She stopped him with hasty, loving words of thanks. Assuring him that her income was enough, and more than enough, for everything she could possibly want, whether individually or for her share in the expenses of the Community. Thomas Hill, much disappointed, returned the new cheque-book to his pocket again. "I wish to ask you one question," she resumed, after a pause, and in a tone as low as his own. "Can you tell me how the estate of Greylands' Rest was left by my grandfather?" "No, I cannot, Miss Mary; I have never known. Your father did not know." "My father did not know?" she said in some surprise. "He did not. On the very last day of his life, when he was just as ill as he could be, my dear good master, he spoke of it to me: it was while he was giving me a message to deliver to his nephew, the young man Anthony, Mr. Basil's son. He said that he had never cared to inquire the particulars, and fully believed that it became James's by legal right; he felt sure that had it been left to Basil, James would not have retained possession. Miss Mary, I say the same." "And--what is your opinion as to what became of Anthony?" she continued after a short pause. "I think, my dear, that young Mr. Anthony must somehow have fallen into the sea. He'd not be the first man, poor fellow, by a good many, who has met with death through taking an uncertain step in the deceptive moonlight." Mary Ursula said no more. This was but conjecture, just as all the rest of it had been. When the visit was over, she put on her bonnet to stroll out with him. He had walked from Stilborough, intending to dine at the Dolphin, and go back afterwards at his leisure. Mary went with him on the beach, and then parted with him at the door of the inn. "You are sure you are tolerably happy, my dear?" he urged, as though needing to be assured of it again and again, holding both her hands in his. "Ah, my dear young lady, it is all very well for you to say you are; but I cannot get reconciled to it. I wish you could have found your happiness in a different sphere." She knew what he meant--found it as William Blake-Gordon's wife--and something like a faintness stole over her spirit. "Circumstances worked against it," she meekly breathed. "I am content to believe that the life I have embraced is the best for me; the one appointed by God." How little did she think that almost close upon that minute, she should encounter him--her whilom lover! Not feeling inclined to return at once to the Nunnery, and knowing that there was yet a small space of time before dinner, she continued her way alone up the secluded road towards the church. When just abreast of the sacred edifice a lady and gentleman approached on horseback, having apparently ridden from Stilborough. She recognized them too late to turn or retreat: it was William Blake-Gordon and Miss Mountsorrel. Miss Mountsorrel checked her horse impulsively; he could but do the same. The young lady spoke.