On this day there was a kind of inexorable sparkle and brilliancy on land and sky. Everything shone and glittered, and Chelda's weary eyes were dazzled, yet she gazed steadfastly and immovably out at the rippling Bay. The pony languidly went down to the river to get a drink, then, as he came up with the water dripping from his mouth, he slightly moved his nostrils and stared down the avenue. His quick hope died within him. The manly step belonged to a man; but it was no stranger that was swinging himself over the gravel. The handsome figure had formerly been well known at French Cross, and only a few months ago those firm white hands had gone all over his trim white body while their owner examined his points. The man with the radiant, glowing face stopped suddenly. Himself the embodiment of life and hope and perfect happiness, he was inexpressibly touched by the pathos of the little lean pony. If the pony had changed so completely, what would he see when the gray-haired woman turned her head? Well, no matter, pony and woman would soon belong to him. He would take them both away. "Chelda," he said, wistfully. "Chelda, Chelda!" She would not turn. He caught only a convulsive movement of her beautiful shoulders. He must see that face bent so fixedly on the Bay. "My darling," he murmured, stepping close beside her. He saw her now, thin, wistful, pitiably changed, yet more attractive in her haggard looks than she had ever been in her composure and brilliancy. In speechless compassion he approached her. She did not give him her hand. "Were you not told at the house that I preferred to see no one?" she asked, in a dull voice. "Yes, yes; but I did not heed the warning." "And you force your society on me?" she said, in the same monotonous way. "Force it," he repeated, with tender reproach, "Chelda, have you forgotten?" "I have forgotten nothing," and she again turned her face toward the Bay. She was painfully weak and nervous. Successive waves of colour were hurrying over her face, and her breast rose and fell convulsively. "I also remember," he said, masterfully, "and, Chelda, you must listen to me." He took a seat near her and laid his hat on the table. "I shall speak frankly," he said, "to you, the woman I love and am going to marry. No, do not take your hand from me. You are mine, if ever a woman belonged to a man. Let me tell you what has happened since I left you." She allowed him to retain her hand, but kept her face averted while he gave her an account of his father's death and his reconciliation with his family.