"Ah!" Mrs Lascelles said again; "that of course decides it." "Mother, you are sure you are not ill?" said the girl, anxiously. There was a hesitation in her mother's words which made her uneasy, so unlike was it to her usual prompt and brisk decision. But she shook off the question with more of her ordinary manner. "Ill? Not in the least. It has been a little bewildering, that is all. The waves of the Atlantic do hit rather hard. I don't see any bell; shall we go down and find out if the carriage is ready?" But at this moment there arrived two massive white cups full of steaming coffee, and news that they might start whenever they wished. Everitt was waiting for them when they went down, and Mrs Lascelles went up to him at once. "Kitty," she said, cordially, "tells me I have been very ungrateful-- indeed, that we have been ungrateful all through, at any rate now, when it appears we owe you our lives." He coloured. "Your lives!" he repeated, in amazement. "Yes, indeed," she said, smiling; "and you mustn't say it's nothing, because at this moment it seems to me a very great deal." "But there is a great mistake. Who could have told you anything so preposterous? I am much obliged to you for finding myself on the right side of the water." "Well," she said, "we will each keep our private views on the matter. Now, tell me, what are you going to do?" He hesitated. "I am going to walk to Auray, and--take the train back to Paris." "No," she replied, shaking her head; "we will drive you to Auray. You must sleep there, and to-morrow you can decide whether to go to Paris or to come with us to Quimper." "Do you mean that?" he asked, eagerly, speaking to her, but looking at Kitty. "Yes," said Mrs Lascelles, quietly. Nobody heard the little sigh which fell from her lips, and if she looked pale, they thought it was the result of the storm. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ There is a charming, picturesque cheerfulness about Quimper. The storm of the preceding day had left the air clear and delicious; the sunset colouring fell very softly on the delicate cathedral spires, on the shallow brawling river, on the trees which bordered the broad promenade by its side. Numbers of people were standing or sitting about, but there were two for whom, all their lives long, the beauty of that sunset will never be equalled. "We," one of them was saying--"we will certainly live at Quimper,"--and then he wisely tempered his rashness--"for part of every year." "And you shall paint," said she.