As a rule, Gartney was not to be daunted by any woman, but there was something about Alizon Errington that made him afraid to talk in his usual cynical vein. Standing a short distance away, with the child in her arms and the golden glory of the sunshine behind her, this young mother looked like the realisation of the Madonna. So pure, so calm, so lovely, with the look of motherhood in her eyes that he involuntarily turned away his head, as though he was not worthy to profane such purity even by a glance. "You talk above my head," he said at length, rising to his feet, "it is the language of an ideal world, not to be realized in this matter-of-fact century. But if you will forgive me, Lady Errington----" "Why not call me Alizon?" she said cordially. "We are cousins, you know, and titles are so formal--Eustace." "It's very kind of you to grant me such permission," replied Gartney frankly, taking the hand she held out to him. "Goodbye--Alizon." "Not goodbye, but _au revoir_." "May I come over again?" he asked eagerly. "Of course. I am always glad to see you, besides Sammy loves his kind friend who plays with him." "And you?" Their eyes met, a wave of crimson passed over her face, and with an air of displeasure, she turned away coldly, without answering his question. "Goodbye, Mr. Gartney." Seeing that his freedom had offended her, he was too wise to make any further remark, but bowing slightly walked slowly away. At the end of the terrace he looked back, and saw she was bending over the sleeping child, crooning some cradle-song to soothe his slumbers. "The castle is well defended," he said bitterly, as he resumed his walk. "I will never succeed in entering that heart, for the child stands ever as sentinel." He mounted his horse and rode slowly down the avenue into the green arcade of trees, through the boughs of which came golden shafts of sunlight. "A saint! a saint!" he cried, touching his horse with the spur. "And yet the saint drove her husband to evil." CHAPTER XXXV. FOR MY CHILD'S SAKE. "I'll look my dear boy in the face In after years, Without the shadow of disgrace Or shameful tears. "Oh, folly did I sin with you, And cause him pain, If hands are clean, and hearts are true, His is the gain. "Through future days of toil and fret, Come dull or fair, Dear God, ah, let him ne'er forget His mother's care!" It was very dull down at Castle Grim, for even the bright sunshine of summer could not lift the shadow which seemed to lower over the place. Eustace amused himself as well as he could, strolling on the lonely beach, reading his books, playing his piano, and occasionally visiting at Errington Hall, which he did about three times a week.