Such a course
is sometimes contradictory, since those who are absent likewise have
their feelings; but it is always at the moment agreeable. He kissed Miss
Lois affectionately, thanked her, and led her to her chair; nor did he
stop there, but stood beside her with her hand in his until she began to
recover her composure, wipe her eyes, and smile. Then he went across to
Dr. Gaston, his faithful and early friend.

"I hope I have your approval, sir?" he said, looking very tall and
handsome as he stood by the old man's chair.

"Yes, yes," said the chaplain, extending his hand. "I was--I was
startled at first, of course; you have both seemed like children to me.
But if it must be, it must be. Only--make her happy, Rast; make her
happy."

"I shall try, sir."

"Come, doctor, acknowledge that you have always expected it," said Miss
Lois, breaking into permanent sunshine, and beginning to wipe her
spectacles in a business-like way, which showed that the moisture was
ended for the present.

"No--yes; I hardly know what I have expected," answered the chaplain,
still a little suffocated, and speaking thickly. "I do not think I have
expected anything."

"Is there any one else you would prefer to have Rast marry? Answer me
that."

"No, no; certainly not."

"Is there any one you would prefer to have Anne marry?"

"Why need she marry at all?" said the chaplain, boldly, breaking
through the chain of questions closing round him. "I am sure you
yourself are a bright example, Miss Hinsdale, of the merits of single
life."

But, to his surprise, Miss Lois turned upon him.

"What! have Anne live through my loneliness, my
always-being-misunderstood-ness, my general sense of a useless ocean
within me, its breaking waves dashed high on a stern and rock-bound
coast?" she said, quoting vehemently from the only poem she knew.
"Never!"

While Dr. Gaston was still gazing at her, Rast turned to Pere Michaux.
"I am sure of your approval," he said, smiling confidently. "I have had
no doubt of that."

"Haven't you?" said the priest, dryly.

"No, sir: you have always been my friend."

"And I shall continue to be," said Pere Michaux. But he rose as he
spoke, and hobbled into the hall, closing the door behind him.

Tita was hurrying through the garden on her way from the heights; he
waited for her.

"Where have you been?" he asked, sternly.

The child seemed exhausted, her breath came in panting gasps; her skirt
was torn, her hai