At nightfall each day he trudged back to Martin Grimes's barn to sleep, and in the morning, before sunrise, he was at his post of duty again. So thoughtful was he of her welfare that he never lingered after the night's chores were done, realizing that the least indiscretion would give rise to neighborhood gossip. Their conversations were short, but always free and friendly. They met only as necessity obliged and nothing could have been more decorous than their conduct. Yet 'Gene went to his little room in the barn that night with a troubled heart. "Sure they cain't talk about her," he thought. "She's an angel, if there ever wuz one." Months before he had said aloud to himself, off in the field, as he looked toward the house in which his fair employer lived: "I wouldn't harm her by word er thought fer all heaven. She's honest an' I'm goin' to be. She's Jud's wife an' she loves him, an' I ain't got no right to even think of lovin' her. 'Gene Crawley, you gotter give up. You gotter be honest." And he was honest. CHAPTER XIX. THE PURE AND THE POOR. For four months Mr. and Mrs. Dudley Sherrod wandered over Europe. They saw Paris, Venice, Rome, Amsterdam, Brussels, Vienna and quaint German towns, unknown to most American tourists. Celeste had visited the Old World many times before, but it was all new to her now; she was traveling with the man she loved. To Sherrod, the wonders of the land he had never hoped to see were a source of the most intense delight. His artistic, romantic nature leaped under the spur of awakening forces; his love for the beautiful, the glorious, the quaint and the curious was satiated daily. He lived in the perfect glory of the present, doggedly disregarding the past and braving everything that the future might bring forth, good or evil. Basking in the love of this fair girl, adoring her and being adored, he lost all vestige of conscience. The shadow that hung over him on the wedding day drifted away into forgetfulness, and he saw nothing but the pleasures of life. A dread that the law would surely find him out and snatch him from the love and respect of two women, devastating the lives of both, was dissipated by degrees until scarcely a line across his brow was left to mark its course within. Once a week he sent loving letters home to Justine, letters full of tenderness and affection. Often a mist of tears came to his eyes as he thought of her, wishing that she, too, might be with them on this happy tour. At times he saw his selfishness and was ashamed, but the brightness of life with Celeste overcame these touches of remorse and he sank back into the soft cushions of bliss and--forgot. Letters from Justine were rare, and he kissed them passionately and read them over and over again--before he destroyed them. Here and there the Sherrods wandered, the rich and loving wife's purse the provider, dawdling and idling in dreamland.