rned and looked him full in the eyes, that infinite flame in her own
which burns all passions into one. "I cannot, dear," she said.

Then she hurriedly rose, her features quivering. Without a word they went
down the quiet path to the river and on toward the gates of the park
where the coach was waiting to take them back to Herridon.

They did not see Mark Telford before their coach left. But, standing back
in the shadow of the trees, he saw them. An hour before he had hated Hagar
and had wished that they were in some remote spot alone with pistols in
their hands. Now he could watch the two together without anger, almost
without bitterness. He had lost in the game, and he was so much the true
gamester that he could take his defeat when he knew it was defeat quietly.
Yet the new defeat was even harder on him than the old. All through the
years since he had seen her there had been the vague conviction, under all
his determination to forget, that they would meet again, and that all
might come right. That was gone, he knew, irrevocably.

"That's over," he said as he stood looking at them. "The king is dead.
Long live the king!"

He lit a cigar and watched the coach drive away, then saw the coach in
which he had come drive up also and its passengers mount. He did not stir,
but smoked on. The driver waited for some time, and when he did not come
drove away without him, to the regret of the passengers and to the
indignation of Miss Mildred Margrave, who talked much of him during the
drive back.

When they had gone, Telford rose and walked back to the ruined abbey. He
went to the spot where he had first seen Mrs. Detlor that day, then took
the path up the hillside to the place where they had stood. He took from
his pocket the ring she had given back to him, read the words inside it
slowly, and, looking at the spot where she had stood, said aloud:

"I met a man once who imagined he was married to the spirit of a woman
living at the north pole. Well, I will marry myself to the ghost of Marion
Conquest."

So saying, he slipped the ring on his little finger. The thing was
fantastic, but he did it reverently; nor did it appear in the least as
weakness, for his face was, strong and cold. "Till death us do part, so
help me God!" he added.

He turned and wandered once more through the abbey, strayed in the
grounds, and at last came to the park gates. Then he walked to the town a
couple of miles away, went to the railway station