"_Captain Winstanley, Abbey House, Hampshire, to Mr. Vawdrey, St. Heliers_. "My wife is seriously ill, but in no immediate danger. The doctors order extreme quiet; all agitation is to be carefully avoided. Let Miss Tempest bear this in mind when she comes home." Roderick drove back to Les Tourelles with this message, which was in some respects reassuring, or at any rate afforded a certainty less appalling than Violet's measureless fears. Vixen was sitting on the pilgrim's bench beside the manor house gateway, watching for her lover's return. Oh, happy lover, to be thus watched for and thus welcomed; thrice, nay, a thousandfold happy in the certainty that she was his own for ever! He put his arm round her, and they wandered along the shadowy lane together, between dewy banks of tangled verdure, luminous with glow-worms. The stars were shining above the overarching roof of foliage, the harvest moon was rising over the distant sea. "What a beautiful place Jersey is!" exclaimed Vixen innocently, as she strolled lower down the lane, circled by her lover's arm. "I had no idea it was half so lovely. But then of course I was never allowed to roam about in the moonlight. And, indeed, Rorie, I think we had better go in directly. Miss Skipwith will be wondering." "Let her wonder, love. I can explain everything when we go in. She was young herself once upon a time, though one would hardly give her credit for it; and you may depend she has walked in this lane by moonlight. Yes, by the light of that very same sober old moon, who has looked down with the same indulgent smile upon endless generations of lovers." "From Adam and Eve to Antony and Cleopatra," suggested Vixen, who couldn't get Egypt out of her head. "Antony and Cleopatra were middle-aged lovers," said Rorie. "The moon must have despised them. Youth is the only season when love is wisdom, Vixen. In later life it means folly and drivelling, wrinkles badly hidden under paint, pencilled eyebrows, and false hair. Aphrodite should be for ever young." "Perhaps that's why the poor thing puts on paint and false hair when she finds youth departed," said Vixen. "Then she is no longer Aphrodite, but Venus Pandemos, and a wicked old harridan," answered Rorie. And then he began to sing, with a rich full voice that rolled far upon the still air. "Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying, "Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry." "What a fine voice you have, Rorie!" cried Vixen. "Have I really? I thought that it was only Lord Mallow who could sing. Do you know that I was desperately jealous of that nobleman, once--when I fancied he was singing himself into your affections. Little did I think that he was destined to become your greatest benefactor." "I shall make you sing duets with me, sir, by-and-by."