all pure delight; she had no share in the thoughts that often darkened his brow, no knowledge of the thing which again and again filled him with that wondering despair. On the evening of the day when Major Duplay went to Fairholme, the two sat together in the garden after dinner. It was nine o'clock, a close still night, with dark clouds now and then slowly moving off and on to the face of a moon nearly full. They had been silent for some minutes, sipping coffee. Cecily pointed to the row of windows in the left wing of the house. "I've never been there," she said. "What's that?" "The Long Gallery--all one long room, you know," he answered. "One room! All that! What's in it?" "Well, everything mostly," he smiled. "All our treasures, and our pictures, and so on." "Why haven't you taken me there?" Harry shrugged his shoulders. "You never asked me," he said. "Well, will you take me there now--when you've finished your cigar?" There was a pause before he answered, "Yes, if you like." He turned to the servant who had come to take away the coffee. "Light up the Long Gallery at once." "Yes, my lord." A slight surprise broke through the respectful acceptance of the order. "It was lighted last for my mother, months ago," Harry said, as though he were explaining his servant's surprise. "She sat there the last evening before she took to her room." "Is that why you haven't taken me there?" "I expect it is." His tone was not very confident. "And you don't much want to now?" "No, I don't know that I do." But his reluctance seemed vague and weak. "Oh, I must go," Cecily decided, "but you needn't come unless you like, you know." "All right, you go alone," he agreed. Window after window sprang into light. "Ah!" murmured Cecily in satisfaction; and Mina Zabriska saw the illumination from the terrace of Merrion on the hill. Cecily rose, waved her hand to Harry, and ran off into the house with a laugh. The next moment he saw her figure in the first window; she threw it open, waved her hand again, and again laughed; the moon, clear for a moment, shone on her face and turned it pale. He sat watching the lighted windows. From time to time she darted into sight; once he heard the big window at the end facing the river flung open, the next instant she was in sight at the other extremity of the Gallery. Evidently she was running about, examining all the things. She came to a window presently and cried, "I wish you'd come and tell me all about it." "I don't think I will," he called back. "Oh, well----!" she laughed impatiently, and disappeared. Minutes passed and he did not see her again; she must have settled down somewhere, he supposed; or perhaps her interest was exhausted and she had gone off to her father's room. No, there she was, flitting past a window again. His reluctance gave way before curiosity and attraction. Flinging away his cigar, he got up and walked slowly into the house.