en," he said; "we had lost you, and his mother
was dead. He had no one to turn to for comfort. His cousin Julia, who
was to have been his wife, was married to Captain Carey three weeks ago.
You recollect Captain Carey, mam'zelle?"

Here was more news, and a fresh rearranging of the persons who peopled
my world. Kate Daltrey become Dr. Dobree's second wife; Julia Dobree
married to Captain Carey; and Dr. Martin living in London, the partner
of Dr. Senior! How could I put them all into their places in a moment?
Tardif, too, was dwelling alone, now, solitarily, in a very solitary
place.

"I am very sorry for you," I said, in a low tone.

"Why, mam'zelle?" he asked.

"Because you have lost your mother," I answered.

"Yes, mam'zelle," he said, simply; "she was a great loss to me, though
she was always fretting about my inheriting the land. That is the law of
the island, and no one can set it aside. The eldest son inherits the
land, and I was not her own son, though I did my best to be like a real
son to her. She died happier in thinking that her son, or grandson,
would follow me when I am gone, and I was glad she had that to comfort
her, poor woman."

"But you may marry again some day, my good Tardif," I said; "how I wish
you would!"

"No, mam'zelle, no," he answered, with a strange quivering tone in his
voice; "my mother knew why before she died, and it was a great comfort
to her. Do not think I am not happy alone. There are some memories that
are better company than most folks. Yes, there are some things I can
think of that are more and better than any wife could be to me."

Why we were both silent after that I scarcely knew. Both of us had many
things to think about, no doubt, and the ideas were tumbling over one
another in my poor brain till I wished I could cease to think for a few
hours.

Vespers ended, and the villagers began to disperse stealthily. Not a
wooden _sabot_ clattered on the stones. Mademoiselle and Monsieur
Laurentie came in, with a tread as soft as if they were afraid of waking
a child out of a light slumber.

"Mademoiselle," I cried, "monsieur, behold me; I am here."

My voice and my greeting seemed to transport them with delight.
Mademoiselle embraced me, and kissed me on both cheeks. Monsieur le Cure
blessed me, in a tremulously joyous accent, and insisted upon my keeping
his arm-chair. We sat down to supper together, by the light of a
brilliant little lamp, and Pierre, who was passing th