William most by offering his opinion
on the Bill and quoting Gaston frequently; Lady Belward, by saying that
next year she would certainly go up to town--she had not done so for
five years! They both agreed that a scamper on the Continent would now
be good for him. At nine o'clock he passed the rectory, on his way,
strange to note, to the church. There was one light burning, but it
was not in the study nor in Alice's window. He supposed they had not
returned. He paused and thought. If anything happened, she should know.
But what should happen? He shook his head. He moved on to the church.
The doors were unlocked. He went in, drew out a little pocket-lantern,
lit it, and walked up the aisle.

"A sentimental business this: I don't know why I do it," he thought.

He stopped at the tomb of Sir Gaston Belward, put his hand on it, and
stood looking at it.

"I wonder if there is anything in it?" he said aloud: "if he does
influence me? if we've got anything to do with each other? What he did I
seem to know somehow, more or less. A little dwarf up in my brain drops
the nuts down now and then. Well, Sir Gaston Belward, what is going
to be the end of all this? If we can reach across the centuries, why,
good-night and goodbye to you. Good-bye."

He turned and went down the aisle. At the door a voice, a whispering
voice, floated to him: "Good-bye."

He stopped short and listened. All was still. He walked up the aisle,
and listened again.-Nothing! He stood before the tomb, looking at it
curiously. He was pale, but collected. He raised the light above his
head, and looked towards the altar.--Nothing! Then he went to the door
again, and paused.--Nothing!

Outside he said

"I'd stake my life I heard it!"

A few minutes afterwards, a girl rose up from behind the organ in the
chancel, and felt her way outside. It was Alice Wingfield, who had gone
to the church to pray. It was her good-bye which had floated down to
Gaston.

CHAPTER XIII. HE JOURNEYS AFAR

Politicians gossiped. Where was the new member? His friends could not
tell, further than that he had gone abroad. Lord Faramond did not know,
but fetched out his lower lip knowingly.

"The fellow has instinct for the game," he said. Sketches, portraits
were in the daily and weekly journals, and one hardy journalist even
gave an interview--which had never occurred. But Gaston remained a
picturesque nine-days' figure, and then Parliament rose for the year.

Meanwhile