the notes
of song birds. Antony would lie at full length on the moss, listening to
the various notes, dreamily content as his body luxuriated in temporary
idleness. As the afternoon passed into evening the sound of a church bell
would float up to him from the hidden village. He had discovered by now
another church, on the outskirts of the village, an old stone edifice
dating from long before the times of the so-called reformation. It never
claimed him as a visitor, however: it held no attraction for him as did
the little barn-like building on the quay. The sound of the bell would
rouse him to matters present, and he would return to his cottage to
prepare his evening meal, after which he sat in the little parlour with
pipe and book.

Thus quietly the days passed by. May gave place to June, with meadows
waist high in perfumed grass, and hedges fragrant with honeysuckle, while
Antony's thoughts went more frequently out to Woodleigh and the
Duchessa's return.

He had seen the little place from the moorland, looking down into it
where it lay in a hollow among the trees. He had seen the one big house
it boasted, white-walled and thatch-roofed, half-hidden by climbing
roses. Before many days were passed the Duchessa would be once more
within it.

CHAPTER XVI

A MEETING

And as the end of June drew nearer, Antony found himself once more
contemplating a possible meeting with the Duchessa, contemplating, also,
the worst that meeting might hold in store.

An odd, indefinable restlessness was upon him. He told himself quite
plainly that, in all probability before many weeks, many days even, were
passed, there would be a severance of that friendship which meant so much
to him. He forced himself to realize it, to dwell upon it, to bring
consciously home to his soul the blankness the severance would bring with
it. There was a certain relief in facing the worst; yet he could not
always face it. There was the trouble. Now and then a hope, which he told
himself was futile, would spring unbidden to his heart, establish itself
as a radiant guest. Yet presently it would depart, mocking him; or fade
into nothingness leaving a blank greyness in its stead.

Uncertainty--though reason told him none was existent--tantalized,
tormented him. And then, when certainty came nearest home to him, he knew
he had still to learn the final and definite manner of its coming. That
it must inevitably be preceded by moments of soul torture he