“Indeed it will,” he said gayly. “But you need not be afraid of my mystery; I have no Bluebeard chamber to keep locked, I assure you. Do you hesitate to marry me on account of my so-called mystery?” “No; I trust you too much for that.” “My dearest!” At this moment the moon veiled her face discreetly behind a wandering cloud, and their lips met in a kiss—a kiss of pure and enduring love. Then Crispin tenderly wrapped the shawl closer round the shoulders of Eunice, and arm in arm they strolled up and down the terrace, talking of their present despairs, their future hopes, and their possible marriage. Meanwhile, Mrs. Dengelton, quite unaware of the way in which all her matrimonial schemes were being baffled by this audacious poet, was holding forth to Maurice and the Rector on the subject of a family romance. For once in her life she proved interesting, for Maurice only knew the skeleton of Roylands by name, and was quite unaware of the reason it was locked up in the cupboard. It was wonderful what a lot of good the conversation of the Rector had done him, and now, having been once roused out of his melancholia, he was quite interested by the story which his aunt was telling. The Rev. Stephen Carriston noticed the bright look on his usually sad face, and was delighted thereat. “I will complete the cure to-morrow,” he repeated to himself; and then prepared to listen to Mrs. Dengelton’s story, which interested him very much, the more so as he knew the principal actor concerned therein. “Of course I only speak from hearsay, my dear Rector,” she said, laying aside her beadwork so as to give her eloquence every chance; “at the time these events took place I was just a baby in long clothes. You, Rector, perhaps know the story better than I do.” “No; I had just left college when Rudolph Roylands ran away, but I knew him at the university.” “Ah yes; of course. You were very friendly with both my brothers, I believe, so it is curious they never told you of their love for Rose Silverton.” “Well—I heard something about it,” said the Rector, with a hesitating glance at Maurice. “Oh, my dear Rector, I am going to say nothing against my sister-in-law. She was a very charming woman.” “She was all that was good and pure,” remarked Maurice abruptly; annoyed, he knew not why, at the tone adopted by Mrs. Dengelton in speaking of his dead mother. “Yes, I know she was. Still, my dear Maurice, you must pardon my plain speech, but she did flirt terribly with Rudolph.” “My lost uncle? Ridiculous!” “It is not ridiculous at all,” said the lady, drawing herself up; “it was on your mother’s account Rudolph left England.” “Who said so?” demanded Maurice indignantly. “Every one; even your father.” Maurice was about to make some remark, when he caught sight of a warning look on Carriston’s face, therefore held his peace.