charity,--she has something of
her own. We love her, and she is the best of companions for my daughter.
For the rest, Monsieur, she seems benumbed, with no desire to go back or
to go farther."

An entrance drive to the plantation of Les Iles, unknown to Nick and me,
led off from the main road like a green tunnel arched out of the forest.
My feelings as we entered this may be imagined, for I was suddenly
confronted with the situation which I had dreaded since my meeting with
Nick at Jonesboro. I could scarcely allow myself even the faint hope
that Mrs. Clive might not prove to be Mrs. Temple after all. Whilst I
was in this agony of doubt and indecision, the drive suddenly came out
on a shaded lawn dotted with flowering bushes. There was the house with
its gallery, its curved dormer roof and its belvedere; and a white,
girlish figure flitted down the steps. It was Mademoiselle Antoinette,
and no sooner had her father dismounted than she threw herself into his
arms. Forgetful of my presence, he stood murmuring in her ear like a
lover; and as I watched them my trouble slipped from my mind, and gave
place to a vaguer regret that I had been a wanderer throughout my life.
Presently she turned up to him a face on which was written something
which he could not understand. His own stronger features reflected a
vague disquiet.

"What is it, ma cherie?"

What was it indeed? Something was in her eyes which bore a message and
presentiment to me. She dropped them, fastening in the lapel of his
coat a flaunting red flower set against a shining leaf, and there was a
gentle, joyous subterfuge in her answer.

"Thou pardoned Auguste, as I commanded?" she said. They were speaking in
the familiar French.

"Ha, diable! is it that which disquiets thee?" said her father. "We will
not speak of Auguste. Dost thou know Monsieur Ritchie, 'Toinette?"

She disengaged herself and dropped me a courtesy, her eyes seeking
the ground. But she said not a word. At that instant Madame de St. Gre
herself appeared on the gallery, followed by Nick, who came down the
steps with a careless self-confidence to greet the master. Indeed, a
stranger might have thought that Mr. Temple was the host, and I saw
Antoinette watching him furtively with a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

"I am delighted to see you at last, Monsieur," said my cousin. "I am
Nicholas Temple, and I have been your guest for three days."

Had Monsieur de St. Gre been other than the soul of