"LOUIS MALCOURT"

This letter he sealed and laid with the others; it was the last. There
was nothing more to do, except to open the table drawer and drop
something into the side pocket of his coat.

Malcourt had no favourite spots in the woods and fields around him; one
trail resembled another; he cared as much for one patch of woods, one
wild meadow, one tumbling brook as he did for the next--which was not
very much.

But there was one place where the sun-bronzed moss was deep and level;
where, on the edge of a leafy ravine, the last rays of the sinking sun
always lingered after all else lay in shadow.

Here he sat down, thoughtfully; and for a little while remained in his
listening attitude. Then, smiling, he lay back, pillowing his head on
his left arm; and drew something from the side pocket of his coat.

The world had grown silent; across the ravine a deer among the trees
watched him, motionless.

Suddenly the deer leaped in an ecstasy of terror and went crashing away
into obscurity. But Malcourt lay very, very still.

His hat was off; the cliff breeze played with his dark curly hair,
lifting it at the temples, stirring the one obstinate strand that never
lay quite flat on the crown of his head.

A moment later the sun set.

CHAPTER XXVIII

HAMIL IS SILENT

Late in the autumn his aunt wrote Hamil from Sapphire Springs:

"There seems to be a favourable change in Shiela. Her aversion to
people is certainly modified. Yesterday on my way to the hot
springs I met her with her trained nurse, Miss Lester, face to
face, and of course meant to pass on as usual, apparently without
seeing her; but to my surprise she turned and spoke my name very
quietly; and I said, as though we had parted the day before--'I
hope you are better'; and she said, 'I think I am'--very slowly
and precisely like a person who strives to speak correctly in a
foreign tongue. Garry, dear, it was too pathetic; she is so
changed--beautiful, even more beautiful than before; but the last
childish softness has fled from the delicate and almost undecided
features you remember, and her face has settled into a nobler
mould. Do you recollect in the Munich Museum an antique marble,
by some unknown Greek sculptor, called 'Head of a Young Amazon'?
You must recall it because you have spoken to me of its noble and
almost immortal loveliness. Dear, it resembles Shiel