, and they were in each other's arms.

It was their golden hour. Neither thought of right or wrong, of the
conditions of life beyond their ring of box, of wisdom or its contrary.
It was as though they had met in the great void of space, the marvel
called man and the wonder that is woman, each drawn to each over the
endless fields and through the immeasurable ages. Each saw the other
transfigured, and each wished for lover and companion the other shining
one.

They moved to the summer-house, and sat down upon the step. About them
was the Seven Sisters rose, and above towered the tulip tree with a
mockingbird singing in its branches. The place was filled with the odour
of the box. To the end of their lives the smell of box brought back that
hour in the Fontenoy garden. The green walls hid from view all without
their little round. They had not heard step or voice when suddenly,
having strolled that way by accident, there emerged from the winding
path into the space about the summer-house Colonel Churchill and Ludwell
Cary. There was a second's utter check, then, "Sir!" cried the Colonel,
in wrathful amazement.

The hands of the lovers fell apart. Rand rose, but Jacqueline sat still,
looking at her uncle with a paling cheek and a faint line between her
brows. The mockingbird sang on, but the garden appeared to darken and
grow cold. The place seemed filled with difficult breathing. Then,
before a word was spoken, Cary turned, made a slight gesture with his
hand, and went away, disappearing between the lines of box. The sound of
his footsteps died in the direction of the stream and the dark wood.
Colonel Churchill moistened his lips and spoke in a thick voice. "You
scoundrel! Was it for this? You are a scoundrel, sir!"

"I have asked Miss Churchill to be my wife," said Rand, with steadiness.
"She has consented. I love your niece, sir, with all my heart, most
truly, most dearly! I will ask you to believe that it was not in my mind
to speak to her to-day, or to speak at all without your knowledge. I
confess the impropriety of my course. But we met unawares. It is not to
be helped. In no way is she to blame."

Jacqueline rose, came to her uncle, and tried to take his hand. He
repulsed her. "Is this true--what this man says?"

"Yes, yes," said Jacqueline. "It is true. Oh, forgive him!"

The Colonel struck down her outstretched hands. "I do not believe you
are Henry's child! Your mother was a strange woman. You are not a
C