am nothing! Do you think I don't
care for her happiness? Is it a crime for me to love her?"

"Almost, Mr. Harz--considering...."

"Considering that I've no money! Always money!"

To this sneer Mr. Treffry made no answer, clucking to his horses.

"My niece was born and bred a lady," he said at last. "I ask you plainly
What position have you got to give her?"

"If she marries me," said Harz, "she comes into my world. You think that
I'm a common...."

Mr. Treffry shook his head: "Answer my question, young man."

But the painter did not answer it, and silence fell.

A light breeze had sprung up; the whispering in the trees, the rolling of
the wheels in this night progress, the pine-drugged air, sent Harz to
sleep. When he woke it was to the same tune, varied by Mr. Treffry's
uneasy snoring; the reins were hanging loose, and, peering out, he saw
Dominique shuffling along at the horses' heads. He joined him, and, one
on each side, they plodded up and up. A haze had begun to bathe the
trees, the stars burnt dim, the air was colder. Mr. Treffry woke
coughing. It was like some long nightmare, this interminable experience
of muffled sounds and shapes, of perpetual motion, conceived, and carried
out in darkness. But suddenly the day broke. Heralded by the snuffle of
the horses, light began glimmering over a chaos of lines and shadows,
pale as mother-o'-pearl. The stars faded, and in a smouldering zigzag
the dawn fled along the mountain tops, flinging out little isles of
cloud. From a lake, curled in a hollow like a patch of smoke, came the
cry of a water-bird. A cuckoo started a soft mocking; and close to the
carriage a lark flew up. Beasts and men alike stood still, drinking in
the air-sweet with snows and dew, and vibrating faintly with the running
of the water and the rustling of the leaves.

The night had played sad tricks with Mr. Nicholas Treffry; his hat was
grey with dust; his cheeks brownish-purple, there were heavy pouches
beneath his eyes, which stared painfully.

"We'll call a halt," he said, "and give the gees their grub, poor things.
Can you find some water, Mr. Harz? There's a rubber bucket in behind.

"Can't get about myself this morning; make that lazy fellow of mine stir
his stumps."

Harz saw that he had drawn off one of his boots, and stretched the foot
out on a cushion.

"You're not fit to go farther," he said; "you're ill."

"Ill!" replied Mr. Treffry; "not a bit of it!"

Ha