The silence was broken for a moment by the cry of a
lonely bird, drifting homewards on wings that seemed almost
motionless.

Rochester was quite convalescent now, and with the aid of a stick
was able to walk almost as far as he chose. Pauline had remained at
Beauleys, and her presence had divested those last few weeks of all
their irksomeness. He stole a glance at her as she leaned back in
the carriage. She was a little pale, perhaps, and her eyes were
thoughtful, but the lines of her mouth were soft. There was no shadow
of unhappiness in her face, none of that look which in London had
driven him almost to madness.

His fingers closed upon hers. They were walking uphill, and the pony
took little guiding.

"You are sure, Pauline," he asked, "that you are not bored yet with
the country?"

"I am quite sure," she answered.

Something in her tone puzzled him. He looked at her again, long and
fixedly. Her eyes met his, they answered his unspoken question.

"I suppose," she said, "that I should look happier. I have been
content. I am content still. I suppose it is all one ought to expect
from life."

"There are other things," he answered, "but not for us, Pauline--not
yet."

"Life is a very perplexing matter," she declared.

He shook his head.

"There is no perplexity about it," he declared. "Its riddle is easily
enough solved. The trouble is that the fetters which bind us are
sometimes beyond our power to break."

"If we were free," she murmured, "you and I know very well whither we
should turn. And yet, Henry, are you sure, are you quite, quite sure
that there is nothing in life greater even than love?"

"If there is," he answered, "we will go in search of it, hand in hand,
you and I together."

"Yes," she echoed simply, "we will go in search of it. But first of
all we must find someone to light our torch."

He shook the reins a little impatiently, but they were not yet at the
top of the hill, and the pony crawled on, undisturbed.

"Dear Pauline," he said, "sometimes lately I fancied that you have
seemed a little morbid. I have lived longer than you. I have lived
long enough to be sure of one thing."

"And that is?" she asked.

"That all real happiness," he said, "even the everyday forms of
content, is to be found amongst the simple truths of life. Love is the
greatest of them. Look at me, Pauline. Don't you think that even
though we live our lives apart, don't you think that to me the world
is a dif