se readings brought back the time when, tired of flicking the
tawny pools, I would sit on the edge of the boisterous little burn and
read till the grey shadows sifted down! I was so happy then, and I did
not know it. Now everything seemed changed. Life had lost its zest. Its
savour was no longer sweet. Its very success was more bitter than
failure. Would I ever get back that old-time rapture, that youthful joy,
that satisfaction with all the world?

It was sweet prolonging my convalescence, yet the time came when I could
no longer let her wait upon me. What was going to happen to us? I
thought of that at all times, and she knew I thought of it. Sometimes I
could see a vivid colour in her cheeks, an eager brightness in her eye.
Was ever a stranger situation? She slept in the little kitchen, and
between us there was but that curtain. The faintest draught stirred it.
There I lay through the long, long night in that quiet cabin. I heard
her breathing. Sometimes even I heard her murmur in her sleep. I knew
she was there, within a few yards of me. I thought of her always. I
loved her beyond all else on earth. I was gaining daily in health and
strength, yet not for the wealth of the world would I have passed that
little curtain. She was as safe there as if she were guarded with
swords. And she knew it.

Once when I was in agony I called to her in the night, and she came to
me. She came with a mother's tenderness, with exquisite endearments,
with the great love shining in her eyes. She leaned over me, she kissed
me. As she bent over my bed I put my arm round her. There in the
darkness were we, she and I, her kisses warm upon my lips, her hair
brushing my brow, and a great love devouring us. Oh, it was hard, but I
released her, put her from me, told her to go away.

"I'll play the game fair," I said to myself. I must be very, very
careful. Our position was full of danger. So I forced myself to be cold
to her, and she looked both surprised and pained at the change in me.
Then she seemed to put forth special efforts to please me. She changed
the fashion of her hair, she wore pretty bows of ribbon. She talked
brightly and lightly in a febrile way. She showed little coquettish
tricks of manner that were charming to my mind. Ever she looked at me
with wistful concern. Her heart was innocent, and she could not
understand my sudden coldness. Yet that night had given me a lightning
glimpse of my nature that frightened me. The girl was