed something significant and wonderful in the warm contact of
their bare hands. The light was not good. That, or something else, caused
her foot to slip on the high step.

For just one moment she felt an instinctive tightening of his grasp, and
one arm went round her so swiftly that all danger of a fall was over before
recognised. She was set on the ground ... she felt dizzy, and almost
staggered when released. For in that arresting instant, his mouth had been
close to her ear, and she thought a sentence came to her—that he said, so
low that she could scarcely hear:

"Hadn't you better give in?"

She had regained her poise, drawn herself away, her eyes shot a
bewildered glance at him in the twilight. He did not look at her, but seemed
in a tremendous hurry to be off. He had jumped back into the cart and was
spinning down the lane before she had time to draw breath, or to ask herself
if he had really said what she thought she heard.

She stood there, listening to the brisk beat of the horse's hoofs on the
dry road, for quite a long time. Not a twig stirred in a stillness which
seemed almost portentous. The dampness and fragrance of earth and
growing things rose about her like incense. In a thicket not far distant, a
nightingale began to bubble and gurgle into song.
 Had he said it? If so, what did he mean? To what was she to give in? To
the influence which that afternoon had softened, and as it were, dilated her
heart? To the new kindness which she felt for him?

It must be illusion. Would he have asked a question of the kind and

ridden away without an answer? Was it an inner voice that had spoken? If
so, what was the purport?

Anger and self-will awoke. Her understanding, her emotions, her will
were and should remain in her own keeping. What was the sensation she
had experienced a moment ago, with his arms about her? She felt herself
blush scarlet in the darkness.

* * * * * * * *

Next morning she went back to London.

 CHAPTER XXX

THE TREACHERY
"Doubt you if, in some such moment
As she fixed me, she felt clearly
Ages past the soul existed,
Here an age 'tis resting merely,
And hence fleets again for ages,
While the true end, sole and single,
It stops here for, is this love-way,
With some other soul to mingle?

"Else it loses what it lived for,

And eternally must lose it;
Better ends may be in prospect,
Deeper blisses (if you choose it);
But this life's end and this love-bliss
Have been lost here; doubt you whether
This she felt, as looking at me,
Mine and her souls rushed together?"
—ROBERT BROWNING.

Melicent only came down to Clunbury for one day the following week;
and Mr. Helston was with her. The week after, she came for two days, and
brought Brenda.

This was not the result of any scheme of self-defence; it simply

happened in the ordinary course of events.

For she no longer disliked Hubert. Her mental attitude had changed.

The enlightenment which his simple and sparing speech had brought to
her had been a veritable shock. She saw herself again as she had been at the
time of his early devotion—the despised Cinderella, the half-grown slattern,
the insolent, self-absorbed little upstart. Her own dulness of perception and
ingratitude began to show themselves to her in a strong light. She marvelled
at his constancy, and stood amazed at his insight. He had seen her, not as
she was, but as she might be. It was she who had been blind.

So she thought of him: and yet, at the bottom of her mind, lurked a
mysterious reluctance to go down to Lone Ash again.

She wrote to Lance more affectionately than she had ever done. She told
him she meant to be less hard, more unselfish, to do her best to respond to
the affection he lavished upon her.

Time was flowing swiftly past her. In three weeks he would be home!

And it was June.

At last Captain Brooke wrote to say that there was a question in the
builder's mind respecting an additional support at a point where the thrust of
the wall was greater than had been reckoned for. He added that the builder
and the engineer were quarrelling about the Lee-Simmons man-holes.
Moreover, the weathered tiles were beginning to arrive, and there was a
question raised as to the condition of some of them. There was no doubt
that her presence was necessary, and finally she went down, upon a day that
focussed in its heart all the tender glories of an English summer.

The lilacs were fading now, but pink may and golden laburnum flaunted
in beauty; and Melicent, as she cycled up the lane from the station, caught
the intoxicating fragrance of syringa.

"What a garden this is! I believe it holds a bit of everything in the world
that smells sweet!" she cried, as she greeted Mrs. Barrett. "It reminds me of
the garden in Solomon's Song. How this sunshine does make the spices
flow out!" As she spoke, she gathered a tiny spray of waxen syringa and a
cluster of double pink may, like wee Banksia roses, and fastened them in
her white gown. "After London, this is so wonderful!" she sighed.

"You look pale, miss. The fresh air'll set you up. The Captain was round
this morning to know if you'd come. He seemed that disappointed not to
find you. I expect now he'll think you're not coming down till to-morrow."
 "Is he up at Lone Ash now, do you think?"

"I believe he will be, miss. Tommy, have you heard the Captain drive
back, down the lane?"

No, Tommy had not; he was sure the Cap'n had not returned.

"I'll have a glass of milk now, please, Mrs. Barrett, and then go up and
find him," said Melicent.

"There's been a gentleman had your rooms this week-end," said Mrs.
Barrett, as she provided refreshment. "Mr. Mayne, a clergyman. They do
say he's to be made a bishop. He was fine and took up with the building,
and as friendly as ever I see. I'm sure we oughter be grateful to the Lord for
sending of the Captain down here. A godsend to this village he be. There's
Carter down the lane, talked of drowning hisself, he did; wife and three
childer, no work to be had, nowhere to live if he got it. Now he's to have
head gardener's place, and Captain's going to build him a cottage, four
rooms and a kitchen! He just goes about, does the Captain, and finds out
truth about everybody. Nobody's going to get over him, not they! Keeps his
eyes skinned, and no mistake about it. Been into the bar of the Hearty
Welcome night after night since he's been staying there, and found out all he
wants to know about they chaps. He's got the whip-hand of the lot by now;
knows twice as much about 'em as what vicar does; and it's my belief, he'll
be the best served master in this county."

Melicent drank her milk absently. She wished, yet dreaded to see Hubert
again. Her novel mood of self-abasement craved humiliation. Since
realising how unlovable her conduct had been, she was invaded by
unreasonable desires to let him know that she was really not such a beast as
she seemed. A wish to tell him that she knew who he was, and would like to
be friends, assailed her like a temptation, though she knew that such
confidences would be the very height and apex of folly.

There was nothing for it, she firmly told herself, as she put on her shady
hat and mounted her bicycle, but to remain upon business terms.
 It gave her a little shock of joy, as she neared the gate leading to the
Captain's property, to see the grey walls high enough to be clearly discerned
from the road.

She rode noiselessly over the pasture, dismounted at the hill, wheeled
her bicycle forward among the trees, and propped it against the trunk of a
big beech.

The workmen were gone. She could see Hubert sitting there, on the pile
of planks where she had sat last month. How long ago that seemed! How far
she had travelled since their drive together!

He did not appear to be doing anything but meditating. His arms rested
on his knees, his hands hung down between; he was looking at the ground.
Melicent was taken with a sudden conviction that it would be wise to turn
and run before he saw her. She combated the feeling with indignation. She
remembered how loath she had been to go that drive. And how glad she
now was that she went! It had made so vast a difference to her, she felt
something as Gareth felt when he unhorsed the dread Black Knight, and
found the rosy child within.

Why not go forward?

The alternative no longer remained: he looked up and saw her.

She came towards him from among the trees, in her white gown,
wearing a look he had never seen upon her face before in life, though he
had dreamed of it now and then. Her eyes seemed to have grown larger,
darker, softer. Her face was of that warm rose whiteness which relieves
itself so vividly and strangely against a white dress.

He stood up; but absorbed in the picture she made, he did not advance
to greet her.

"I thought you had not come," he said; and even to say so much was an
effort.
 "I had things to do." She smiled. "Some of that shopping you reminded
me of the other day! I came by the later train."

He recollected himself.

"I hope you have good news of Burmester," he said mechanically.

"The best," answered Melicent quietly. "He will be home in less than
three weeks."

He had been staring at the grass, but on that he raised his eyes.

"And when shall you be—married?"

"The day is not fixed; only that it will be at Fransdale." There was a
pause, and to fill it she said: "I hear Mr. Mayne has been here."

"Yes; I suppose you are going to his consecration next week?"

"Oh, yes; he sent us tickets. Do you know how long he stays in

England? He ought to wait for my wedding."

"So I told him," said Captain Brooke slowly, balancing a long screw-
driver with which he was playing across one finger of his left hand.

"What did he say?"

"Oh!—well, he said several things; but he didn't mean me to repeat

them, so don't ask me, please."

She gave an odd, excited laugh. "I don't ask; I order you to tell me."

He gazed upon her, so absorbed in his thoughts about her, that the
subject in hand faded out of sight. She could not meet his look. Tossing her
head, she turned a little away.

"So you won't tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

 "What he said."

"What who said?"

"Captain Brooke, what is the matter with you? We were talking of Mr.
Mayne. We had better leave off if you are not attending, and go and look at
those tiles."

"The more serious matter is the water," he said, shaking off his
preoccupation and sensibly relieved by the change of subject.

He led the way from where they stood to a pit four feet deep, with a
stand-pipe projecting from the newly-turned soil. Kneeling down on the
edge, he bent over, and turned on the union tap, which had been fixed for
connection with a rubber hose. The girl gave a mortified exclamation:

"Why, it's dry!"

He acquiesced.

"That's where Shepherd's rage against the Lee-Simmons engineer comes

in, and why he wants to wipe up the floor with him. The supply was all
right the first two days, dribbled for two more; then stopped. The engineer
says it is simply that Shepherd's men have fixed the thing so carelessly that
the pipe's blocked down below. I think I'll get the jointed rod and probe it."

"Oh, my fish-pond, I thought I had secured you!" said Melicent sadly.

"You shall have it, if there's water in Wiltshire," he began; then stopping
dead—"I mean, the thing must be made to act somehow. By the way, there's
Alfred with the cart. I'll send him back for the rod; he can bring it in a few
minutes."

"Lend me your wrench, then, and I'll get the tap right off," said the girl.

He handed her the tool she asked for, and went off across the field to
give his directions.
 She jumped down into the muddy pit, and set herself to unscrew the tap.
It was not very easy, but she managed it at last; and then, with the thing in
her hand, remained in her crouching attitude, examining it to see if there
was any obstruction.

There was a sound like a deep sigh—a rush like heavy rain—a jet of
yellow water flew from the pipe, hit the opposite side of the pit with great
violence, and before she knew what had happened, she was over her ankles
in water. In a calmer moment, she would have scaled the miry sides of the
pit, regardless of appearances; but she was not calm, and she lost her head.
The unexpected nature of the thing scared her—she had the idea that if once
she let the pit fill, they would be unable to stop the flow; and so, with a
spring, she flung herself upon the pipe, clasping her two hands rigidly about
it, and stanching the most part of the rush. But the strength of the pulsing
water was great, her footing slimy, her purchase feeble. Raising her voice,
regardless of all but the emergency, she cried aloud:

"Bert! Bert! Bert! Quick!"

He had only just dismissed Alfred on his errand, and was hurrying back,
when that sound smote his ear. He broke into a laugh of pure joy as he
heard it, but he ran with all his might.

The moment he got to the brink of the pit, he saw what was happening;
and he, too, lost his head. Instead of calling to her to let go, and holding
down his hands to draw her up, at the expense of a drenching, he forthwith
sprang down, placed himself beside her, and locked his hands over hers.

The fact of his doing this bereft her of all power of speech.

She was totally unconscious of having called him by name; she did not
know the reason of his kindled, glowing look. Neither, for a few long-
drawn seconds, considered what was to be done. They simply stood there,
so acutely conscious of each other that nothing else in all the universe
seemed real.

She was the first to recall her scattered wits.

 "Oh, this is too ridiculous," she said faintly. "We can't hold on! We can't
hold on!"

"Just long enough for Alfred to get back," he whispered. "He can't be
ten minutes. He can have the thing ready to screw on, and save you a deluge
—"

"Nonsense!" she uttered feebly. "We can't hold on here for ten minutes!
We can't, simply."

"I wish we could hold on for ever," he jerked out, his voice sunk to a
note that made her quail.

The force in his hands seemed to be communicating itself to her. She

was dominated, absorbed, had forgotten everything but him. He never
spoke, but she became aware that he wished her to look at him. She tore
away her gaze from the sight of their gripped hands, raised her head,
searched his face with pleading eyes.

Their looks met and mingled.

A dull beat was hammering through her senses. Was it his heart or hers,
or the pulse of Time itself?

Their faces drew nearer, nearer to each other.

Something was going to happen—something that should explain all life

and blaze the answer to every secret ... that was the thought she had as their
lips met.

Was it he who bent to her, or was the impulse that drew them mutual?

The blinding sweetness of that kiss was unmarred by any thought of

treachery. The world and Lance with it, had simply gone out in the ecstasy
of the light that flooded her.

* * * * * * * *
 It was over. The world that had stood at gaze like Joshua's moon on
Ajalon, swung on once more her dance among the stars.

Melicent stood there, in the fair June evening, at the side of the man
who had kissed her. The wind came softly over meadows deep in
buttercups, and bent the white lacy sprays of delicate wild parsley which
fringed them. High in the blue sky the lark stormed heaven's gate with song.

"Let me go!" she cried, with a stifled sob. "I must go! Don't you see that
I must?"

It was a moment before he replied; but when he did, his voice was
perfectly composed and cool.

"As soon as you feel the pressure of my hands relax, slip yours
downwards," he said.

A moment later she was free.

"There! Oh, why couldn't you do that before?" she cried passionately, as
she made a frantic onslaught upon the crumbling side of the pit.

She was up and away in a minute, her white frock soaked, her feet
caked in pale yellow mud. She ran across the grass, never stopping to look
behind, and met the bewildered Alfred just at the edge of the plantation.

"Hurry to the Captain," she gasped. "The water has started to run and he
can't stop it. I must go home and change!"

Her throat was so dry she could hardly speak. In feverish, stumbling
haste she mounted her bicycle, and rode down the bumpy grass slope at a
dangerous pace. Mercifully the gate into the lane stood wide, and she was
through it and back at the cottage in a couple of minutes.

Alfred found his master up to the knees in what looked like weak tea
with cream in it. Between them they managed to re-fix the tap, connect the
long hose, and set the liquid flowing into Melicent's fish-pond.
 Emerging from the pit, the Captain looked at his legs—he was wearing
a cool, summer suit of light grey flannel.

"The wash-tub, Alfred, is the place for me," he said resignedly.

"Yessir!" said Alfred, who had prudently removed his own smart leg-
wear before venturing to the rescue.

"Joseph was better off than I am, Alfred. His pit was dry—there was no
water in it."

"Yessir! Miss Lutwyche, she was drenched, sir."

"I hope she won't take cold," said the Captain, with polite solicitude;
"but fortunately the day is warm. Get on your boots, Alfred. I'll let this thing
run all night, and perhaps there'll be something to show for it in the
morning. There must have been something in the pipe, and the force of the
water dislodged it, I suppose."

Melicent, lying upon her bed with hidden face, heard the cart go past the
cottage. The beat of the hoofs was not interrupted; they passed by without
stopping; and the tension of her strained nerves relaxed.

CHAPTER XXXI

THE REPUDIATION
"Escape me?
Never—
Beloved!
While I am I and you are you,
So long as the world contains us both,
Me the loving and you the loth,
 While the one eludes must the other pursue."
—ROBERT BROWNING.

The delicate veil of sapphire which June calls night was drawn across
the splendour of the sky; and it was like the device of a beauty who wears a
transparent gauze to enhance the glitter of her diamonds.

In the north still lingered a supernal glow, the hint of the day that has no
night.

The fragrance of unseen cottage gardens was all about Hubert as he

walked slowly up the lane from the inn. There was no moon. The glimmer
of starshine made mysterious radiance, yet left a soft, velvet dusk, without
the clean-cut lights and shades of moonlight.

He had bathed, changed, dined. Now he was coming to ascertain the

result of his daring experiment. Had he succeeded, as he hoped, in showing
Melicent her own heart?

He had no remorse. The thing was necessary; it had to be done. Could

he stand by and see a proud girl wreck three lives?

It was very dark among the lilacs by the cottage gate. Peering through
the thick boughs, he started; for there was no lamplight, either in the parlour
or the room above it. And he believed that she had fled from him.

This gave a jolt to the pleasing elation of his spirits. Walking on the
grass, he approached the open door without noise. Then he halted.

The casements of the parlour were wide open to the summer night. On
the window-sill lay a girl's abased head, the fair hair just touched by the
star-glimmer, the face hidden in her arms.

She lay very still, and was apparently not weeping. He went up to her,
resisting with firmness his great desire to lay his hand upon her hair. For the
first time in years he spoke the name that stood for all his ambitions.
 "Millie," he said softly.

She sat up quickly. He hardly knew what expression he had expected to

see; but the indignation of her eyes was a surprise.

"Oh, I wonder how you dare come near me!" she cried.

"I won't come near you. I'll stay outside here," he said hastily, with a
bewildered sense of having lost the thread of the situation.

"You certainly won't come in at my invitation."

"No, of course," he said meekly, his head fairly spinning with wonder;
"but I thought you would see I had to come and beg your pardon."

She stood up, withdrawing herself into the room, as if she meant to
escape.

"There are things that are unpardonable," she said coldly.

He contemplated this idea. "Do you mean that you never can forgive
me?"

"Perhaps I mean that I never can forgive myself," she said chokingly.
"You—you have humbled my pride to the dust. Lance ... trusts me, and I
have ... How am I to face him?"

"Then you mean to stick to that—to go on with your engagement—to

marry Lancelot—in spite of what happened to-day?" he asked hastily.

She stood up straight in a long, loose, pale-coloured gown, half lost,

half seen in the faint light. The glint of the stars swam in her eyes.

"May I ask what else you expected?"

He was at a loss. Ready enough had he been to console her, to tell her
that Fate was too strong for her, to urge her to correct her mistake before it
was too late. Her present attitude stunned him, and bereft him of words. The
dashing of the high hopes with which he had come bred in him a sudden
sense of being wronged.

"Millie," he expostulated, "do you know what you said—up there when
the water rushed out upon you? You called out: 'Bert! Bert!'"

There was silence. He saw her start.

"Did I say that?" she said slowly. "Then it is I who have betrayed
myself, and you—are not so much to blame as I thought. I can believe that
it excited you a little to find that I knew you, and made you think of old
times." She hesitated, seeming at a loss what to say or do; her
embarrassment was obvious, her distress manifest. Then, with sudden
determination, she came near the window again. "If that is true, I suppose I
must forgive you," she said stiffly, "and we must both forget a mad
moment."

He could hardly believe his ears. "Is that all you have to say?" he
demanded harshly.

"The less we either of us say the better, surely, concerning such an

affair."

The man drew in his breath sharply. "After all that has come and gone?"
he panted.

"Captain Brooke, for a moment this afternoon I allowed myself and you
to forget that I am engaged to your friend. I must remind you of it now."

"I wish to God that I had let him drown in the drift!" he flung out. "Or
that I had drowned myself—!"

"I don't wish to be hard or unkind, but I cannot listen to you. I am going
to close the window."

He inserted his shoulder, so that she could not close it. The expression
of his eyes was such that she dare not face him.
 "Answer me one question," he commanded brusquely. There was a
growl in his voice that she knew of old as a storm-signal. "I have a right to
ask it, and you ought to answer—you shall answer! When I kissed you to-
day ... was it against your will?"

Her expression made him feel as if he had slashed her across the face.
Had she accepted defeat in that moment—said anything to appease the
man's mounting wrath—he might have kept his head. But pain or insult had
never the effect of softening Melicent, but only of stiffening her. His taunt
stung her to real anger, and, in the midst of her stifled consciousness that
she was fighting a losing battle, she clutched at her indignation as at a blade
with which she might wound. She had moved towards the door with the
intention of escape, but now she returned to the window.

"You think you have the right to ask me that?" she said, with the same
ruthless arrogance that she might have used to him in Africa. "You say that
to me—you, who hope to turn into something that people may take for an
English gentleman! ... You did that this afternoon to get a hold over me! I
know your threat! You needn't say it! You mean that, if I don't tell Lance,
you will! ... And you suppose I care if you do, or what you do, or anything
about you...!"

Before she had got so far, Bert had flung his leg over the sill and vaulted
lightly into the room. He came quite close to her, but spoke quietly, under
his breath, with an air of desperately holding himself in.

"All right!" he said. "You say you don't care, do you? Well, then, if you
say so, I say you lie! You lie, do you hear me?"

"You had better go away before you grow unpardonable," said the girl
coldly.

"I'll go when I've said what I'm going to say, and not before. I'm going
to tell you the cold truth here and now. The Brooke farce is played out, we
know each other, and you shall hear what I have to say! You—kissed—me
to-day!—great God! do you suppose I don't know that you did?—and you
did it because—"
 Slight things decide momentous issues. Even then an appeal, the
smallest sign of surrender on the girl's part, would have brought him
crouching to her feet. But she flung back her head, and looked him in the
eyes to show how little she feared him; and she laughed.

That let loose the tempest. All in a moment he broke off his husky,
difficult words. All in a moment he had her by the waist, crushing her to
him as if holding her against an army. There was no love in the fierce hold,
only the determination that she should hear the cruel words that he spoke
into her ear:

"Because you love me! Because you love me! Because you're mine—
mine—mine!"

She disdained to struggle, as she disdained to plead. She made no effort

to fling him off. Her silent, passive contempt brought him to himself in a
flash.

The girl who, that golden afternoon had yielded to his spell, had
weakened, had been as it were his to take, now lay like a lifeless thing in his
ungentle hold. He realised what he had done.

When he let her go, she did, by an effort, stand alone. Her laugh of
scorn was quenched. She lifted one hand to hide the quivering of her mouth,
but did not move at once, perhaps because she feared to fall. He turned
away from the still, silent, accusing figure with a kind of roar of helpless
strength, of baffled will.

"The same, the same as ever," he said. "The woman's way! To make me
feel a great, rough brute, when all the time it's you that are cruel. Yes! As
cruel as a fiend."

To and fro he paced, to and fro upon the floor; then, with sense of defeat
in overwhelming bitterness, got to his knees at her feet.

He knew that his fatal moment of uncontrolled temper had undone all
that the past weeks had gained so painfully and slowly. Beneath his shame
was an undercurrent of conviction that he was right and she wrong. But
what was right or justice in face of Melicent's inflexibility?

"I'm sorry. I'm a brute. But it's your fault. You know what you can do
with me," he said chokingly.

"Get up!" said her exhausted voice. "Get up, do! Go away. You see you
are ... impossible. I thought you had improved, but you see it's all ... just as
bad as ever."

"Millie!"

"Don't touch me."

"You know I am not such a hound as to think I have any hold ... or to
use it, if I had?"

"What does it matter to me?" She moved: he held a fold of her gown.
"Are you going to detain me?" she asked. "Because if so, I shall call Mrs.
Barrett. This is not love—oh, no, nor anything like it; it's simply your fixed
determination to have your own way. I've always known it, all these years
—that you were not beaten, that you meant to try again. Not for love of me,
but simply because to conquer me is your fixed idea. And this afternoon
you thought you had succeeded. Well, you haven't, that's all."

He got to his feet, utterly humbled, reduced to abject pleading:

"Millie, see me again! Don't let it end here! I've lost my head, and don't
know what I am saying. Give me a chance to talk things out—"

"Never, never, never!" she shuddered, making for the door. There she
turned upon him. "You are a savage! If you knew how I hate savagery! You
are a Boer! If you knew how I hate the Boers! I'll marry a man who knows
how to treat a woman, not one whose civilisation is only skin-deep." He
took two maddened strides towards her. "Has that hurt you? Very well, then,
you can kill me, you know. I wonder you don't."

He passed a hand over his hair like one pushing a veil from his eyes.
 "I can tell you why I don't," he said, in tones that rapped out sharp as a
rapier thrust. "It's because you're not worth it."

Almost before he had spoken, he had turned about, sprung from the
window, and disappeared. The starshine glimmered in the silent room where
a moment ago had been such storm and stress.

Melicent stood alone, in possession of the field. The suddenness of the

withdrawal of the besieging forces took her breath. The Parthian shot, fired
in the moment of flight, reached her heart and quivered there.

She gave a strangled low cry, as if physically hurt.

At last, it seemed, the long struggle was over. Not because Bert realised
that she was out of reach, but because suddenly he had awoke from his
dream to find her not worth fighting for.

She told herself that, whatever the means, the thing was done, and
finally done now. There would be no more vehement assaults for her to
dread.

Yet something unpleasantly like remorse was gnawing at her heart. She
knew she had said things she did not mean; in the heat of battle she had
caught up every missile....

Well, now it was over. Silence and solitude were profound. The air
which had vibrated to Bert's rage and Bert's repentance was so still that the
nightingale's song sounded too loud in her ears.

"All over!" she said aloud; and the words sounded strange and horrible.

"All over!" She crept upstairs to a sleepless night; but this of late had
been no rare thing with her.

* * * * * * * *

In the early morning she went away to London, choosing a route to the
station which should not take her past the inn.
 And for weeks the grey walls of Lone Ash rose higher in their dignified
beauty, unseen by the eyes of her for whom they were being raised, and
whose genius had called them into being.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE FRANSDALE SPORTS

"Embrace me then, ye hills, and close me in;
Now in the dear and open day I feel
Your guardianship; I take it to my heart;
'Tis like the solemn shelter of the night."
—WORDSWORTH (The Recluse).

The wedding-day was fixed, and Melicent lived in an atmosphere of

wedding presents and dressmakers.

Since her fiancé's return she had altered noticeably, both in appearance
and manner. She was paler than usual, large-eyed and languid; and she had
grown strangely gentle and yielding. She deferred to Lancelot in
everything; and since two people cannot possibly continue to kneel at each
other's feet, and as Melicent persistently adopted the lowly posture formerly
monopolised by her lover, he had, as a result, grown the least bit dictatorial.

Theoretically, of course, the change pleased him; but as a matter of fact,

he had found his lady-love more interesting when she was remote and
prickly. Her new meekness was purely passive; it did not make her more
demonstrative. She submitted to be caressed, but it was always obvious that
it was mere submission.
 Brenda was very unhappy about her. She was sure that she was
suffering mentally. She knew she did not sleep. However, girls just before
marriage are often restless and unsettled, and there was nothing which she
could definitely take notice of.

At the end of July the Fransdale Sports took place, an annual event of
the highest local importance. They were held in a meadow near the head of
the Dale, not far below the Vicarage. The meadow sloped violently, but the
fact was accepted by the natives as part of an inexorable law of Nature. All
fields sloped; you might as well quarrel with the grass for being green.

From early morning the little heathery tracks leading down from the
Riggs were black with a crawling line of folks, descending Indian file by
devious ways to the scene of action. Traps of all kinds, crowded with
passengers, began to arrive, and to distribute themselves in all the
neighbouring stable-yards, which were soon filled to overflowing.

Streams of fine plough-horses, yearlings, hunters and little fluffy foals,

moved slowly along various radii to the centre. On the ground, the chief
farmers' wives were preparing a "ham tea" of vast proportions in a large
tent.

As the day wore on, the whole scene was alive with colour. Exhibits of
butter, eggs, vegetables and fruit, were being solemnly appraised by
business-like judges. There was a cackle of fowls, a cooing of doves, the
outraged cries of lordly rams tethered to stakes and with coloured ribbons
round their horns.

And the band! One of the visitors remarked that it was worth coming
far, if only to see that band!

The musicians sat upon boards in the large hay-cart in which they had
been conveyed to the festal scene, and from which the horses had been
removed. Their broad and solid backs, in every hue of weather-stained
fustian, formed a study for the eye of the humorously inclined.

Then, of course, there were cocoa-nut shies and gingerbread stalls, and
a wheel of fortune. For this one day in the year the austere solitude of the
moorland was broken through, and Fransdale was actually noisy and
crowded.

Among the throng, which grew thicker as the day wore into afternoon,
was a sprinkling of gentry, conspicuous among whom were the Burmesters.
Sir Joseph took a genuine interest in all the exhibits, and gave many
valuable prizes. There was naturally great interest among all the natives
over Lancelot's engagement. Melicent was a most popular person, and
glances of affectionate admiration followed her to-day.

She wore a white lace gown, with La France roses, and her white
sunshade was lined with rose colour. Brenda thought she had never seen her
look so pretty, nor so sad.

"The Ayres' party are here," said Lance, strolling up to where his mother
stood, with Mrs. Helston and Melicent, watching the first heats of a race run
off. "They've brought their tame crowd of convalescents with them."

"Did you know," said Lady Burmester, "that the Ayres' offered their
house for a Convalescent Home for wounded officers? That will arouse
enthusiasm, won't it, Lance? The people will cheer, if they know there are
African heroes about."

"They exhausted their enthusiasm when Lance came home," smiled

Brenda. "What a pity Captain Brooke is not here, then we should have all
the African contingent."

"Oh," said Lance, "I forgot to tell you, Mrs. Helston, I have at last
persuaded the obstinate old beggar to leave his beloved house to build itself
for a few weeks, and to come up here for a bit of rest."

"Oh, well done!" said Brenda, with animation. "I should have been so
sorry for him not to have been at the wedding."

"He won't promise that, even now. You know, I wanted him to be best
man. He says weddings are not at all in his line. But when we get him here,
perhaps you and Melicent can persuade him."