A curious sound broke from her lips; and a look so strange came into her face that he threw his arm round her, thinking she was going to faint: and he spoke sharply. "Isabel, Isabel, what is there to fear? Look at me!" Then a cry broke from her white lips, and she struggled to stand up. "No, no, no! you are mocking me. Oh! Anthony, what have I done, that you should treat me like this?" "Mocking!" he said, "before God I am not. My horse is waiting to take me to the priest." "But--but--" she began again. "Oh! then what have you done to James Maxwell?" "James Maxwell! Why? What do you mean? You got my note!" "No--no. There was no answer, he said." Anthony stared. "Why, I wrote--and then Lady Maxwell! Does she not know, and James himself?" Isabel shook her head and looked at him wildly. "Well, well, that must wait; one thing at a time," he said. "I _cannot_ wait now. I must go to Cuckfield. Ah! Isabel, say you understand." Once or twice she began to speak, but failed; and sat panting and staring at him. "My darling," he said, "do not look like that: we are both Christians still: we at least serve the same God. Surely you will not cast me off for this?" "Cast you off?" she said; and she laughed piteously and sharply; and then was grave again. Then she suddenly cried, "Oh, Anthony, swear to me you are not mocking me." "My darling," he said, "why should I mock you? I have made the Exercises, and have been instructed; and I have here a letter to Mr. Barnes from the priest who has taught me; so that I may be received to-night, and make my Easter duties: and Geoffrey is still at the door holding Roland to take me to Cuckfield to-night." "To Cuckfield!" she said. "You will not find Mr. Barnes there." "Not there! why not? Where shall I find him? How do you know?" "Because he is here," she went on in the same strange voice, "at the Hall." "Well," said Anthony, "that saves me a journey. Why is he here?" "He is here to say mass to-morrow." "Ah!" "And--and----" "What is it, Isabel?" "And--to receive me into the Church to-night." * * * * The brother and sister walked up and down that soft spring evening after supper, on the yew-walk; with the whispers and caresses of the scented breeze about them, the shy dewy eyes of the stars looking down at them between the tall spires of the evergreens overhead; and in their hearts the joy of lovers on a wedding-night.