of the rock with a table before him, and Miss
Jerrold, who looked very old and grey and stately, turned her head,
nodded, and went on with the embroidery about which her busy fingers
played.

"He says to me, `You must go up on the cliffs this morning, Margot, and
bring me every flower you can find.' I go, madame, and--"

"One moment, Margot; you always forget I am mademoiselle, not madame."

"The greater the pity, mad'moiselle. You so young looking still you
should be the beautiful mother of many children, or a widow like me.
What of the monsieur? I take him every morning all the flowers, and
there, see, he is as happy with them as a little child. Of my other
sick one--look at her--"

She pointed with the other needle just set free to where Myra and
Stratton were also seated in the shade gazing dreamily out to where the
anchored sailing boats rose and fell upon the calm blue water.

Aunt Jerrold looked through her half-closed eyes, smiled and nodded
again.

"Faith of a good woman!" said Margot, "does she want a nurse, does she
want a physician? No. The good doctor is by her side, and ever since
the day when the bad man was taken I have seen the beautiful brown of
the sea air and the rose of the sun come into her cheeks. It is a folly
my being here now, but if mademoiselle and the great sea captain will
keep my faithful services till they marry and be happy; and oh,
mademoiselle," cried Margot, turning her eyes up toward the sky, and
displaying her white teeth, "the way that I adore the dear, dear little
children!"

"Margot!" cried Miss Jerrold austerely, and she rose and walked away.

"Faith of a good woman! what have I said?" muttered Margot, looking now
at where Guest and Edie had gone down to a rock pool in which they were
fishing with their hands for prawns, but catching each other's fingers
instead deep down under the weeds. "They will all marry, and very soon.
Ah! those old maids!"

The one to whom she specially referred had gone to sit down now by her
brother, who was scanning a vessel in the offing with his glass.

"French man-of-war, Rebecca," he said. "Fine vessel, but only a
confounded imitation of one of ours."

"Yes, dear, I suppose so," said his sister, and she went on with her
embroidery.

"Are you getting tired of the place, Mark?" she said suddenly.

"Eh? Tired! What for? It's beautiful and calm, and there's water and
a bit of shipping, and everyone seems to be happy and com