‘A sad fate indeed.’ The subject was a painful one to Oscar Boyd. He crossed to the window, and stood gazing out for a few moments in silence. Lady Dimsdale’s thoughts were busy. ‘What is there to hinder him from saying again to-day the words he said to me fifteen years ago?’ she asked herself. ‘If he only knew!’ ‘How strange it seems, Laura, to be alone with you again after all these years!’ He spoke from the window. A beautiful flush spread swiftly over Lady Dimsdale’s face. Her heart beat quickly. In a moment she had grown fifteen years younger. ‘He calls me Laura!’ she murmured softly to herself. ‘Surely he will say the words now.’ ‘I could fancy this was the dear never-to-be-forgotten room in the old vicarage—that that was the garden outside. In another moment, Fido will come bounding in. Hannah will open the door and tell us tea is waiting. We shall hear your father whistling softly to himself, while he counts the ripening peaches on the wall.’ ‘Oscar, don’t!’ cried Lady Dimsdale in a voice that was broken with emotion. Oscar Boyd came slowly back from the window, and stood for a few moments watching her in silence. Then he laid a hand gently on one of hers, took possession of it, looked at it for a moment, and then pressed it to his lips. Then with a lingering pressure, he let it drop, and walked away again to the window. Lady Dimsdale’s eyes followed him; she could have laughed or she could have cried; she was on the verge of both. ‘Oh, my dear one, if you only knew what stupid creatures you men are!’ she said to herself. ‘Why isn’t this leap-year?’ Presently Mr Boyd paced back again to the table; he seemed possessed by some demon of restlessness. ‘With your permission, I will relate a little apologue to you,’ he said; and then he drew up a chair near to the table and sat down. ‘I once had a friend who was a poor man, and was in love with a woman who was very rich. He had made up his mind to ask her to be his wife, when one day he chanced to hear himself stigmatised as a fortune-hunter, as an adventurer who sought to marry a rich wife in order that he might live on her money. Then, although he loved this woman very dearly, he went away without saying a word of that which was in his heart.’ ‘Must not your friend have been a weak-minded man, to let the idle talk of an empty busybody come between himself and happiness? He deserved to lose his prize. But I too have a little apologue to tell to you. Once on a time there was a woman whom circumstances compelled against her wishes to marry a rich old man. When he died, he left her all his wealth, but on one condition—that she should never marry again. Any one taking her for his wife must take her—for herself alone.’ Oscar rose and pushed back his chair. His face flushed; a great flame of love leaped suddenly into his eyes. Lady Dimsdale was bending over her flowers. Neither of them saw the black-robed figure that was standing motionless by the open window.