quaint thought, born of
his native religious faith: The Lady, the dear Mistress had just
reached Heaven, no doubt, and had straightway sent them the young one
to console and comfort them. Eh bien! they had had their time of
Purgatory too, and now they might be happy.

Pleasant therefore were Rene's musings, up in the light watcher's
bunk, underneath the lantern, as, smoking a pipe of rest, he listened
complacently to the hissing storm around him.

And in the master's sleeping chamber beneath him, now so curiously
turned into a feminine sanctum, pleasant thoughts too, if less formed,
and less concerned with the future, lulled its dainty occupant to
rest.

Luxuriously stretched between the warm lavender-scented sheets,
watching from her pillow the leaping fire on the hearth, Miss Molly
wondered lazily at her own luck; at the many possible results of the
day's escapade; wondered amusedly whether any poignant sorrow--except,
indeed poor Madeleine's tears--for her supposed demise, really
darkened the supper party at Pulwick this evening; wondered agreeably
how the Lord of the Ruined Castle would meet her on the morrow, after
his singular reception of her this day; how long she would remain in
these romantic surroundings and whether she would like them as well at
the end of the visitation.

And as the blast howled with increasing rage, and the cold night drew
closer on, and the great guns in the sea-cave boomed more angrily with
the risen tide, she dimly began to dwell upon the thought of poor
Lucifer being sucked deeper into his cold rapacious grave, whilst she
was held in the warm embrace of a man whose eyes were masterful and
yet gentle, whose arm was strong, whose kisses were tender.

And in the delight of the contrast, Mademoiselle de Savenaye fell into
the profound slumber of the young and vigorous.

CHAPTER VIII

THE PATH OF WASTED YEARS

And I only think of the woman that weeps;
But I forget, always forget, the smiling child.
_Luteplayer's Song._

That night, even when sheer fatigue had subdued the currents of blood
and thought that surged in his head, Sir Adrian was too restless to
avail himself of the emergency couch providently prepared by Rene in a
corner. But, ceasing his fretful pacing to and fro, he sat down in the
arm-chair by the hearth where she had sat--the waif of the
sea--wrapped round him the cloak that had enfolded the young body,
h