"I've only come to see you, dear, for a little while, Moray, darling, how late you were last night." He started wildly, caught the hands she had laid caressingly upon his shoulders, and stared in her face. "How did you know?" he cried hoarsely. "Don't, dear; you hurt me." He relaxed his grasp, and she felt him trembling. "Don't be angry with me, Moray," she said, bursting into tears. "It was only because I loved you and suffered with you. I can't bear to see my darling brother like this." "You--you were watching me?" he stammered. "Don't call it by that unkind title, dear," she said. "I cannot bear it. I know how you grieve, and I have often sat at my window and seen you go out of a night, and waited till you came back. One night--don't be angry with me, Moray," she cried, throwing her arms about his neck--"I followed you to the Fir Mount, to see you were up there watching Glynne's window." "Lucy! Last night?" "No, no, dear," she cried in alarm. "Don't--don't be so fierce with me. It was only once." He uttered a low, hoarse sigh as if of relief. "It was one night when you had quite frightened me by being so despondent. I was afraid you meant to do yourself some mischief, and I stole out to see where you went. As soon as I understood why you had gone there, I came back." "Was it so strange a thing for an astronomer to go out to a high place where he could see some planet rise?" Lucy was silent for a few moments. "No, dear," she said at last in a whisper, "nor for a man who loves to go and watch the house that holds all that is dear to him in life. But, Moray, dear, what is the matter with your hand?" "Nothing," he said, hastily thrusting his bandaged hand into his pocket. "Only a cut--from a knife--nothing more. There--that will do. Why did you come?" "It is the twenty-fifth, Moray. I thought I'd come and remind you." "Twenty-fifth," he said hurriedly; "twenty-fifth?" "Yes, dear, Glynne Day's wedding." She regretted speaking the next instant, as she saw her brother's head go down upon his hand; but he looked up at her directly, and, to her surprise, with a peculiar smile. "Thank you for reminding me, dear," he said. "I hope she will be very happy." "I don't," cried Lucy petulantly, "and I'm sure she won't be. Oh, how could she be so foolish as to engage herself to such a man as that!" Alleyne did not reply, but sat gazing before him at a broad band of sunlight which cut right across the portion of the great room where he was seated. It seemed to him that Glynne was the bright bar of light that had been thrown across the dark, shadowy life that he had led; and to make the idea more real, the passing of a cloud cut the ray suddenly, and the great, chill room, with its uncouth instruments, its piles of scientific lumber, and its dust, was gloomy once again.