"Oh, nonsense!" said the little lawyer impatiently; "really I wonder at a
man of your sense hesitating in such a matter. This Marie will get over
it; all girls do. It's only a matter of time. She'll forget all about you
in a month."

Noël's thoughts went back to the scene on the beach two evenings ago,
and he did not consider it at all probable that Marie Gourdon would ever
forget him. At any rate, he did not care to entertain the possibility.

"Yes," went on Webster, "I don't see that you can have any hesitation.
Here you are, at the opening of your life, offered one of the finest
chances I ever heard of, hesitating because of a little French girl.
Umph! I've no patience with you, but, young man, you've got to decide
before to-morrow's mail goes out. I must write to Lady McAllister.
Good-bye I'm going for a walk to the light-house. The keeper is a most
interesting man, and a great mathematician. Good-bye. I hope next time
I see you you'll have come to your senses."

And Webster walked off, evidently imagining that there could be no
hesitation about the matter of the inheritance.

The whole of that day was a miserable failure to Noël McAllister. He had
one of those natures which hate making a decision. He was restless, and
could settle down to nothing, and walked up and down his mother's little
verandah like a caged animal. He could not bear the thought of giving up
Marie, yet, on the other hand, he could not bear the thought of giving up
his inheritance. It was too tempting. To leave forever the monotony of a
life at Father Point, to plunge all at once into luxury and riches, that
was a dazzling prospect, with only Marie Gourdon on the other side to
counter-balance these attractions. And she had been so slow in telling