at in meeting her to-night I
have met with one of those birds whose appearance is to the sailor the
harbinger of good luck."

"A poor harbinger of good luck is she who can do nothing, who has no
power. I feel my incapacity. It is of no use saying I have the will to
serve you when I cannot prove it. Yet I have that will. I wish you
success. I wish you high fortune and true happiness."

"When did you ever wish me anything else? What is Fanny waiting for? I
told her to walk on. Oh! we have reached the churchyard. Then we are to
part here, I suppose. We might have sat a few minutes in the church
porch, if the girl had not been with us. It is so fine a night, so
summer-mild and still, I have no particular wish to return yet to the
Hollow."

"But we cannot sit in the porch now, Robert."

Caroline said this because Moore was turning her round towards it.

"Perhaps not. But tell Fanny to go in. Say we are coming. A few minutes
will make no difference."

The church clock struck ten.

"My uncle will be coming out to take his usual sentinel round, and he
always surveys the church and churchyard."

"And if he does? If it were not for Fanny, who knows we are here, I
should find pleasure in dodging and eluding him. We could be under the
east window when he is at the porch; as he came round to the north side
we could wheel off to the south; we might at a pinch hide behind some of
the monuments. That tall erection of the Wynnes would screen us
completely."

"Robert, what good spirits you have! Go! go!" added Caroline hastily. "I
hear the front door----"

"I don't want to go; on the contrary, I want to stay."

"You know my uncle will be terribly angry. He forbade me to see you
because you are a Jacobin."

"A queer Jacobin!"

"Go, Robert, he is coming; I hear him cough."

"Diable! It is strange--what a pertinacious wish I feel to stay!"

"You remember what he did to Fanny's--" began Caroline, and stopped
abruptly short. "Sweetheart" was the word that ought to have followed,
but she could not utter it. It seemed calculated to suggest ideas she
had no intention to suggest--ideas delusive and disturbing. Moore was
less scrupulous. "Fanny's sweetheart?" he said at once. "He gave him a
shower-bath under the pump, did he not? He'd do as much for me, I dare
say, with pleasure. I should like to provoke the old Turk--not, however,
against you. But he would make a distinction between a cousin and a
lover, would he not?"

"Oh,