“No,” he admitted, “I haven't told them yet. I--Well, you see, the Mater and Father have been making plans about my future, naturally. They have some silly ideas about a friend of the family that--Oh, she's a nice enough girl; I like her jolly well, but she isn't Miss Morley. Well, hardly! They'll take it quite well. By Jove!” excitedly, “they must. They've GOT to. Oh, they will. And they're very fond of--of Frances.” There seemed nothing more for me to say, nothing at that time, at any rate. I, too, rose. He shook my hand again. “You've been a trump to me, Knowles,” he declared. “I appreciate it, you know; I do indeed. I'm jolly grateful.” “You needn't be. It is all right. I--I suppose I should wish you luck and happiness. I do. Yes, why shouldn't you be happy, even if--” “Even if--what? Oh, but you don't think she will turn me off, do you? You don't think that?” “I've told you that I see no reason why she should.” “Thank you. Thank you so much. Is there anything else that you might wish to say to me?” “Not now. Perhaps some day I--But not now. No, there's nothing else. Good night, Bayliss; good night and--and good luck.” “Good night. I--She's not in now, I suppose, is she?” “She is in, but--Well, I scarcely think you had better see her to-night. She has gone to her room.” “Oh, I say! it's very early. She's not ill, is she?” “No, but I think you had best not see her to-night.” He was disappointed, that was plain, but he yielded. He would have agreed, doubtless, with any opinion of mine just then. “No doubt you're right,” he said. “Good night. And thank you again.” He left the room. I did not accompany him to the door. Instead I returned to my chair. I did not occupy it long, I could not. I could not sit still. I rose and went out on the lawn. There, in the night mist, I paced up and down, up and down. I had longed to be alone; now that I was alone I was more miserable than ever. Charlotte, the maid, called to me from the doorway. “Would you wish the light in the study any longer, sir?” she asked. “No,” said I, curtly. “You may put it out.” “And shall I lock up, sir; all but this door, I mean?” “Yes. Where is Miss Cahoon?” “She's above, sir. With Miss Morley, I think, sir.” “Very well, Charlotte. That is all. Good night.” “Good night, sir.” She went into the house. The lamp in the study was extinguished. I continued my pacing up and down. Occasionally I glanced at the upper story of the rectory. There was a lighted window there, the window of Frances' room. She and Hephzy were together in that room. What was going on there? What had Hephzy said to her? What--Oh, WHAT would happen next? Some time later--I don't know how much later it may have been--I heard someone calling me again. “Hosy!” called Hephzy in a loud whisper; “Hosy, where are you?” “Here I am,” I answered. She came to me across the lawn. I could not, of course, see her face, but her tone was very anxious.