the front entrance
to the pavement.

"I felt such a longing to be out in the open this morning," she said,
when we had exchanged greeting. "It's months since I had a walk for the
walk's sake, and now I mean to climb that hill that we motored over from
Farnham--the Hog's Back, as they call it."

We both thought it deserved some more beautiful name, when we turned on
its crest and looked back at Guildford in the hollow, shining in summer
morning haze.

"Now surely that's King Arthur's Camelot," said Constance.

And then we looked out over the delectable valley toward the towers of
Charterhouse, across the roofs of two most lovable hamlets, from which
blue smoke curled in delicate spirals up from the bed of the valley,
through a nacreous mist, to somewhere near our high level.

We gazed our fill, and I only nodded when Constance murmured:

"It's worth a struggle, isn't it?"

I knew her thought exactly. It was part of our joint life, of the cause
we both were serving. I had been pointing to some object across the
valley, and as my hand fell it touched Constance's hand, which was cool
and fresh as a flower. Mine was moist and hot. I never was more at a
loss for words. I took her hand in mine and held it. So we stood, hand
in hand, like children, looking out over that lovely English valley. My
heart was all abrim with tenderness; but I had no words. I had been a
good deal moved by the curious instance of telepathic sympathy or
understanding which had brought me from my bed that morning and led to
our meeting.

"You have given me so much, taught me so much, Constance," I said at
last.

"No, no; I am no teacher," she said. "But I do think God has taught all
of us a good deal lately--all our tribe--Dick."

There was a rare hint of nervousness in her voice; and I felt I knew the
cause. I felt she must be thinking of John Crondall. And yet, if my life
had depended on it, I could not help saying:

"It is love that taught me."

Constance drew her hand away gently.

"Would not the Canadian preachers say we meant the same thing?" she
said. I had my warning; but, though haltingly, the words would come,
now.

"Ah, Constance, it is love of you, I mean--love of you. Oh, yes, I
know," I hurried on now. "I know. Have no fear of me. I understand. But
it is love of you, Constance, that rules every minute of my life. I
couldn't alter that if I tried; and--and I would not alter it if I had
to die for it. But--you must forgiv