ave her to herself, and to return for the moment to his
old position (from which he had rather departed of late), the position
of looking on, without comment, to see what she would do or say next.
What she did was simple enough. She directed, with much merriment, the
efforts of the Rev. Mr. Moore, as in response to her request he climbed
up the jagged pile of drift-wood first, in order to show Mrs. Harold the
best footholds, his butterfly pole much in his way, but not
relinquished; for had not that butterfly flown inland? When he was
safely landed on Patricio, Margaret Harold followed him. Winthrop, in
spite of the difficulties of descent, wished to come down and assist
her; but this she would not allow, and assistance, indeed, was plainly
worse than useless in such a place. Nor did she betray any need of it;
she climbed with an ease which showed a light foot and accurate balance,
and was soon standing by Garda's side.

When they reached the little flower cove it immediately became apparent
that the mother of this singing, painting stranger had really been (she
had been dead many years) a cousin of Middleton Moore's, Winthrop
himself, unless he was prepared to believe in an amount of plotting for
which there seemed no sufficient motive, being forced to acknowledge the
truth of the story. The conversation between the clergyman and Spenser
went on with much animation. Mr. Moore was greatly interested, he was
even excited; and they talked of many things. At last he said, with
feeling, "I remember you _so_ well, Lucian, as a baby; I was in the same
house with you once for a whole week when you were just able to walk
alone."

"Ah, yes! I am afraid I was rather a bad little boy," Spenser answered.

"You _were_ rather--rather animated," the clergyman admitted, mildly.

Garda, who, as usual, had her arm in Margaret's, leaned her head on
Margaret's shoulder and gave way to soft laughter.

Middleton Moore talked, enjoying his adventure greatly. But though he
talked, he did not question, he was too complete a southerner for that;
he leaned on his butterfly pole, and regarded Lucian with the utmost
friendliness, not thinking, apparently, of the fact that he had come
upon this interesting young relative quite by chance, and that this same
young relative must have passed through Gracias (if indeed he were not
staying there) without paying him a visit, though he knew that his
cousin was rector of St. Philip and St. James'; he had