he met the Prime Minister, who took a tremendous fancy to him, and the thing going well, the great man finally asked him to be his assistant private secretary, which post he accepted.  The chief private secretary last year being made governor of a colony, John has now stepped into his shoes, and presently he will go into Parliament.  He is a brilliant fellow and cares for no man—­following only his own star.  I shall be very glad to see him again.”

Halcyone’s face fell into a brown study and the Professor watching her mused to himself.

“John Derringham will find her in the way.  She is not woman enough yet to attract his eye; he will only perceive she is a rather plain child—­and she will certainly see the other side of his head.”

As Halcyone walked back to La Sarthe Chase for her early dinner, she mused also: 

“I must not feel this dislike towards Cheiron’s other pupil.  After all, Jason could not have the master alone—­and if I do feel it then he will be able to harm me, should he dislike me, too—­but if I try to like him, then he will be powerless, and when he has gone he will not have left any mark.”

Mr. Carlyon felt a perceptible glow of interest as he waited at five o’clock that day upon the dilapidated stone bench in the archway where old William kept his garden tools, and while the subdued light gave him very little chance of studying minutely the walls, the general aspect certainly presented no hint of any door.  However, he had not to wait or speculate long, for, with hardly a creak, two stones seemed to turn upon a pivot, and Halcyone came forth from the aperture bending her head.

“After all, I do not think you had better come in with me,” she said.  “It is low like this for ten yards; it will make your back ache—­so I have brought her.  If you will hold her, I will run out and see if all is safe; and then we can carry her to the summer house and take off her scarf.”

Cheiron held out his arms to receive the precious bundle; and he could feel by its weight it was a marble head.  It was enveloped in the voluminous folds of the remains of an old blue silk curtain, a relic of other days, when rich stuffs hung before the windows of La Sarthe Chase.

“I took the covering from the Spanish Chest in the long gallery,” Halcyone announced.  “I had played with it for years, and the color suits her—­it must be the same as are her real eyes.”

Then she darted out into the sunlight and returned again in a few moments—­with shining face.  All was safe and the momentous hour had come.

She took her goddess from Mr. Carlyon’s arms, and walking with the dignity of a priestess of the Temple, she preceded her master along the tangled path.

A riot of things growing impeded each step.  Roses which had degenerated into little better than wild ones, showed late red and pink blooms, honeysuckle and columbines flowered, and foxgloves raised their graceful heads.