as well ask me when I think of dying," she said, with abrupt and
startling bitterness.

Grange remained stationary, not looking at her. "Is it as indefinite
as that?" he asked presently.

"Yes, quite." She spoke recklessly, even defiantly. "Where would be
the use of my going to a place I couldn't possibly live in for more
than four months in the year? Besides--besides--" But again, as if
checked by some potent inner influence, she broke off short. Her
white face quivered suddenly, and she turned it aside. Her hands were
convulsively clenched upon each other.

Her cousin did not move. He seemed to be unaware of her agitation.
Simply with much patience he waited for her end of the sentence.

It came at last in a voice half-strangled. She was making almost
frantic efforts to control herself. "Besides, I couldn't stand
it--yet. I am not strong enough. And he--he wouldn't understand, poor
boy. I think--I honestly think--I am better away from him for the
present"

Blake made no further inquiries. From Daisy's point of view, he seemed
to be standing motionless, but in reality he was quite unconsciously,
though very deliberately, pulling the tassel of the blind-cord to
shreds.

The clouds had passed, and the sun blazed down full upon him, throwing
his splendid outline into high relief. Every detail of his massive
frame was strongly revealed. There was about him a species of careless
magnificence, wholly apart from arrogance, unfettered, superb.

To Daisy, familiar as she was with every line of him, the sudden
revelation of the sunlight acted like a charm. She had been hiding her
eyes for many days from all light, veiling them in the darkness of her
grief, and the splendour of the man fairly dazzled her. It rushed
upon her, swift, overmastering as a tidal wave, and before it even the
memory of her sorrow grew dim.

Blake, turning at last, met her eyes fixed full upon him with that in
their expression which no man could ignore. She had not expected him
to turn. The movement disconcerted her. With a sharp jerk She averted
her face, seeking to cover that momentary slip, to persuade him
even then, if it were possible, into the belief that he had not seen
aright.

But it was too late. That unguarded look of hers had betrayed her,
rending asunder in an instant the veil with which for years she had
successfully baffled him.

In a second he was on his knees beside her, his arms about her,
holding her with a close and pass