“Tardif is the man,” I said to myself, “but is Julia the woman?  Have I had better luck than Solomon?”

“What are you reading, Martin?” asked my father, who had just come in, and was painfully fitting on a pair of new and very tight kid gloves.  I read the passage aloud, without comment.

“Very good,” he remarked, chuckling, “upon my word!  I did not know there was any thing as rich as that in the old book!  Who says it, Martin?  A very wise preacher he was, and knew what he was talking about.  Had seen life, eh?  It’s as true as—­as—­as the gospel.”

I could not help laughing at the comparison he was forced to; yet I felt angry with him and myself.

“What do you say about my mother and Julia, sir?” I asked.

He chuckled again cynically, examining with care a spot on the palm of one of his gloves.  “Ha! ha! my son”—­I hated to hear him say “my son”—­“I will answer you in the words of another wise man:  ’Most virtuous women, like hidden treasures, are secure because nobody seeks after them.’”

So saying, he turned out of the room, swinging his gold-headed cane jauntily between his fingers.

I visited Sark again in about ten days, to set Olivia free from my embargo upon her walking.  I allowed her to walk a little way along a smooth meadow-path, leaning on my arm; and I found that she was a head lower than myself—­a beautiful height for a woman.  That time Captain Carey had set me down at the Havre Gosselin, appointing me to meet him at the Creux Harbor, which was exactly on the opposite side of the island.  In crossing over to it—­a distance of rather more than a mile—­I encountered Julia’s friends, Emma and Maria Brouard.

“You here again, Martin!” exclaimed Emma.

“Yes,” I answered; “Captain Carey set me down at the Havre Gosselin, and is gone round to meet me at the Creux.”

“You have been to see that young person?” asked Maria.

“Yes,” I replied.

“She is a very singular young woman,” she continued; “we think her stupid.  We cannot make anything of her.  But there is no doubt poor Tardif means to marry her.”

“Nonsense!” I ejaculated, hotly; “I beg your pardon, Maria, but I give Tardif credit for sense enough to know his own position.”

“So did we,” said Emma, “but it looks odd.  He married an Englishwoman before.  It’s old Mere Renouf who says he worships the ground she treads upon.  You know he holds a very good position in the island, and he is a great favorite with the seigneur.  There are dozens of girls of his own class in Guernsey and Alderney, to say nothing of Sark, who would be only too glad to have him.  He is a very handsome man, Martin.”

“Tardif is a fine fellow,” I admitted.

“I shall be very sorry for him to be taken in again,” continued Emma; “nobody knows who that young person may be; it looks odd on the face of it.  Are you in a hurry?  Well, good-by.  Give our best love to dear Julia.  We are busy at work on a wedding-present for her; but you must not tell her that, you know.”