in her condition."

"Like enough--like enough; guess we all do a little." Then he seemed to
speak to himself:--"She was rough on Champ," he murmured.

Aileen left him with that name on his lips.

On her return to Champ-au-Haut, she went down to the boat house to sit a
while in its shade. The surface of the lake was motionless, but the
reflection of the surrounding heights and shores was slightly veiled,
owing to the heat-haze that quivered above it.

Aileen was reliving the experience of the last seven years, the
consummation of which was the knowledge that Champney Googe loved her.
She was sure of this now. She had felt it intuitively during the
twilight horror of that October day in The Gore. But how, when, where
would he speak the releasing word--the supreme word of love that alone
could atone, that alone could set her free? Would he ever speak
it?--could he, after that avowal of the unreasoning passion for her
which had taken possession of him seven years ago? And, moreover, what
had not that avowal and its expression done to her?

Her cheek paled at the thought:--he had kissed love into her for all
time; and during all his years of imprisonment she had been held in
thrall, as it were, to him and to his memory. All her rebellion at such
thraldom, all her disgust at her weakness, as she termed it, all her
hatred, engendered by the unpalatable method he had used to enthrall
her, all her struggle to forget, to live again her life free of any
entanglement with Champney Googe, all her endeavors to care for other
men, had availed her naught. Love she must--and Champney Googe remained
the object of that love. Father Honore's words gave her courage to live
on--loving.

"Champney--Champney," she said low to herself. She covered her face with
her hands. The mere taking of his name on her lips eased the exaltation
of her mood. She rejoiced that she had been able that afternoon to show
him how it stood with her after these many years; for the look in his
eyes, when he recognized her, told her that she alone could hold to his
lips the cup that should quench his thirst. Oh, she would be to him what
no other woman could ever have been, ever could be--no other! She knew
this. He knew it. When, oh, when would the word be spoken?

She withdrew her hands from her face, and looked up the lake to the
sheds. The sun was nearing the horizon, and against its clear red light
the gray buildings loomed large and dark.--And there was hi