What on earth did the Bishop mean? Augustina fell into a maze of rather miserable cogitation. She recalled her brother's manner and words after his return from the station on the night of the expedition--and then next day, the news!--and Laura's abrupt admission: "I met him in the garden, Augustina, and--well! we soon understood each other. It had to come, I suppose--it might as well come then. But I don't wonder it's all very surprising to you----" And then such a wild burst of tears--such a sudden gathering of the stepmother in the girl's young arms--such a wrestle with feelings to which the bewildered Augustina had no clue. Was Alan up all that night? Mrs. Denton had said something of the sort. Was he really making up his mind to propose--because people might talk? But why?--how ridiculous! Certainly it must have been very sudden. Mrs. Denton met them coming upstairs a little after six; and Alan told her then. "Oh, if I only _could_ understand it," thought Augustina, with a little moan. "And now Alan just lives and breathes for her. And she will be here, in my mother's place--Stephen's daughter." Mrs. Fountain felt the burning of a strange jealousy. Her vanity and her heart were alike sore. She remembered how she had trembled before Alan in his strict youth--how she had apostatised even, merely to escape the demands which the intensity of Alan's faith made on all about him. And now this little chit of twenty, her own stepdaughter, might do and say what she pleased. She would be mistress of Alan, and of the old house. Alan's sister might creep into a corner, and pray!--that was enough for her. And yet she loved Laura, and clung to her! She felt the humiliation of her secret troubles and envies. Her only comfort lay in her recovered faith; in the rosary to which her hands turned perpetually; in her fortnightly confession; in her visits to the sacrament. The great Catholic tradition beat through her meagre life, as the whole Atlantic may run pulsing through a drifting weed. * * * * * Meanwhile, near the entrance gate of the park, on a wooded knoll that overlooked the park wall and commanded the road beyond, Laura Fountain was sitting with the dogs--waiting for Helbeck. He had been at Whinthorpe all day, on some business in which she was specially interested. The Romney lady was not yet sold. During May and June, Laura had often wondered why she still lingered on the wall. An offer had actually been made--so Augustina said. And there was pressing need for the money that it represented--that, every sojourner in Bannisdale must know. And yet, there still she hung. Then, with the first day of her engagement, Laura knew why. "You saved her," said Helbeck. "Since that evening when you denounced me for selling her--little termagant!--I have racked my brains to keep her."