sun slanted low through the trees and
sank in rose-coloured haze, and the moon, now just at the half, began to
shine out softly through the mangoes, and still the lovers walked,
pacing slowly to and fro near the well. No wonder they dallied long; it
was their last evening together, and I doubted not that Isaacs was
telling her of his sudden departure, necessary for reasons which I knew
he would not explain to her or to any one else.

At last we all assembled in the dining-tent. Mr. Currie Ghyrkins was
among the first, and his niece was the last to enter the room. He was
glorious that evening, his kindly red face beamed on every one, and he
carried himself like a victorious general at a ladies' tea-party. He had
reason to be happy, and his jerky good spirits were needed to
counterbalance the deep melancholy that seemed to have settled upon his
niece. The colour was gone from her cheeks, and her dark eyes, heavily
fringed by the black brows and lashes, shone out strangely; the contrast
between the white flaxen hair, drawn back in simple massive waves like a
Greek statue, and the broad level eyes as dark as night, was almost
startling this evening in the singularity of its beauty. She sat like a
queenly marble at the end of the table, not silent, by any means, but so
evidently out of spirits that John Westonhaugh, who did not know that
Isaacs was going in the morning, and would not have supposed that his
sister could care so much, if he had known, remarked upon her
depression.

"What is the matter, Katharine?" he asked kindly. "Have you a headache
this evening?" She was just then staring rather blankly into space.

"Oh no," she said, trying to smile. "I was thinking."

"Ah," said Mr. Ghyrkins merrily, "that is why you look so unlike
yourself, my dear!" And he laughed at his rough little joke.

"Do I?" asked the girl absently.

But Ghyrkins was not to be repressed, and as Kildare and the Pegnugger
man were gay and wide awake, the dinner was not as dull as might have
been expected. When it was over, Isaacs announced his intention of
leaving early the next morning. Very urgent business recalled him
suddenly, he explained. A messenger had arrived just before dinner. He
must leave without fail in the morning. Miss Westonbaugh of course was
forewarned; but the others were not. Lord Steepleton Kildare, in the act
of lighting a cheroot, dropped the vesuvian incontinently, and stood
staring at Isaacs with an indescribable exp