s grandmother's proposal there shot up in him
the thought that for him this was absurd. He to pace the world beside
this fine queenly creature--Delia Gasgoyne--carrying on the traditions
of the Belwards! Was it, was it possible?

"Pardon me," he said at last gently, as he saw Lady Belward shrink and
then look curiously at him, "something struck me, and I couldn't help
it."

"Was what I said at all ludicrous?"

"Of course not; you said what was natural for you to say, and I thought
what was natural for me to think, at first blush."

"There is something wrong," she urged fearfully. "Is there any reason
why you cannot marry? Gaston,"--she trembled towards him,--"you have not
deceived us--you are not married?"

"My wife is dead, as I told you," he answered gravely, musingly.

"Tell me: there is no woman who has a claim on you?"

"None that I know of--not one. My follies have not run that way."

"Thank God! Then there is no reason why you should not marry. Oh, when
I look at you I am proud, I am glad that I live! You bring my youth, my
son back; and I long for a time when I may clasp your child in my arms,
and know that Robert's heritage will go on and on, and that there will
be made up to him, somehow, all that he lost. Listen: I am an old,
crippled, suffering woman; I shall soon have done with all this coming
and going, and I speak to you out of the wisdom of sorrow. Had Robert
married, all would have gone well. He did not: he got into trouble, then
came Ian's hand in it all; and you know the end. I fear for you, I do
indeed. You will have sore temptations. Marry--marry soon, and make us
happy."

He was quiet enough now. He had seen the grotesque image, now he was
facing the thing behind it. "Would it please you so very much?" he said,
resting a hand gently on hers.

"I wish to see a child of yours in my arms, dear."

"And the woman you have chosen is Delia Gasgoyne?"

"The choice is for you; but you seem to like each other, and we care for
her."

He sat thinking for a time, then he got up, and said slowly:

"It shall be so, if Miss Gasgoyne will have me. And I hope it may turn
out as you wish."

Then he stooped and kissed her on the cheek. The proud woman, who had
unbent little in her lifetime, whose eyes had looked out so coldly on
the world, who felt for her son Ian an almost impossible aversion, drew
down his head and kissed it.

"Indian and all?" he asked, with a quaint bitterness.

"Everything,