ok that he never forgot. Then the door
closed.

"Grace of God, she is not going home!" brokenly murmured the Clerk of
the Court.

With a groan the master-carpenter started forward towards the door, but
M. Fille stepped between, laid a hand on his arm, and stopped him.

CHAPTER XIII. THE MAN FROM OUTSIDE

"Oh, who will walk the wood with me,
I fear to walk alone;
So young am I, as you may see;
No dangers have I known.
So young, so small--ah, yes, m'sieu',
I'll walk the wood with you!"

In the last note of the song applause came instantaneously, almost
impatiently, as it might seem. With cries of "Encore! Encore!" it lasted
some time, while the happy singer looked around with frank pleasure on
the little group encircling her in the Manor Cartier.

"Did you like it so much?" she asked in a general way, and not looking
at any particular person. A particular person, however, replied, and she
had addressed the question to him, although not looking at him. He was
the Man from Outside, and he sat near the bright wood-fire; for though
it was almost June the night was cool and he was delicate.

"Ah, but splendid, but splendid--it got into every corner of every one
of us," the Man from Outside responded, speaking his fluent French with
a slight English accent, which had a pleasant piquancy--at least to the
ears of the pretty singer, Mdlle. Zoe Barbille. He was a man of
about thirty-three, clean-shaven, dark-haired, with an expression of
cleverness; yet with an irresponsible something about him which M.
Fille had reflected upon with concern. For this slim, eager, talkative,
half-invalid visitor to St. Saviour's had of late shown a marked liking
for the presence and person of Zoe Barbille; and Zoe was as dear to M.
Fille as though she were his own daughter. He it was who, in sarcasm,
had spoken of this young stranger as "The Man from Outside."

Ever since Zoe's mother had vanished--alone--seven years before from the
Manor Cartier, or rather from his office at Vilray, M. Fille had been
as much like a maiden aunt or a very elder brother to the Spanische's
daughter as a man could be. Of M. Fille's influence over his daughter
and her love of his companionship, Jean Jacques had no jealousy
whatever. Very often indeed, when he felt incompetent to do for his
child all that he wished--philosophers are often stupid in human
affairs--he thought it was a blessing Zoe