“Jules, you are a bad—a naughty!” cried Margot angrily. “You and your wife never tell me of what takes place while I sleep; you send me out with my patient, and never tell me he is dangerous; and then you rob me of my bread by getting him sent away. It is ruin, and I must go back to the town and starve.”

“Never,” cried a pleasant little voice behind her; and she turned sharply round to see Edie and Guest, the former smiling through her tears. “Have no fear about that, my poor Margot. Come up to the house and help, as my poor cousin is very weak and ill.”

“My faith, dear miss, I will,” cried the sturdy Breton woman.

In fact, Margot’s hands were pretty full during the next month, for she had two patients to tend—at the little chateau and in the cottage just below.

“Ah! bah, madame,” she said, looking up from her knitting. “What do I do? Nothing. The beloved miss grows better and more beautiful day by day, and is it I? Is it the good physician come from Saint Malo? Name of a little cider apple! no. Look at the dear old monsieur there.”

She pointed with a knitting needle to where Brettison sat, propped up in a chair in the shadow of the rock with a table before him, and Miss Jerrold, who looked very old and grey and stately, turned her head, nodded, and went on with the embroidery about which her busy fingers played.

“He says to me, ‘You must go up on the cliffs this morning, Margot, and bring me every flower you can find.’ I go, madame, and—”

“One moment, Margot; you always forget I am mademoiselle, not madame.”

“The greater the pity, mad’moiselle. You so young looking still you should be the beautiful mother of many children, or a widow like me. What of the monsieur? I take him every morning all the flowers, and there, see, he is as happy with them as a little child. Of my other sick one—look at her—”

She pointed with the other needle just set free to where Myra and Stratton were also seated in the shade gazing dreamily out to where the anchored sailing boats rose and fell upon the calm blue water.

Aunt Jerrold looked through her half-closed eyes, smiled and nodded again.

“Faith of a good woman!” said Margot, “does she want a nurse, does she want a physician? No. The good doctor is by her side, and ever since the day when the bad man was taken I have seen the beautiful brown of the sea air and the rose of the sun come into her cheeks. It is a folly my being here now, but if mademoiselle and the great sea captain will keep my faithful services till they marry and be happy; and oh, mademoiselle,” cried Margot, turning her eyes up toward the sky, and displaying her white teeth, “the way that I adore the dear, dear little children!”

“Margot!” cried Miss Jerrold austerely, and she rose and walked away.

“Faith of a good woman! what have I said?” muttered Margot, looking now at where Guest and Edie had gone down to a rock pool in which they were fishing with their hands for prawns, but catching each other’s fingers instead deep down under the weeds. “They will all marry, and very soon. Ah! those old maids!”

The one to whom she specially referred had gone to sit down now by her brother, who was scanning a vessel in the offing with his glass.

“French man-of-war, Rebecca,” he said. “Fine vessel, but only a confounded imitation of one of ours.”

“Yes, dear, I suppose so,” said his sister, and she went on with her embroidery.

“Are you getting tired of the place, Mark?” she said suddenly.

“Eh? Tired! Wha............