n than any in the roll of its
predecessors. They sat together on low chairs upon the moonlit lawn, in
their ears the murmur of the sea; upon their faces, gathering strength
with the darkness, the night wind, salt and fragrant with all the
sweetness of dying flowers. Wingrave had never realized more completely
what still seemed to him this wonderful gap in his life. Behind it all,
he had a subconsciousness that he was but taking a part in some mystical
play; yet with an abandon which, when he stopped to think of it,
astonished him, he gave himself up without effort or scruple to this
most amazing interlude. All day he had talked more than ever before;
the flush on his cheeks was like the flush of wine or the sun which had
fired his blood. As he had talked the more, so had she grown the more
silent. She was sitting now with her hands clasped and her head thrown
back, looking up at the stars with unseeing eyes.

"You do not regret Normandy, then?" he asked.

"No!" she murmured. "I have been happy here. I have been happier than I
could ever have been in Normandy."

He turned and looked at her with curious intentness.

"My experience," he said thoughtfully, "of young ladies of your age is
somewhat limited. But I should have thought that you would have found
it--lonely."

"Perhaps I am different, then," she murmured. "I have never been lonely
here--all my life!"

"Except," he reminded her, "when I knew you first."

"Ah! But that was different," she protested. "I had no home in those
days, and I was afraid of being sent away."

It was in his mind then to tell her of the envelope with her name
upon it in his study, but a sudden rush of confusing thoughts kept him
silent. It was while he was laboring in the web of this tangled dream of
wild but beautiful emotions that Aynesworth came. A pale, tragic figure
in his travel-stained clothes, and face furrowed with anxiety, he stood
over them almost before they were aware of his presence.

"Walter!" she cried, and sprang to her feet with extended hands.
Wingrave's face darkened, and the shadow of evil crept into his suddenly
altered expression. It was an abrupt awakening this, and he hated the
man who had brought it about.

Aynesworth held the girl's hands for a moment, but his manner was
sufficient evidence of the spirit in which he had come. He drew a little
breath, and he looked from one to the other anxiously.

"Is this--your mysterious guardian, Juliet?" he asked hoa