clined to undertake Clifford's higher
education, and Felix, who had not thought of the matter again, being
haunted with visions of more personal profit, now reflected that the
work of redemption had fairly begun. The idea in prospect had seemed
of the happiest, but in operation it made him a trifle uneasy. "What if
Eugenia--what if Eugenia"--he asked himself softly; the question dying
away in his sense of Eugenia's undetermined capacity. But before Felix
had time either to accept or to reject its admonition, even in this
vague form, he saw Robert Acton turn out of Mr. Wentworth's inclosure,
by a distant gate, and come toward the cottage in the orchard. Acton
had evidently walked from his own house along a shady by-way and was
intending to pay a visit to Madame Munster. Felix watched him a moment;
then he turned away. Acton could be left to play the part of Providence
and interrupt--if interruption were needed--Clifford's entanglement with
Eugenia.

Felix passed through the garden toward the house and toward a postern
gate which opened upon a path leading across the fields, beside a little
wood, to the lake. He stopped and looked up at the house; his eyes
rested more particularly upon a certain open window, on the shady side.
Presently Gertrude appeared there, looking out into the summer light. He
took off his hat to her and bade her good-day; he remarked that he was
going to row across the pond, and begged that she would do him the
honor to accompany him. She looked at him a moment; then, without saying
anything, she turned away. But she soon reappeared below in one of those
quaint and charming Leghorn hats, tied with white satin bows, that were
worn at that period; she also carried a green parasol. She went with
him to the edge of the lake, where a couple of boats were always moored;
they got into one of them, and Felix, with gentle strokes, propelled it
to the opposite shore. The day was the perfection of summer weather;
the little lake was the color of sunshine; the plash of the oars was the
only sound, and they found themselves listening to it. They disembarked,
and, by a winding path, ascended the pine-crested mound which overlooked
the water, whose white expanse glittered between the trees. The place
was delightfully cool, and had the added charm that--in the softly
sounding pine boughs--you seemed to hear the coolness as well as
feel it. Felix and Gertrude sat down on the rust-colored carpet of
pine-needles and t