ide steps of the solitary house,
taking with her the sunshine of the garden to cheer its gloom.

His heart still held hope as its guest. He had put the thought of that
possible emergency from him on the same afternoon as he had decided on
his course of action, should it arise. He never crossed bridges before he
came to them, as the saying is. He might recognize their possible
existence, he might recognize the possibility of being called upon to
cross them, even recognize to the full all the unpleasantness he would
find on the other side. Having done so, he resolutely refused to approach
them till driven thereto by fate.

He found a delight, too, in his little English cottage, in his tiny
orchard, and tinier garden. Each evening saw him at work in it, first
clearing the place of weeds, reducing it to something like order; later,
putting in plants, and sowing seeds. Each Sunday morning saw him walking
the lonely beach with Josephus, and, when Mass was over, seeking the
little church where the Duchessa had formerly worshipped, and would
worship again. Added to the quite extraordinary pleasure he felt in
sitting in her very chair, was strange sense of peace in the little
building. Father Dormer became quite accustomed to seeing the solitary
figure in the church. Of course later, Antony knew, it might be desirable
that these visits should cease, but till the end of June, at all events,
he was safe.

On Saturday and Sunday afternoons and evenings he took long walks inland,
exploring moorland, wood, and stream, and recalling many a childish
memory. He found the pond where he had endangered his life at the
instigation of the fair-haired angel, whose name he could not yet recall.
The pond had not shrunk in size as is usual with childhood's
recollections; on the contrary it was quite a large pond, a deep pond,
and he found himself marvelling that he had ever had the temerity to
attempt to cross it on so insecure a bark as a mere log of wood. Possibly
the angel had been particularly insistent, and, despite the fact that he
was a good many years her senior, he had feared her scorn. He found the
wood where he and she had been caught kneeling by the pheasant's nests.
It had been well for him that the contents had not already been
transferred to his pockets. The crime had been in embryo, so to speak,
performed, by good chance, merely in intention rather than in deed.

Now the wood was a mass of shimmering bluebells, and alive with