which many might consider becoming in a widow of
five years' standing at the discovery that her heart which had fitted
well the holding of a treasure, was not narrowed to the holding of a
memory,--the treasure being gone.

Mandy's feeble knock at the door was answered by her mistress in
person who had now banished all traces of her ride and its resultant
cogitations.

The two women, with Hosmer and Gregoire, sat out on the veranda after
supper as their custom was during these warm summer evenings. There
was no attempt at sustained conversation; they talked by snatches to
and at one another, of the day's small events; Melicent and Gregoire
having by far the most to say. The girl was half reclining in the
hammock which she kept in a slow, unceasing motion by the impetus of
her slender foot; he sitting some distance removed on the steps.
Hosmer was noticeably silent; even Jocint as a theme failing to rouse
him to more than a few words of dismissal. His will and tenacity were
controlling him to one bent. He had made up his mind that he had
something to say to Mrs. Lafirme, and he was impatient at any enforced
delay in the telling.

Gregoire slept now in the office of the mill, as a measure of
precaution. To-night, Hosmer had received certain late telegrams that
necessitated a return to the mill, and his iron-grey was standing
outside in the lane with Gregoire's horse, awaiting the pleasure of
his rider. When Gregoire quitted the group to go and throw the saddles
across the patient animals, Melicent, who contemplated an additional
hour's chat with Therese, crossed over to the cottage to procure a
light wrap for her sensitive shoulders against the chill night air.
Hosmer, who had started to the assistance of Gregoire, seeing that
Therese had remained alone, standing at the top of the stairs,
approached her. Remaining a few steps below her, and looking up into
her face, he held out his hand to say good-night, which was an unusual
proceeding, for they had not shaken hands since his return to
Place-du-Bois three months before. She gave him her soft hand to hold
and as the warm, moist palm met his, it acted like a charged electric
battery turning its subtle force upon his sensitive nerves.

"Will you let me talk to you to-morrow?" he asked.

"Yes, perhaps; if I have time."

"Oh, you will make the time. I can't let the day go by without telling
you many things that you ought to have known long ago." The battery
was still d