nto the dining-room, the words of the song followed her:

"Qui va la! If you please, I own the mansion,
And this is my grandfather's gun!
Qui va la! Now you're a dead man, robber
Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t'-en!"

CHAPTER XI

"I saw you coming," Ferrol said, as Christine stopped the buggy.

"You have been to see Magon and Sophie?" she asked.

"Yes, for a minute," he answered. "Where are you going?"

"Just for a drive," she replied. "Come, won't you?" He got in, and she
drove on.

"Where were you going?" she asked.

"Why, to the old mill," was his reply. "I wanted a little walk, then a
rest."

Ten minutes later they were looking from a window of the mill, out upon
the great wheel which had done all the work the past generations had
given it to do, and was now dropping into decay as it had long dropped
into disuse. Moss had gathered on the great paddles; many of them were
broken, and the debris had been carried away by the freshets of spring
and the floods of autumn.

They were silent for a time. Presently she looked up at him.

"You're much better to-day," she said; "better than you've been
since--since that night!"

"Oh, I'm all right," he answered; "right as can be." He suddenly turned
on her, put his hand upon her arm, and said:

"Come, now, tell me what there was between you and Vanne Castine--once
upon a time.

"He was in love with me five years ago," she said.

"And five years ago you were in love with him, eh?" "How dare you say
that to me!" she answered. "I never was. I always hated him."

She told her lie with unscrupulous directness. He did not believe her;
but what did that matter! It was no reason why he should put her at a
disadvantage, and, strangely enough, he did not feel any contempt
for her because she told the lie, nor because she had once cared for
Castine. Probably in those days she had never known anybody who was very
much superior to Castine. She was in love with himself now; that was
enough, or nearly enough, and there was no particular reason why he
should demand more from her than she demanded from him. She was lying to
him now because--well, because she loved him. Like the majority of men,
when women who love them have lied to them so, they have seen in it a
compliment as strong as the act was weak. It was more to him now that
this girl should love him than that she should be upright, or moral, or
truthful. Such is the egotism and vanity o