ever, knew all about Captain Duncan, and knew what was
ignored by many, namely, that he was nothing worse than foolish. He
knew all about Miriam, for he was in the confidence of Mrs. St.
Pierre Lawrence. He knew that that lady wondered why Miriam preferred
Farlingford to the high-bred society of her own circle at Royan and in
Paris.

He thought he knew why Loo Barebone showed so little enterprise. And he
was, as Madame de Chantonnay had frequently told him, more than half a
Frenchman in the quickness of his intuitions. He picked a flower for
his buttonhole from the garden of the "Black Sailor," and set forth the
morning after his interview with Captain Clubbe toward the rectory. It
was a cool July morning, with the sun half obscured by a fog-bank driven
in from the sea. Through the dazzling white of that which is known on
these coasts as the water-smoke the sky shone a cloudless blue. The
air was light and thin. It is the lightest and thinnest air in England.
Dormer Colville hummed a song under his breath as he walked on the top
of the dyke. He was a light-hearted man, full of hope and optimism.

"Am I disturbing your studies?" he asked, with his easy laugh, as he
came rather suddenly on Miriam and little Sep in the turf-shelter at the
corner of the rectory garden. "You must say so if I am."

They had, indeed, their books, and the boy's face wore that abstracted
look which comes from a very earnest desire not to see the many
interesting things on earth and sea, which always force themselves
upon the attention of the young at the wrong time. Colville had already
secured Sep's friendship by the display of a frank ignorance of natural
history only equalled by his desire to be taught.

"We're doing history," replied Sep, frankly, jumping up and shaking
hands.

"Ah, yes. William the Conqueror, ten hundred and sixty-six, and all the
rest of it. I know. At least I knew once, but I have forgotten."

"No. We're doing French history. Miriam likes that best, but I hate it."

"French history," said Colville, thoughtfully. "Yes. That is
interesting. Miss Liston likes that best, does she? Or, perhaps, she
thinks that it is best for you to know it. Do you know all about Louis
XVI. and Marie Antoinette?"

"Pretty well," admitted Sep, doubtfully.

"When I was a little chap like you, I knew many people who had seen
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. That was long, long ago," he added,
turning to Miriam to make the admission. "But