ming the whole earth
will shake into one ruined graveyard; the cold, bright angels will drive
you this way and that, and there will be no time to explain what could
be explained so simply... But to-night it seemed to Linda there was
something infinitely joyful and loving in those silver beams. And now
no sound came from the sea. It breathed softly as if it would draw that
tender, joyful beauty into its own bosom.

"It's all wrong, it's all wrong," came the shadowy voice of Jonathan.
"It's not the scene, it's not the setting for... three stools, three
desks, three inkpots and a wire blind."

Linda knew that he would never change, but she said, "Is it too late,
even now?"

"I'm old--I'm old," intoned Jonathan. He bent towards her, he passed his
hand over his head. "Look!" His black hair was speckled all over with
silver, like the breast plumage of a black fowl.

Linda was surprised. She had no idea that he was grey. And yet, as he
stood up beside her and sighed and stretched, she saw him, for the first
time, not resolute, not gallant, not careless, but touched already with
age. He looked very tall on the darkening grass, and the thought crossed
her mind, "He is like a weed."

Jonathan stooped again and kissed her fingers.

"Heaven reward thy sweet patience, lady mine," he murmured. "I must go
seek those heirs to my fame and fortune... " He was gone.

Chapter 1.XI.

Light shone in the windows of the bungalow. Two square patches of gold
fell upon the pinks and the peaked marigolds. Florrie, the cat, came
out on to the veranda, and sat on the top step, her white paws close
together, her tail curled round. She looked content, as though she had
been waiting for this moment all day.

"Thank goodness, it's getting late," said Florrie. "Thank goodness, the
long day is over." Her greengage eyes opened.

Presently there sounded the rumble of the coach, the crack of Kelly's
whip. It came near enough for one to hear the voices of the men from
town, talking loudly together. It stopped at the Burnells' gate.

Stanley was half-way up the path before he saw Linda. "Is that you,
darling?"

"Yes, Stanley."

He leapt across the flower-bed and seized her in his arms. She was
enfolded in that familiar, eager, strong embrace.

"Forgive me, darling, forgive me," stammered Stanley, and he put his
hand under her chin and lifted her face to him.

"Forgive you?" smiled Linda. "But whatever for?"

"Good God! You can't have for