Wyndham each was a jewel beyond price.
And Desmond was writing again now; fitfully but spontaneously, as of
old. He had written to Sir John, and to the Colonel; and there had
been two thick envelopes addressed to Frank; but never a one to Honor
Meredith.

It had needed only this to fill Paul's cup of content; but
Desmond--though he talked more openly of other matters--seldom
mentioned the girl.

As on his return from the Samana, so now, he had fought his hidden
fight and come off conqueror. All things conspired to convince him
that Paul was the man--the infinitely worthier man--of her choice; and
their steady correspondence seemed proof conclusive. At that rate
there was nothing for it but to stand aside, leaving Paul to go in
and win; only--he could not bring himself to be present at the
process.

So these two friends, united by one of the closest ties on earth,
lived and thought at cross purposes, for the simple reason that even
of so fine a quality as reserve it is possible to have too much of a
good thing.

And now an end of peaceful isolation. To-morrow they would cross to
Menaggio homeward bound; and on this their last evening they climbed
the cobblestoned, corkscrew of a path that winds to the ruins of Torre
di Vezio above Varenna. The fine outlook from the summit was Desmond's
favourite view of the lake. He himself had planned the outing, and now
strode briskly ahead of his friend, with more of the old vigour and
elasticity in his bearing than Paul had yet seen. To-day, too, for the
first time, he had discarded the crepe band from the sleeve of his
grey flannel suit; a silent admission that the spirit of resurrection
had not called to him in vain.

Paul, noting these significant trifles, decided that he could have
chosen no time more propitious for the thing he had to say. That
morning's post had brought a letter from Sir John Meredith begging
them both to come straight to his country house in Surrey for a week.
Paul saw that invitation as Theo's God-given chance to discover the
treasure that was his for the asking; and all day he had patiently
awaited the given moment for speech. Now he recognised it, and did not
intend to let it slip through his fingers.

* * * * *

The grey stone walls and towers of the Torre di Vezio stood
four-square and rugged in the last of the sun; their battlements
jewelled with fine mosaic work of lichens, their feet in the young
grass of Apri