any haunting memories of him?"

The Pere Anselme avoided answering this question by asking another.

"You knew that the Seigneur of Arranstoun was wedded, it would seem. How
was that?"

Then Henry told him the outline of Michael's story, and the cruel irony
of fate in having made him himself leave the house before seeing Sabine
struck them both.

"What can her reasons have been for not telling me all this time,
Father?" the unhappy man asked at last, in a hopeless voice. "Can you in
any way guess?"

The Pere Anselme mused for a moment.

"I have my own thoughts upon the matter, my son. We who live lonely
lives very close to Nature get into the way of studying things. I have,
as I told you, made some deductions, but, if you will permit me to give
you some counsel, I would tell you to go back to the chateau now, with
no _parti pris_, and seek her immediately, and get her to tell you the
whole truth yourself. Of what good for you and me to speculate, since we
neither of us know all the facts?--or even, if our suppositions are
correct----" Then, as Lord Fordyce hesitated, he continued: "The time
has passed for reticence. There should be no more avoiding of feared
subjects. Go, go, my son, and discover the entire truth."

"And what then!" The cry came from Henry's agonized heart. But the
priest answered gravely:

"That is in the hand of God. My duty is done."

And so they returned in silence, the Pere Anselme praying fervently to
himself. And when they reached the house, Lord Fordyce stumbled up the
stone stairs heavily and knocked at the door of Sabine's sitting-room.
He had seen Moravia at her window in the inner building, and knew that
this woman who held his life in her hand would be alone.

Then, in response to a gentle "_Entrez_" he opened the door and went in.

* * * * *

Sabine had been sitting at her writing-table, an open blue despatch-box
at her side. She was at the far end of the great apartment, so that
Henry had some way to go toward her in the gloom, as, but for the large
lamp near her and the blazing wood fire at each end, there was no light
in the vast room. She rose to meet him, a gentle smile upon her face,
and then, when he came close to her, she realized that something had
happened, and suddenly put her hand out to steady herself upon the back
of a chair.

"Henry--what is it?" she said, in a very low voice. "Come, let us go
over there and sit down," and she