"Do you know anything of your cousin's early life, or of the reasons that induced him to join his 'Order'?" "Nothing whatever, except that while at college he was ill, and one of father's sisters had him removed to her farmhouse, where he remained for months before he could discard crutches." Mr. Herriott stopped and turned towards her. Holding his hat behind him, he leaned forward and scanned her closely. "Vernon is a married man, and his wife is living." "Is it possible! If any one else had told me, I should doubt it. I am sure father knows nothing of the wife. Where is she? _Cherchez la femme_ is rarely a satire." In the flood of moonlight her fair face--expressive only of surprise--showed no vestige of emotion that could disquiet him, and so intense was his relief that for a moment he dared not trust his voice; then he put on his hat and whistled to his dog. As they walked slowly along the margin of the lake, he told her briefly the history of Father Temple and the recent discovery of his wife and child. "Thank you for telling me such pleasant news. I am very glad poor Vernon will have that angelic boy to comfort him--but 'Juno'? So beautiful, so hard, so bitter! How can any meek priest ever hope to manage her?" They had reached the point of the sickle, and looking back the swelling curves of wooded hills, masses of glossy shrubbery, the irregular profile of the house, outlined by its twinkling lights, and the vast shimmering mirror of the great lake, all lay bathed in liquid gold. Somewhere in a neighboring copse a bird, disturbed by the dog or misled by the splendor of the night, twittered, and then, to reassure his brooding mate near by, broke into a rapture of song. Clasping her hands behind her head, Eglah lifted her face to listen, and Mr. Herriott watched the moisture glisten on her lashes. "Sweet as any aubade of the olden time, under olive and ilex, is it not?" For a moment she did not reply, then, with a sweep of her arm toward the house on the rocks, she said: "So beautiful, so full of peace--of such profound repose--how can you--why will you leave it?"