the village, Canon Pascal's face grew grave, and his manner
toward his daughter became more tender and caressing than usual. The
secret which Phebe had told him of Roland Sefton had been pondered over
these many weeks in his heart. If it had concerned Felix only he would
have felt himself grieved at this story of his father's sin, but he knew
too well it concerned Alice as closely. This little ivy-slip, so
carefully though silently guarded through all the journey, had been a
daily reminder to him of his girl's love for her old playfellow and
companion. Though she had not told him of its destiny he had guessed it,
and now as she screened it from the too direct rays of the hot sun it
spoke to her of Felix, and to him of his father's crime.

He had no resolve to make his daughter miserable by raising obstacles to
her marriage with Felix, who was truly as dear to him as his own sons.
But yet, if he had only known this dishonest strain in the blood, would
he, years ago, have taken Felix into his home, and exposed Alice to the
danger of loving him? Felix was out of the way of temptation; there was
no stream of money passing through his hands, and it would be hard and
vile indeed for him to fall into any dishonest trickery. But it might be
that his children, Alice's children, might tread in the steps of their
forefather, Roland Sefton, and pursue the same devious course. Thieves
breed thieves, it was said, in the lowest dregs of social life. Would
there be some fatal weakness, some insidious improbity, in the nature of
those descending from Roland Sefton?

It was a wrong against God, a faithless distrust of Him, he said to
himself, to let these dark thoughts distress his mind, at the close of a
day such as that which had been granted to him, almost as a direct and
perfect gift from heaven itself. He looked into the sweet, tranquil face
of his girl, and the trustful loving eyes which met his anxious gaze
with so open and frank an expression; yet he could not altogether shake
off the feeling of solicitude and foreboding which had fallen upon his
spirit.

"Let us go on, and have a quiet dinner by ourselves," said Alice, at
last, "and then we shall have all the cool of the evening to wander
about as we please."

They left their resting-place, and walked on in silence, as if they were
overawed by the snow-clad mountains and towering peaks hanging over the
valley. A little way off the road they saw a poor and miserable hut,
bui