"That depends. On the whole, I think not; Ferdie would hate the place; it's comical what tastes he has--that boy! My idea is that he will do better in South America; he has already made a beginning there, and likes the life. This time he can take Cicely with him, and that will steady him; he will go to housekeeping, he will be a family man." And Paul smiled; to him, Ferdie was still the lad of fifteen years before. But in Eve's mind rose a recollection of the light of a candle far down a narrow road. "Oh, don't let her go with him! Don't!" Paul stopped. "You are sometimes so frightened, I have noticed that. And yet you are no coward. What happened--really? What did you do?" She could not speak. "I'm a brute to bother you about it," Paul went on. "But I have always felt sure that you did more that night than you have ever acknowledged; Cicely couldn't tell us, you see, because she had fainted. How strange you look! Are you ill?" "It is nothing. Let us walk on." "As you please." "If they go to South America, why shouldn't you go with them?" he said, after a while, returning to his first topic. "You will have to go if you want to keep a hold on Jack, for Cicely will never give him up to you for good and all, as you have hoped. If you were with them, _I_ should feel a great deal safer." Well, that was something. Was this, then, to be her occupation for the future--by a watch over Ferdie, to make his brother more comfortable? She tried to give a sarcastic turn to this idea. But again the feeling swept over her: Oh, if it had only been any one but Ferdinand Morrison!--Ferdinand Morrison! "How you shuddered!" said Paul. Walking beside her, he had felt her tremble. "You certainly are ill." "No. But don't let us talk of any of those things to-day, let us forget them." "How can we?" "_I_ can!" The color rose suddenly in her cheeks; for the moment she was beautiful. "My last walk with him! When he is gone, the days will be a blank." --"It is my last walk with you!" she said aloud, pursuing the current of her thoughts. He looked at her askance. His glance brought her back to reality. She turned and left him; she walked rapidly towards the lake, coming out on the beach beyond Eagle Point. He followed her, and, as he came up, his eyes took possession of and held hers, as they had done before; then, after a moment, he put his arm round her, drew her to him, and bent his face to hers. She tried to spring from him. But he still held her. "What shall I say to excuse myself, Eve?" The tones of his voice were very sweet. But he was smiling a little too. She saw it; she broke from his grasp. "You look as though you could kill me!" he said. (And she did look so.) "Forgive me," he went on; "tell me you don't mind." "I should have thought--that what I confessed to you--you know, that day--