yes.

Mr. Carlyon, of course, must be aware of Halcyone's night wandering
proclivities. And if there had been nothing to conceal John Derringham
would have liked to have sat down now and rhapsodized all about his
darling to his old friend, who adored her, too, and knew and appreciated
all her points. He felt bitterly that Fate had not been as kind to him
as she might have been. However, there was nothing for it, so he turned
the conversation and tried to make himself grow as interested in a
question of foreign policy as he would have been able to be, say, a year
ago. And then he went out for a walk.

And Cheiron sat musing in his chair, as was his habit.

"The magnet of her soul is drawing his," he said to himself. "Well, now
that this has begun to work, we must leave things to Fate."

But he did not guess how passion on the one side and complete love and
trust upon the other were precipitously forcing Fate's hand.

The possibility of John Derringham's sending a message to Halcyone was
very slender. The post was out of the question--she probably never got
any letters, and the arrival of one in a man's handwriting would no
doubt be the cause of endless comment in the household. The foolishness
had been not to make a definite appointment with her when they had
parted before dawn. But they had been too overcome with love to think of
anything practical in those last moments, and now the only thing would
be for him to go again to-night to the tree, and hope that she would
meet him there. But the sky was clouding over, and rain looked quite
ready to fall. As a last resource he could send Demetrius--his own valet
he would not have trusted a yard.

The rain kept off for his journey to Bristol, and his business was got
through with rapidity. And if the registrar did connect the name of John
Derringham, barrister-at-law, of the Temple, London, with John
Derringham, the Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, he was a
man of discretion and said nothing about it.

It was quite late when Mr. Carlyon's guest returned to his
roof--cross-country trains were so tiresome--and it had just begun to
pour with rain, so there was no use expecting that Halcyone would be
there by the tree. And bed, with a rather feverish sensation of
disappointment, seemed John Derringham's portion.

Halcyone had passed a day of happy tranquillity. She was of that godlike
calm which frets not, believing always that only good could come to her,
an