ness became serenity, its bitterness peace. And with her quick
feeling she guessed that the lament of the Chief Justice had only
awakened in the religious mind the typical religious cry, "_Thou_, Lord,
art the Eternal, and Thy years shall not fail."

At Field, where a most friendly inn shelters under the great shoulders
of Mount Stephen, they left the car a while, took tea in the hotel, and
wandered through the woods below it. All the afternoon, Elizabeth had
shown a most delicate and friendly consideration for Delaine. She had
turned the conversation often in his direction and on his subjects, had
placed him by her side at tea, and in general had more than done her
duty by him. To no purpose. Delaine saw himself as the condemned man to
whom indulgences are granted before execution. She would probably have
done none of these things if there had been any real chance for him.

But in the walk after tea, Anderson and Lady Merton drifted together.
There had been so far a curious effort on both their parts to avoid each
other's company. But now the Chief Justice and Delaine had foregathered;
Philip was lounging and smoking on the balcony of the hotel with a
visitor there, an old Etonian fishing and climbing in the Rockies for
health, whom they had chanced upon at tea. Mariette, after one glance at
the company, especially at Elizabeth and Anderson, had turned aside into
the woods by himself.

They crossed the river and strolled up the road to Emerald Lake. Over
the superb valley to their left hung the great snowy mass, glistening
and sunlit, of Mount Stephen; far to the West the jagged peaks of the
Van Home range shot up into the golden air; on the flat beside the river
vivid patches of some crimson flower, new to Elizabeth's eyes, caught
the sloping light; and the voice of a swollen river pursued them.

They began to talk, this time of England. Anderson asked many questions
as to English politics and personalities. And she, to please him,
chattered of great people and events, of scenes and leaders in
Parliament, of diplomats and royalties; all the gossip of the moment, in
fact, fluttering round the principal figures of English and European
politics. It was the talk most natural to her; the talk of the world she
knew best; and as Elizabeth was full of shrewdness and natural salt,
without a trace of malice, no more at least than a woman should have--to
borrow the saying about Wilkes and his squint--her chatter was generally