e laughed, and called to the dogs.

But Milbanke scarcely heard the laugh. There was a flush of delight on
his thin cheeks as he peered through his magnifying-glass into one of
the carved stones. He waited a moment before replying; then he answered
with bent head.

"Certainly, Miss Clodagh," he said abstractedly--"certainly! But make
it two hours, I beg of you, instead of one."

And with another amused laugh Clodagh took advantage of her dismissal.

Milbanke's absorption was so unfeigned that when Clodagh came running
back nearly three hours later, full of remorse for her long desertion,
he greeted her with something amounting to regret.

Twice she had to remind him that the afternoon was all but spent and
the long walk to Orristown still to be reckoned with, before he could
desist from the fascinating task of completing the notes he had made.
At last, with a little sigh of amiable regret, he shut up his book,
returned the magnifying-glass to his satchel, and slowly followed her
out of the churchyard.

They had covered half a mile of the smooth strand, across which the
first long shadows of evening had begun to fall, before the glamour of
the past centuries had faded from his consideration, permitting the
more material present to obtrude itself.

Then at last, with a little start of compunction, he realised how
silent and uninteresting a companion he must seem to the girl walking
so staidly beside him; and with something of guilt in the movement, he
withdrew his eyes from the long, wet line of sand where the incoming
tide was stealthily encroaching.

"Miss Clodagh," he said abruptly, "what are you thinking of?"

With frank spontaneity, she turned and met his gaze.

"I was wondering," she said candidly, "when you'd forget the Round
Tower and remember about father."

He started, roused to a fresh sense of guilt.

"You--you mustn't think----" he began stammeringly.

But Clodagh laughed.

"Oh, don't bother about it!" she said easily. "I wasn't really
thinking."

For a while he remained silent, watching the noisy dogs as they
ineffectually chased the seagulls that wheeled above the unruffled
waves; then, at last, urged by his awakened conscience, he half paused
and looked again at the girl's bright face.

"Miss Clodagh," he began, "I feel very guilty--I _am_ very guilty."

Clodagh glanced back at him.

"How?" she said simply.

"Because last night I unconsciously did what you disapprove of. I
played