On receiving Madge’s telegram, Brian determined to go down in the evening, but not to dinner, so he sent a reply to Madge to that effect.  He did not want to meet Mark Frettlby, but did not of course, tell this to Madge, so she had her dinner by herself, as her father had gone to his club, and the time of his return was uncertain.  After dinner, she wrapped a light cloak round her, and repaired to the, verandah to wait for her lover.  The garden looked charming in the moonlight, with the black, dense cypress trees standing up against the sky, and the great fountain splashing cool and silvery.  There was a heavily-foliaged oak by the gate, and she strolled down the path, and stood under it in the shadow, listening to the whisper and rustle of its multitudinous leaves.  It is curious the unearthly glamour which moonlight seems to throw over everything, and though Madge knew every flower, tree, and shrub in the garden, yet they all looked weird and fantastical in the cold, white light.  She went up to the fountain, and seating herself on the edge, amused herself by dipping her hand into the chilly water, and letting it fall, like silver rain, back into the basin.  Then she heard the iron gate open and shut with a clash, and springing to her feet, saw someone coming up the path in a light coat and soft wide-awake hat.

“Oh, it’s you at last, Brian?” she cried, as she ran down the path to meet him.  “Why did you not come before?”

“Not being Brian, I can’t say,” answered her father’s voice.  Madge burst out laughing.

“What an absurd mistake,” she cried.  “Why, I thought you were Brian.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; in that hat and coat I couldn’t tell the difference in the moonlight.”

“Oh,” said her father, with a laugh, pushing his hat back, “moonlight is necessary to complete the spell, I suppose?”

“Of course,” answered his daughter.  “If there were no moonlight, alas, for lovers!”

“Alas, indeed!” echoed her father.  “They would become as extinct as the moa; but where are your eyes, Puss, when you take an old man like me for your gay young Lochinvar?”

“Well, really, papa,” answered Madge, deprecatingly, “you do look so like him in that Goat and hat that I could not tell the difference, till you spoke.”

“Nonsense, child,” said Frettlby, roughly, “you are fanciful;” and turning on his heel, he walked rapidly towards the house, leaving Madge staring after him in astonishment, as well she might, for her father had never spoken to her so roughly before.  Wondering at the cause of his sudden anger, she stood spell-bound, until there came a step behind her, and a soft, low whistle.  She turned with a scream, and saw Brian smiling at her.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, with a pout, as he caught her in his arms and kissed her.

“Only me,” said Brian, ungrammatically; “disappointing, isn’t it?”

“Oh, fearfully,” answered the girl, with a gay laugh, as arm-in-arm they walked towards the house.  “But do you know I made such a curious mistake just now; I thought papa was you.”