He did not speak of Craig, but he asked how she was going to pass the day without her usual drive. “I shall not miss it,” she said; “there is such a thing as being driven too much,” and she looked at him in a way which made it hard for him to keep back the words he was intending to say before Craig Mason returned. But not in the office. He had the time and place arranged, and he said, “As you cannot drive suppose you take a walk after tea. The evening will be fine. There is a full moon, you know.” Helen assented readily. Here was something to think of; something to do,—and all the ennui of the morning was gone. That afternoon there came a telegram from Craig, who said, “We reached home safely. Shall return on Saturday, instead of Monday, as I first proposed.” “How like him,—making love by telegraph. We shall probably exchange postals for good mornings when we are married,” Helen said with a laugh Craig would not have been pleased to hear. “He was very thoughtful to let you know he would be back sooner than you expected him, and shows his kind heart,” her mother suggested. “I suppose it was,” Helen replied, as she tore up the telegram, and tossing the pieces into the waste basket went to dress herself for the anticipated walk. “Where are you going?” her mother asked, when after tea she saw her putting on her hat and jacket. “Just to the post office and round the square,” Helen replied. “Alone? Without Celine?” Mrs. Tracy said in some surprise. “Yes, without Celine, but not alone. Mr. Hilton is going with me,” Helen answered, a little defiantly, in anticipation of her mother’s next remark. “Do you think it proper to be walking in the evening with a comparative stranger? Do you think Mr. Mason would like it?” “Oh, bother, mamma! Don’t be so prudish. I am to be trusted, and so is Mr. Hilton. As for Craig he will not object. I am not going to tie myself up in a bag because I am engaged. By-by, don’t worry about me.” She kissed her hand and went out to the piazza, where Mark was waiting for her, with a light in his eyes and a ring in his voice she had never heard or seen before, and which put her on her guard. They went first to the post office where the evening mail was being distributed and where Helen found a letter from Craig, mailed in Boston at 4 o’clock and written after the telegram had been sent. Mark, who was standing apart from her, only saw that she had a letter and crushed it hastily into her pocket. Leaving the office they walked slowly around the square until they came to the turn in the road which led past the old ruin. The sun had been down for half an hour or more, and the full moon was pouring a flood of light upon it, making it look rather ghostly and weird, with the woodbine dropping from the chimney and a lilac tree brushing against one of the broken windows. “Have you ever been in my ancestral hall?” Mark asked. “No, and I don’t believe I care to visit it,” Helen replied.