e now, none at all."

They both turned towards the intemperate sunlight and the great hill.
The hollowness of life as they lived it came home to them with an aching
force. Yet she lifted her fan from the table and fanned herself gently
with it, and he mechanically lit a cigar. Servants passed in and out
removing the things from the table. Presently they were left alone. The
heavy breath of the palm trees floated in upon them; the fruit of the
passion-flower hung temptingly at the window; they could hear the sound
of a torrent just behind the house. The day was droning luxuriously,
yet the eyes of both, as by some weird influence, were fastened upon the
hill; and presently they saw, at the highest point where the road was
visible, a horseman. He came slowly down until he reached the spot where
the road was barricaded from the platform of the cliff. Here he paused.
He sat long, looking, as it appeared, down into the valley. The husband
rose and took down a field-glass from a shelf; he levelled it at the
figure.

"Strange, strange," he said to himself; "he seems familiar, and yet--"

She rose and reached out her hand for the glass. He gave it to her. She
raised it to her eyes, but, at that moment, the horseman swerved into
the road again, and was lost to view. Suddenly Houghton started; an
enigmatical smile passed across his face.

"Alice," said he, "did you mean what you said about the steeplechase--I
mean about the ride down the White Bluff road?"

"I meant all I said," was her bitter reply.

"You think life is a mistake?" he rejoined.

"I think we have made a mistake," was her answer; "a deadly mistake, and
it lasts all our lives."

He walked to the door, trained the glass again on the hill, then
afterwards turned round, and said:

"If ever you think of riding the White Bluff road--straight for the
cliff itself and over--tell me, and I'll ride it with you. If it's all
wrong as it is, it's all wrong for both, and, maybe, the worst of what
comes after is better than the worst of what is here."

They had been frank with each other in the past, but never so frank as
this. He was determined that they should be still more frank; and so was
she. "Alice," he said--

"Wait a minute," she interjected. "I have something to say, Tom. I never
told you--indeed, I thought I never should tell you; but now I think
it's best to do so. I loved a man once--with all my soul."

"You love him still," was the reply; and he screwe