n. "They are the jewels
that you like--the ribbon as I wore it long ago. Come in--come in to
supper."

The brief meal ended, they returned to the drawing-room. Rand stood
irresolutely. "I have yet a line to write," he told her. "I will do it
here at your desk. When I have finished, Jacqueline, then there is
something I must say."

He sat down and began to write. She moved to the window, then restlessly
back to the lighted room and sat down before the hearth, but in a moment
she left this, too, and moved again through the room. She passed her
harp, and as she did so, she drew her hand across the strings. The sweet
and liquid sound ran through the room. Rand turned. "I have not heard,"
he said, in a low voice,--"I have not heard that sound since--since last
August. Will you sing to me now?"

She touched the harp again. "Yes, Lewis. What shall I sing?"

He rose, walked to the window, and stood with his face to the night.
"Sing those verses you sang that night at Fontenoy"; then, as she struck
a chord, "No, not To Althea--the other."

She sang. The noble contralto, pure, rich, and deep, swelled through the
room.

"The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine"--

Her voice broke and her hands dropped from the strings. She rose quickly
and left the harp. "I cannot--I cannot sing to-night. The air is
faint--the flowers are too heavy. Come out--come out to the wind and the
stars!"

Without the house the evening wind blew cool, moving the long branches
of the beech tree, and rustling through the grass. To the west the
mountains showed faintly, in the valley a pale streak marked the river.
The sky was thick with stars. Behind them, through the open door, they
heard the tall clock strike. "I did not tell you," said Jacqueline, "of
all my day. Unity was here this afternoon."

"Unity!"

"Yes. For an hour. She came with--with messages. My uncles send me word
that they love me, and that Fontenoy is my home always--as it used to
be. Whenever I wish, I am to come home."

"What did you answer?"

"I answered that they were all dear to me, but that my home was here
with you. I told Unity to tell them that--and to tell it, too, to
Fairfax Cary."

There was a silence; then, "It does not matter," said Rand slowly.
"Whether it is done my way, or whether it is done his way, Fairfax Cary
will not care. He is concerned only that it shall be done. You
understood the message, Jacqueline?"

She an