“Kate Daltrey!” I ejaculated.  My brain seemed to whirl with the recollections, the associations, the rapid mingling and odd readjustment of ideas forced upon me by Tardif’s words.  What would have become of me if I had found my way to Guernsey, seeking Mrs. Dobree, and discovered in her Kate Daltrey?  I had not time to realize this before Tardif went on in his narration.

“Dr. Martin was heart-broken,” he said; “we had lost you, and his mother was dead.  He had no one to turn to for comfort.  His cousin Julia, who was to have been his wife, was married to Captain Carey three weeks ago.  You recollect Captain Carey, mam’zelle?”

Here was more news, and a fresh rearranging of the persons who peopled my world.  Kate Daltrey become Dr. Dobree’s second wife; Julia Dobree married to Captain Carey; and Dr. Martin living in London, the partner of Dr. Senior!  How could I put them all into their places in a moment?  Tardif, too, was dwelling alone, now, solitarily, in a very solitary place.

“I am very sorry for you,” I said, in a low tone.

“Why, mam’zelle?” he asked.

“Because you have lost your mother,” I answered.

“Yes, mam’zelle,” he said, simply; “she was a great loss to me, though she was always fretting about my inheriting the land.  That is the law of the island, and no one can set it aside.  The eldest son inherits the land, and I was not her own son, though I did my best to be like a real son to her.  She died happier in thinking that her son, or grandson, would follow me when I am gone, and I was glad she had that to comfort her, poor woman.”

“But you may marry again some day, my good Tardif,” I said; “how I wish you would!”

“No, mam’zelle, no,” he answered, with a strange quivering tone in his voice; “my mother knew why before she died, and it was a great comfort to her.  Do not think I am not happy alone.  There are some memories that are better company than most folks.  Yes, there are some things I can think of that are more and better than any wife could be to me.”

Why we were both silent after that I scarcely knew.  Both of us had many things to think about, no doubt, and the ideas were tumbling over one another in my poor brain till I wished I could cease to think for a few hours.

Vespers ended, and the villagers began to disperse stealthily.  Not a wooden sabot clattered on the stones.  Mademoiselle and Monsieur Laurentie came in, with a tread as soft as if they were afraid of waking a child out of a light slumber.

“Mademoiselle,” I cried, “monsieur, behold me; I am here.”

My voice and my greeting seemed to transport them with delight.  Mademoiselle embraced me, and kissed me on both cheeks.  Monsieur le Cure blessed me, in a tremulously joyous accent, and insisted upon my keeping his arm-chair.  We sat down to supper together, by the light of a brilliant little lamp, and Pierre, who was passing the uncurtained window, saw me there, and carried the news into the village.