d for her."

Molly was talking to Mr. Jonas rapidly, eagerly, like one defending
self, as Alexina reached them. Mr. Henderson was regarding her out of
sombre eyes.

"It's not that I think I'm sick," Molly was saying, "like he says I
am. I'm better, really, much better, only while he was talking about,
about things--it's a dreadful religion his; I'd rather be without any,
like Jean, than have one like his--I remembered how Father Bonot used
to pull the oranges for me I couldn't reach. Here's Malise come back.
Malise, let's not go to The Bay after all; I'm tired; let's go to
Cannes Brulee. He's there, Father Bonot is, they told me in
Washington. He's an old, old man. Let's go back home there."

"Why, yes," said the girl, "if you want, we'll go."

"You were a little baby at Cannes Brulee--yes," animatedly, "that's
what we'll do. We'll go home to Father Bonot, Malise."

At the touch of Mr. Jonas the minister started. His face was grey.
Then he got up and followed the other. On the way in to Aden in the
buckboard he hardly spoke until the hotel was reached.

Mr. Jonas stopped the mare before the plank sidewalk. The minister
came to himself as out of chaos.

"My God," he said.

Mr. Jonas turned the wheel. "Only yours?" he rejoined briskly.

The minister, on the sidewalk now, looked up at him dazedly. "I don't
know what you mean," he said.

"Not yet," returned Mr. Jonas, with cheerful reassurance; "you will,
you will, though."

* * * * *

So again Alexina made plans. They would go on the eighth as before,
she and Celeste and Molly, but they would go to Cannes Brulee.

Supper was over and the Captain sat smoking in his cane chair on the
gallery. If King was coming, it would be to-night; the train from the
South came in at seven, and he knew that they were going.

Alexina, sitting on the steps below him, was glad it was the Captain
out here with her, rather than the others. It was like the quiet and
cover of twilight, the silence of the Captain. Moving a little, she
put a hand upon the arm of his chair. His closed upon it and his eyes
rested on her young, beautiful profile, though she did not know it.

The moon came up. The clock in the hall struck eight. Molly was lying
on the sofa inside, Mrs. Leroy moving about as was her wont,
straightening after the servants had gone, and innocently
unsystematizing what little system they employed.

Outside sat the man and the girl. There w