came to think. Matters seem to have got
into a bit of a tangle, don't they? Most unfortunate that charming young
lady being brought to this house in such a fashion. Really, it looks
like a spite of what she called Fate. However, I have no doubt that it
will all straighten itself somehow. By the way, she told me that she
should wish to see you once to say good-bye before she went. Don't be
vexed with me if, should she do so, I suggest to you to be very careful.
Your position will be exceedingly painful and exceedingly dangerous, and
in a moment all your fine resolutions may come to nothing; though I am
sure that she does not wish any such thing, poor dear. Unless she really
seeks this interview, I think, indeed, it would be best avoided."

Morris made no answer, and the Colonel went away somewhat weary and
sorrowful. For once he had seen too much of his puppet-show.

CHAPTER XVI

A MARRIAGE AND AFTER

Stella did not appear at dinner that night, or at breakfast next day. In
the course of the morning, growing impatient, for he had explanations to
make, Morris sent her a note worded thus:

"Can I see you?--M. M."

to which came the following answer:

"Not to-day. Meet me to-morrow at the Dead Church at three o'clock.
--Stella."

It was the only letter that he ever received from her.

That afternoon, December 23, Mr. Fregelius and his daughter moved to the
Rectory in a fly that had been especially prepared to convey the invalid
without shaking him. Morris did not witness their departure, as the
Colonel, either by accident or design, had arranged to go with him on
this day to inspect the new buildings which had been erected on the
Abbey Farm. Nor, indeed, were the names of the departed guests so much
as mentioned at dinner that night. The incident of their long stay at
the Abbey, with all its curious complications, was closed, and both
father and son, by tacit agreement, determined to avoid all reference to
it; at any rate for the present.

The Christmas Eve of that year will long be remembered in Monksland and
all that stretch of coast as the day of the "great gale" which wrought
so much damage on its shores. The winter's dawn was of extraordinary
beauty, for all the eastern sky might have been compared to one vast
flower, with a heart of burnished gold, and sepals and petals of many
coloured fires. Slowly from a central point it opened, slowly its
splendours spread across the heavens; then suddenly i