d herself to the hour nor asked herself what
the hour held. She and the hour were one--a single note; and the joy she
felt at being with Robert, leaning on his arm and hearing his voice, was
so simple that, even if a psychologist of the deepest experience had
been able to probe into the workings of her mind, he would have found
nothing there to analyse. Hers was a child's affection--the first love
of a heart still immature, and not yet made suspicious of itself by
contact with others less innocent. Parflete had been too worldly-wise
not to guard and value--at its true price--a disposition so graceful in
its very essence. She had a knowledge of affairs beyond her years, yet
her own instincts, her education, her few friendships, had kept her
curiously ignorant of evil, of much also that is neither good nor evil,
but merely human. The sombre sentimentality which lurks in most young
girls of seventeen was not in her character at all, and in its stead she
possessed the gaiety and carelessness of feeling which belongs to
imaginative rather than to sensuous natures. A boy-like spirit showed
itself in all her words, movements, moods; her womanhood still slept,
and thus, while her intelligence made her an unusual companion and her
beauty presented a constant appeal to all that is romantic, it was
inevitable that melancholy and reserve should enter largely into the
passionate love which Robert felt for her. He told himself that he would
not have her different. The glance of her eyes, which stirred him
strangely to the very depths of his being, never varied in its sweetness
nor its calm. When her lightest touch could sway his body and spirit,
she, unconscious of her power, would press his hand against her cheek
and talk about the geraniums in the convent garden or the chances of the
Carlist war. It was all wonderful. It had seemed perfect. And yet--and
yet. She was not cold, but was she unearthly? Was she, perhaps, some
straying angel--some fervid, bright spirit, flame-coloured and
intangible, a being of the elfin race? As they stood together looking at
the distant coastline a depression which he could neither fathom nor
control came over him. His bride seemed so much younger than he had
ever realised. She cared for him--how could he doubt it? But was the
indefinable, indispensable feeling absent?

"Do you remember our journey from Catesby?" she asked suddenly. "I
slept. Wasn't I dull? Did you mind?"

No one could see them. He st