for some time, was obliged to recruit himself by a few
hours' sleep at an hotel.

It was past midday when he awoke, and the next train, which started
late in the afternoon, brought him to Laufingen, just as the last
sunset rays were reddening the old grey ruin on the hill, and the
towns and river below showed themselves in an enchanted atmosphere of
violet haze.

Leaving his luggage at the station until he should have found a place
to stay at for the night, Vincent walked down to the bridge, intending
to go to the Rheinfall Hotel and inquire for Mark. There is a point
where the covered portion of the bridge ends, and the structure is
supported by a massive stone pier, whose angles, facing up and down
the river and protected by a broad parapet, form recesses on either
side of the roadway. Here he stopped for a moment, fascinated by the
charm of the scene, and, leaning upon the ledge, watched the last
touches of scarlet fading out of the slate-coloured cloud-masses in
the west. He was roused from this occupation by a voice which called
his name in a low tremulous tone which sent the blood rushing back to
his heart, and as he turned to see a graceful figure just passing out
from under the arched roof towards him, he recognised Mabel Langton.

The dying light fell full on her face, which had an expression half of
awe, half of incredulous joy--she came towards him, holding out two
eager hands, and the awe vanished, but the joy grew more assured.

'Vincent!' she cried. 'Is it really you? you have come back to us--or
am I dreaming?'

He had met her at last, and in this place to which he had come
anticipating nothing but pain and contest ... she had not forgotten
him--the glad shining in her sweet eyes told him that, and a great and
glorious hope sprang up within him.

In her presence he forgot his wrongs, he forgot the very object of a
journey which had thus led him to her side, all his past feelings
seemed petty and ignoble, and fame itself a matter of little worth; he
took her small gloved hands and stood there, resting his eyes on the
dear face which had haunted his thoughts through all his weary exile.
'Thank God,' he murmured, 'it is no dream--this time!'

CHAPTER XXXIII.

IN SUSPENSE.

Mark, as he left his wife with that hastily invented excuse of the
forgotten tobacco, turned back with a blind instinct of escape; he
went to the foot of the hilly little street down which Mabel and he
had lately passed