t far away in the upper room of
Elie Mattingley's house in the Rue d'Egypte, thinking his own thoughts,
biding the time when she should come back to the world, and mystery be
over, and happiness come once more; hoping only that he might live to
see it.

Under his directions, Jean Touzel had removed the few things that Guida
took with her to Plemont; and instructed by him, Elie Mattingley sold
her furniture. Thus Guida had settled at Plemont, and there over four
years of her life were passed.

"Your father--how is he?" she asked presently. "Feeble," replied
Ranulph; "he goes abroad but little now."

"It was said the Royal Court was to make him a gift, in remembrance
of the Battle of Jersey." Ranulph turned his head away from her to the
child, and beckoned him over. The child came instantly.

As Ranulph lifted him on his knee he answered Guida: "My father did not
take it."

"Then they said you were to be constable--the grand monsieur." She
smiled at him in a friendly way.

"They said wrong," replied Ranulph.

"Most people would be glad of it," rejoined Guida. "My mother used to
say you would be Bailly one day."

"Who knows--perhaps I might have been!"

She looked at him half sadly, half curiously. "You--you haven't any
ambitions now, Maitre Ranulph?" It suddenly struck her that perhaps she
was responsible for the maiming of this man's life--for clearly it was
maimed. More than once she had thought of it, but it came home to her
to-day with force. Years ago Ranulph Delagarde had been spoken of as
one who might do great things, even to becoming Bailly. In the eyes of a
Jerseyman to be Bailly was to be great, with jurats sitting in a row
on either side of him and more important than any judge in the Kingdom.
Looking back now Guida realised that Ranulph had never been the same
since that day on the Ecrehos when his father had returned and Philip
had told his wild tale of love.

A great bitterness suddenly welled up in her. Without intention, without
blame, she had brought suffering upon others. The untoward happenings
of her life had killed her grandfather, had bowed and aged the old
Chevalier, had forced her to reject the friendship of Carterette
Mattingley, for the girl's own sake; had made the heart of one fat old
woman heavy within her; and, it would seem, had taken hope and ambition
from the life of this man before her. Love in itself is but a bitter
pleasure; when it is given to the unworthy it becomes a to