s far as that hollow
on the heath where she had sat with Wilfrid years ago, and heard him for
the first time speak freely of his aims and his hopes. That spot was
sacred; as she stood there beneath the faint blue of the winter sky, all
the exquisite sadness of life, the memory of those whom death had led to
his kindly haven, the sorrows of new-born love, the dear heartache for
woe passed into eternity, touched the deepest fountains of her nature
and made dim her eyes. She would not have had life other than it was
given to her, for she had learned the secrets of infinite passion in the
sunless valleys of despair.

She rested. In the last few months she had traversed a whole existence;
repose was needful that she might assimilate all her new experiences and
range in due order the gifts which joy had lavishly heaped upon her. The
skies of the south, the murmur of blue seas on shores of glorious name,
the shrines of Art, the hallowed scenes where earth's greatest have
loved and wrought, these were no longer a dream with her bodily eyes she
had looked upon Greece and Italy, and to have done so was a
consecration, it cast a light upon her brows. 'Talk to me of Rome;'
those were always her words when Wilfrid came to her side in the
evening. 'Talk to me of Rome, as you alone can.' And as Wilfrid recalled
their life in the world's holy of holies, she closed her eyes for the
full rapture of the inner light, and her heart sang praise.

Wilfrid was awed by his blessedness. There were times when he scarcely
dared to take in his own that fine-moulded hand which was the symbol of
life made perfect; Emily uttered thoughts which made him fear to profane
her purity by his touch. She realised to the uttermost his ideal of
womanhood, none the less so that it seemed no child would be born of her
to trouble the exclusiveness of their love. He clad her in queenly
garments and did homage at her feet. Her beauty was all for him, for
though Emily could grace any scene she found no pleasure in society, and
the hours of absence from home were to Wilfrid full of anxiety to
return. All their plans were for solitude; life was too short for more
than the inevitable concessions to the outside world.

But one morning in February, Emily's eye fell upon an announcement in
the newspaper which excited in her a wish to go up to town. Among the
list of singers at a concert to be given that day she had caught the
name of Miss Beatrice Redwing. It was Saturda