He thought he knew why Loo Barebone showed so little enterprise. And he was, as Madame de Chantonnay had frequently told him, more than half a Frenchman in the quickness of his intuitions. He picked a flower for his buttonhole from the garden of the “Black Sailor,” and set forth the morning after his interview with Captain Clubbe toward the rectory. It was a cool July morning, with the sun half obscured by a fog-bank driven in from the sea. Through the dazzling white of that which is known on these coasts as the water-smoke the sky shone a cloudless blue. The air was light and thin. It is the lightest and thinnest air in England. Dormer Colville hummed a song under his breath as he walked on the top of the dyke. He was a light-hearted man, full of hope and optimism. “Am I disturbing your studies?” he asked, with his easy laugh, as he came rather suddenly on Miriam and little Sep in the turf-shelter at the corner of the rectory garden. “You must say so if I am.” They had, indeed, their books, and the boy's face wore that abstracted look which comes from a very earnest desire not to see the many interesting things on earth and sea, which always force themselves upon the attention of the young at the wrong time. Colville had already secured Sep's friendship by the display of a frank ignorance of natural history only equalled by his desire to be taught. “We're doing history,” replied Sep, frankly, jumping up and shaking hands. “Ah, yes. William the Conqueror, ten hundred and sixty-six, and all the rest of it. I know. At least I knew once, but I have forgotten.” “No. We're doing French history. Miriam likes that best, but I hate it.” “French history,” said Colville, thoughtfully. “Yes. That is interesting. Miss Liston likes that best, does she? Or, perhaps, she thinks that it is best for you to know it. Do you know all about Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette?” “Pretty well,” admitted Sep, doubtfully. “When I was a little chap like you, I knew many people who had seen Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. That was long, long ago,” he added, turning to Miriam to make the admission. “But those are not the things that one forgets, are they, Miss Liston?” “Then I wish Sep could know somebody who would make him remember,” answered Miriam, half closing the book in her hand; for she was very quick and had seen Colville's affable glance take it in in passing, as it took in everything within sight. “A King, for instance,” he said, slowly. “A King of France. Others--prophets and righteous men--have desired to see that, Miss Liston.” It seemed, however, that he had seen enough to know the period which they were studying.