"No," he replied, in a deep voice, stopping before the bits of quartz--"I never speak of him. It is too distressing a subject; and, by my orders, nobody has ever mentioned him to you. But one day, perhaps, I shall be able to tell you about him. This was his garden, when he was a little chap. Old Penton, the gardener, keeps it up, as he used to like it kept. Do you see the rockery? He made it all himself. Poor fellow!" As he stood looking down upon the bits of stone, and the little ferns that grew still, though the stormy, wayward heart of the young man was dust, his eyes filled with tears. Here was he, Denzil, in possession of wealth, land, love, everything that makes life glorious; and his brother had crowned a career of folly by a death of crime. The old gardener was working not far off. He came up to greet his master and say how well he looked. "Aye," he said, "and there's poor Master Felux's bit o' garden. I always keeps it, so I do. I was rare and fond o' him when he wor a little lad. And I see his spirit walk, I did, one evening in spring, two year and more back. Soon after the noos of his death came it wor--and a Sunday evening. I see him as plain as I sees you two now--walking along the avenue. But the light was bad, and he slipped away, and I didn't see him no more." He brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, and his voice broke. "I says to my missus that night, 'No fear but what he's gone,' I says. 'For I've a-just seen him'; and she says, 'Tummus, you be a gawp!'--just like that. But for all her gawps I seen him--I seen him right enough--and his face as white as if he'd been in his coffin." They smiled tenderly upon the old man's delusion. CHAPTER XIV "YOU NEVER WERE MINE" --You have taken from me The Present, and I murmur not, nor moan; The Future too, with all her glorious promise; But do not leave me utterly alone! Spare me the Past. --ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. For Denzil Vanston the days which ensued upon his homecoming were days of charm and wonder. Life for him took on new colors, the presence of Rona in the house gave an unwonted zest even to the most trivial things. Miss Rawson watched, well pleased, the intercourse between the two. They played tennis and golf, they rowed and punted together. Rona's physical health was perfect, and she was apparently never tired. But when a fortnight of such dalliance had gone by, the vigilant aunt began to think that, if anything were to come of it, she had better take some steps to force the pace.