illed up, had
reappeared, and her track through the dew followed the path that he had
turfed over, when he improved the garden and made it possible for games.

"This is not quite our house yet," said Helen. "When Miss Avery called,
I felt we are only a couple of tourists."

"We shall be that everywhere, and for ever."

"But affectionate tourists."

"But tourists who pretend each hotel is their home."

"I can't pretend very long," said Helen. "Sitting under this tree one
forgets, but I know that to-morrow I shall see the moon rise out of
Germany. Not all your goodness can alter the facts of the case. Unless
you will come with me."

Margaret thought for a moment. In the past year she had grown so fond
of England that to leave it was a real grief. Yet what detained her? No
doubt Henry would pardon her outburst, and go on blustering and muddling
into a ripe old age. But what was the good? She had just as soon vanish
from his mind.

"Are you serious in asking me, Helen? Should I get on with your Monica?"

"You would not, but I am serious in asking you."

"Still, no more plans now. And no more reminiscences."

They were silent for a little. It was Helen's evening.

The present flowed by them like a stream. The tree rustled. It had made
music before they were born, and would continue after their deaths,
but its song was of the moment. The moment had passed. The tree rustled
again. Their senses were sharpened, and they seemed to apprehend life.
Life passed. The tree rustled again.

"Sleep now," said Margaret.

The peace of the country was entering into her. It has no commerce with
memory, and little with hope. Least of all is it concerned with the
hopes of the next five minutes. It is the peace of the present, which
passes understanding. Its murmur came "now," and "now" once more as they
trod the gravel, and "now," as the moonlight fell upon their father's
sword. They passed upstairs, kissed, and amidst the endless iterations
fell asleep. The house had enshadowed the tree at first, but as the moon
rose higher the two disentangled, and were clear fur a few moments
at midnight. Margaret awoke and looked into the garden. How
incomprehensible that Leonard Bast should have won her this night of
peace! Was he also part of Mrs. Wilcox's mind?

CHAPTER XLI

Far different was Leonard's development. The months after Oniton,
whatever minor troubles they might bring him, were all overshadowed by
Remorse. When Helen l