h the window which
she had opened.

"Fill my bath quickly, Aline," Louise ordered. "I must go out. I want to
see whether it is really as beautiful as it looks."

Aline dressed her mistress in silence. It was not until she had finished
lacing her shoes that she spoke another word. Then, suddenly, she
stopped short in the act of crossing the room. Her eyes had happened to
fall upon the emblazoned genealogical record. A little exclamation
escaped her. She swung round toward her mistress, and for once there was
animation in her face.

"But, _madame_," she exclaimed, "I have remembered! The name
Strangewey--you see it there--it was in our minds all the time that we
had seen or heard of it quite lately. Don't you remember--"

"Yes, yes!" Louise interrupted. "I know it reminds me of something, but
of what?"

"Yesterday morning," Aline continued, "it was you _madame_, who read it
out while you took your coffee. You spoke of the good fortune of some
farmer in the north of England to whom a relative in Australia had left
a great fortune--hundreds and thousands of pounds. The name was
Strangewey, the same as that. I remember it now."

She pointed once more to the family tree. Louise sat for a moment with
parted lips.

"You are quite right, Aline. I remember it all perfectly now. I wonder
whether it could possibly be either of these two men!"

Aline shook her head doubtfully.

"It would be unbelievable, _madame_," she decided. "Could any sane human
creatures live here, with no company but the sheep and the cows, if they
had money--money to live in the cities, to buy pleasures, to be happy?
Unbelievable, _madame_!"

Louise remained standing before the window. She was watching the
blossom-laden boughs of one of the apple trees bending and swaying in
the fresh morning breeze--watching the restless shadows which came and
went upon the grass beneath.

"That is just your point of view, Aline," she murmured; "but
happiness--well, you would not understand. They are strange men, these
two. The young one is different now, but as he grows older he will be
like his brother. He will live a very simple and honorable life. He will
be--what is it they call it?--a county magistrate, chairman of many
things, a judge at agricultural shows. When he dies, he will be buried
up in that windy little churchyard, and people will come from a long way
off to say how good he was. My hat, quickly, Aline! If I am not in that
orchard in five minute