definite significance to her mind. Roland had
told her that it meant a lady, and that all singers were either
mademoiselle or madame, and that she was too young for madame, and
the explanation had been satisfactory.

Certainly, if signs could be trusted Mademoiselle Denasia was likely
to be a name in many mouths; for her second and third songs were even
more startling in their success than "Caller Herrin'," and Mr. Willis
would permit no further recalls.

"We must give them Denasia in small doses," he said, laughing; "she is
too precious to make common," and Roland winced a moment at the
familiar tone in which his wife's name was spoken. But both alike were
under a spell. The intoxicating cup of public applause was at their
lips. Their brains were full of the wildest dreams, their hearts full
of the wildest hopes. No consideration at that time could have turned
their feet aside from the flower-covered, treacherous path they were
so gayly treading.

Such a life would have simply been beyond the power of John and Joan
Penelles to imagine. Its riot of dress and emotions and its sinful
extravagance in every direction would have been to them an astounding
revelation of the possibilities of life. As it was, their anxiety took
mainly one direction: the uncertainty attending the marriage of their
daughter. Denas had indeed said she was Roland's wife, but the St.
Penfer _News_ implied a very different relationship; and John had all
that superstitious belief in a newspaper which is so often an
attribute of ignorance.

At any rate, the want of authentic data about the marriage humiliated
and made him miserable. Two more weeks had passed since that eventful
Sunday night service at St. Clair, and yet John had no assurance of a
more certain character to rely on. Three or four illustrated papers
had been received with "love from your daughter, Denas Tresham,"
written on the title-page; but the claim thus made satisfied no one
but Joan. Joan believed in the validity of the name, and handed around
the sheets with a confidence few cared to in any degree dispute.

The third Sunday was an important one to the fisher-folk. There was to
be a missionary sermon preached in the St. Clair chapel, and John and
Joan went there. The chapel was crowded. Joan got a seat, but John
lingered in the small vestibule within the door among the few brethren
waiting for the strange preacher. It was the same person who had
married Roland and Denas, and a