ver I had in my life," said Nort.

"It _was_ fine," returned Anthy. Her low voice vibrated.

"It seems to me, Miss Doane, that it is only since I came to Hempfield
that I have begun to live. I was only existing before: it seems to me
now as though I could do anything."

He paused. When he spoke again it was in a deeper tone, and his voice
shook:

"I feel to-night as though I could be great--and _good_."

She had never heard that tone before: she saw him in a new light, and
suddenly began to tremble without knowing why. But she walked quietly at
his side along the shadowy road. They seemed in a world all by
themselves, with the wonderful stars above, and the fragrant night air
all about them. At the corner where the sidewalk ends they came to the
first outlook upon the open country. Anthy stopped suddenly and looked
around her.

"Oh, isn't it beautiful," she whispered.

This time it was Nort who made no reply. They stood a moment side by
side, and it was thus that Fergus, a hundred paces behind in the shadows
of the trees, first saw them--with misery in his soul.

They walked on slowly again, feeling each other's presence with such
poignant consciousness that neither dared speak. Thus they came to
Anthy's gate: and there they paused a moment.

"Good-night," said Nort.

"Good-night," responded Anthy faintly.

She looked up at him with the starlight on her face. It seemed to him
that he saw her for the first time. He had never really known her
before. He was dizzily conscious of flashing lights and something in his
throat that hurt him.

"Anthy," he said huskily, "you are the most beautiful woman in the
world."

She still stood, close to him, looking up into his face. She tried to
move, but could not.

"Anthy," he said again, with shaking voice, and stooping over kissed her
upon her lips.

She uttered a little low cry and, turning quickly, with her hand lifted
to her face, ran up the walk to the house.

"Anthy," he called after her--such a call as she will not forget to her
dying day.

And she was gone.

Nort stood by the gate, clasping the wood until his fingers hurt him, in
a wild tumult of emotion. And behind him in the shadows, not a hundred
paces away, Fergus, with clenched hands.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXII

FERGUS AND NORT

Fergus MacGregor was approaching the supreme moment of his life. As I
have said before, it was a long time before I began to understand that
roseate Scot