lt. He would teach her first beyond all
doubting that she had nothing to fear, and then--then at last, as
the reward of infinite patience, he would win her love. His blood
quickened whenever he thought of it. Alone with her once more among
the mountains, in perfect security, surrounded by the glory of the
eternal snows, so he would win her. They would come back closely
united, equipped to face the whole world hand-in-hand, so joined
together that no shadow of evil could ever come between them any more.
For they would be irrevocably made one. Thus ran the current of
his splendid dream, and for this he curbed himself, mastered his
eagerness, controlled his passion.

On the day that Daisy's husband arrived, he considerately absented
himself from their bungalow, knowing how the boy loved to have his
wife to himself. He had in consequence the whole afternoon at
his disposal, and he contemplated paying a surprise visit to his
betrothed. He had ridden with her that morning, and he did not doubt
that she was to be found somewhere in Lady Bassett's compound. So in
fact she was, and had he carried out his first intention, he would
have explored behind the summer-house and found her in her retreat.
But he did not after all pay his projected visit. A very small matter
frustrated his plans--a matter of no earthly importance, but which he
always looked upon afterwards as a piece of the devil's own handiwork.
He remembered some neglected correspondence, and decided to clear it
off. She would not be expecting him, possibly she might not welcome
his intrusion. And so, in consequence of that rigid self-restraint
that he was practising, he suffered this latter reflection to sway
him in the direction of his unanswered letters, and sat down to his
writing-table with a strong sense of virtue, utterly unsuspicious of
the evil which even at that moment was drawing near imperceptibly but
surely to the girl he loved.

She was lying in her hammock with an unread book on her knees. It
was a slumberous afternoon, making for drowsiness. The mountains were
wrapped in a vague haze, and the whole world was very still. Very far
overhead, the pines occasionally whispered to one another, but below
there was no movement, save when a lizard scuttled swiftly over the
pine-needles, and once when an enquiring monkey-face peered at her
round the red bole of a pine.

It was all very restful, and Muriel was undeniably sleepy. She had
ridden farther than usual