"And, what is more, believes in it," said the man emphatically.
"Don't all Christian people believe in the Bible?" asked Mr. Emerson.
"I suppose so, after a fashion; and a very queer fashion it is, sometimes."
"How does this lady of whom you speak believe in it differently from some others?"
"In this, that it means what it says on the subject of divorce."
"Oh, I understand. You think that if she were to marry again it would be in the face of conscientious scruples?"
"I do."
Mr. Emerson was about asking another question when one of the party to which he belonged joined him, and so the strange interview closed. He bowed to the man with whom he had been conversing, and then passed to another part of the boat.
With slow steps, that were unsteady from sudden weakness, Irene moved along the road that led to her home. After reaching the grounds of Ivy Cliff she turned aside into a small summer-house, and sat down at one of the windows that looked out upon the river as it stretched upward in its gleaming way. The boat she had just left was already far distant, but it fixed her eyes, and they saw no other object until it passed from view around a wooded point of land. And still she sat motionless, looking at the spot where it had vanished from her sight.
"Miss Irene!" exclaimed Margaret, the faithful old domestic, who still bore rule at the homestead, breaking in upon her reverie, "what in the world are you doing here? I expected you up to-day, and when the boat stopped at the landing and you didn't come, I was uneasy and couldn't rest. Why child, what is the matter? You're sick!"