She knew the slightly altered words were in the English Protestant marriage-service, for she had heard Rose, and some of the other schoolgirls as foolish as Rose was, repeat them in their thoughtless pastime. There was a solemnity in Mr. St. John's voice and manner which imparted an awe to her feelings, never before experienced. The tears of deep emotion rose to her eyes and her frame trembled: she could not have been more strongly moved, had she in very truth been plighting her troth to him before the holy altar. "Take you care of it, Adeline. Let none remove it from your finger as I removed the other. It shall be your wedding-ring." "It is not the same ring?" she whispered, unable quite to recover herself. "His." "_His!_ Look here, Adeline." He took another ring from his pocket as he spoke. It was cut in two parts; and he threw them into the water. "There goes his ring, Adeline. May his pretensions go with it!" "It is for this you have been to Odesque?" "It is." They turned to the house, walking quickly now, neither caring for Adeline's absence to be so prolonged as to attract notice. Long as it may have seemed to take in the telling, she had yet been away from the house but a few minutes. Adeline could not quite forget her fears. "If mamma could only be kept from ordering the trousseau!" she suddenly exclaimed, more in answer to her own thoughts than to him. "Where's the necessity of preventing her?" She looked up wonderingly, and caught his smile full of meaning, all apparent in the moonlight. "The things ordered and intended for Madame de la Chasse--will they not serve equally well for Mrs. Frederick St. John?" "Oh--but"--and her downcast face felt glowing with heat "nothing will be wanted at all yet for--any one." "Indeed! _I_ think they will be wanted very soon. Do you suppose," he added; laughing, "I should be permitted to carry you away with me to the South without an outfit?" "I am not going to the South now," she quickly said. "Yes, Adeline. I hope you and I shall winter there." "I am quite well now." "I know you are: and that it will be almost a superfluous precaution. Nevertheless, it is well to be on the safe side. My darling!" and he bent over her, "you would not be dismayed at the prospect of passing a whole winter alone with me?" Dismayed! To the uttermost parts of the earth with him, and for a whole lifetime Father, mother, country, home--what were they all, in comparison with him? As they gained the open lawn, a dark figure swept across their path. Adeline shrank at being seen alone with Mr. St. John. It was Father Marc, the officiating priest of the little neighbouring chapel, and the family confessor, a worthy and very zealous man. He turned and looked at Adeline, but merely said, "Bon soir, mon enfant," and took off his hat to Mr. St. John. Mr. St. John raised his in return, saying nothing, and Adeline bent low, as one in contrition. "Bon soir, mon père."