



Produced by Al Haines









Through the Postern Gate

_A ROMANCE IN SEVEN DAYS_



By

Florence L. Barclay


Author of

  "The Rosary," "The Mistress of Shenstone,"
  "The Following of the Star," etc



London and New York

G. P. Putnam's Sons

1912




146_th Thousand_



  _Made and Printed in Great Britain by
  The Camelot Press Limited,
  Southampton._




TO

MY MOTHER




Contents


THE FIRST DAY

THE STORY OF LITTLE BOY BLUE


THE SECOND DAY

MISS CHARTERIS TAKES CONTROL


THE THIRD DAY

THE BOY INVADES THE KITCHEN


THE FOURTH DAY

CHRISTOBEL SIGNS HER NAME


THE FIFTH DAY

GUY CHELSEA TAKES CONTROL


THE SIXTH DAY

MISS ANN HAS "_MUCH_ TO SAY"


AN INTERLUDE

"AS A DREAM, WHEN ONE AWAKETH"


THE SEVENTH DAY

THE STONE IS ROLLED AWAY




THE FIRST DAY

THE STORY OF LITTLE BOY BUTE

"But it was not your niece!  It was always you I wanted," said the Boy.

He lay back, in a deep wicker chair, under the old mulberry-tree.  He
had taken the precaution of depositing his cup and saucer on the soft
turf beneath his chair, because he knew that, under the stress of
sudden emotion, china--especially the _best_ china--had a way of flying
off his knee.  And there was no question as to the exquisite quality of
the china on the dainty tea-table over which Miss Christobel Charteris
presided.

The Boy had watched her pouring the tea into those pretty rose-leaf
cups, nearly every afternoon during the golden two weeks just over.  He
knew every movement of those firm white hands, so soft, yet so strong
and capable.

The Boy used to stand beside her, ready to hand Mollie's cup, as
punctiliously as if a dozen girls had been sitting in the old garden,
waiting to be quickly served by the only man.

The Boy enjoyed being the only man.  Also he had quite charming
manners.  He never allowed the passing of bread-and-butter to interfere
with the flow of conversation; yet the bread-and-butter was always
within reach at the precise moment you wanted it, though the Boy's
bright eyes were fixed just then in keenest interest on the person who
happened to be speaking, and not a point of the story, or a word of the
remark, was missed either by him or by you.

He used to watch the Aunt's beautiful hands very closely; and at last,
every time he looked at them, his brown eyes kissed them.  The Boy
thought this was a delightful secret known only to himself.  But one
day, when he was bending over her, holding his own cup while she filled
it, the Aunt suddenly said: "Don't!"  It was so startling and
unexpected, that the cup almost flew out of his hand.  The Boy might
have said: "Don't _what_?" which would have put the Aunt in a
difficulty, because it would have been so very impossible to explain.
But he was too honest.  He at once _didn't_, and felt a little shy for
five minutes; then recovered, and hugged himself with a fearful joy at
the thought that she had _known_ his eyes had kissed her dear beautiful
hands; then stole a look at her calm face, so completely unmoved in its
classic beauty, and thought he must have been mistaken; only--what on
earth else could she have said "Don't!" about, at that moment?

But Mollie was there, then; so no explanations were possible.  Now at
last, thank goodness, Mollie had gone, and his own seven days had
begun.  This was the first day; and he was going to tell her
everything.  There was absolutely nothing he would not be able to tell
her.  The delight of this fairly swept the Boy off his feet.  He had
kept on the curb so long; and he was not used to curbs of any kind.

He lay back, his hands behind his head, and watched the Aunt's kind
face, through half-closed lids.  His brown eyes were shining, but very
soft.  When the Aunt looked at them, she quickly looked away.

"How could you think the attraction would be gone?" he said.  "It was
always you, I wanted, not your niece.  Good heavens!  How can you have
thought it was Mollie, when it was _you_--YOU