t winter probably, and it would be as well for me, as a
matter of business, to make their acquaintance; you
understand?"

"Yes, I understand--but then you would have to go at once,
Monsieur Horace, for it is already April, and the weather is
so warm that people will be coming away. I remember how they
used to fly from Nice and Florence--every one that we knew as
soon as it began to get hot."

"Yes, I have not much time to lose, and if I decide to go at
all, I shall start at once. But it is very doubtful."

They had reached the end of the field whilst talking; a heavy
gate separated it from a lane beyond, and the children, unable
to open it, had dispersed here and there along the bank,
hunting for primroses.

"Shall we go on?" said Graham, "or would you like to turn back
now? You look tired."

Madelon did not answer; what was the use of going on? What did
it matter? Everything came to the same end at last--a sense of
utter discouragement and weariness had seized her, and she
stood leaning against the gate, staring blankly down the road
before her. There were about twenty yards of shady, grassy
lane, and then it was divided by a cross-road, with a cottage
standing at one of the angles. Graham, who was looking at
Madelon, saw her face change suddenly.

"Why, there are----" she began, and then stopped abruptly,
colouring with confusion.

Graham looked; two figures had just appeared from one of the
cross-roads, and walking slowly forward, had paused in front
of the cottage; they were Mr. Morris the curate and Maria
Leslie. The clergyman stood with his back to Graham and
Madelon, but they could see Maria with her handkerchief to her
eyes, apparently weeping bitterly. The curate was holding one
of her hands in both his, and so they stood together for a
moment, till he raised it to his lips. Then she pulled it away
vehemently, and burying her face completely in her
handkerchief, hurried off in a direction opposite to that by
which she had come. Mr. Morris stood gazing after her for a
moment, and then he also disappeared within the cottage.

This little scene passed so rapidly, that the two looking on
had hardly time to realize that they were looking on, before
it was all over. There was a sort of pause. Madelon gave one
glance to Graham, and turned away--then the children came
running up with their primroses. "Here are some for you, Uncle
Horace; Cousin Madelon, please may I put some in your hat?"

Madelon took