king it,
but he felt that he must answer it honestly, unequivocally, whatever the
cost.

"No, we did not agree. It is only fair to tell you that we differed
--vitally. On the other hand, it is just that you should know that we did
not part in anger, but, I think, with a mutual respect."

She drew breath.

"I knew," she said, "I knew if he could but talk to you he would
understand that you were sincere--and you have proved it. I am glad--I am
glad that you saw him." The quality of the sunlight changed, the very
hills leaped, and the river sparkled. Could she care? Why did she wish
her father to know that he was sincere.

"You are glad that I saw him!" he repeated.

But she met his glance steadily.

"My father has so little faith in human nature," she answered. "He has a
faculty of doubting the honesty of his opponents--I suppose because so
many of them have been dishonest. And--I believe in my friends," she
added, smiling. "Isn't it natural that I should wish to have my judgment
vindicated?"

He got to his feet and walked slowly to the far edge of the rock, where
he stood for a while, seemingly gazing off across the spaces to Sawanec.
It was like him, thus to question the immutable. Victoria sat motionless,
but her eyes followed irresistibly the lines of power in the tall figure
against the sky--the breadth of shoulder and slimness of hip and length
of limb typical of the men who had conquered and held this land for their
descendants. Suddenly, with a characteristic movement of determination;
he swung about and came towards her, and at the same instant she rose.

"Don't you think we should be going back?" she said.

Rut he seemed not to hear her.

"May I ask you something?" he said.

"That depends," she answered.

"Are you going to marry Mr. Rangely?"

"No," she said, and turned away. "Why did you think that?"

He quivered.

"Victoria!"

She looked up at him, swiftly, half revealed, her eyes like stars
surprised by the flush of dawn in her cheeks. Hope quickened at the
vision of hope, the seats of judgment themselves were filled with
radiance, and rumour, cowered and fled like the spirit of night. He could
only gaze, enraptured.

"Yes?" she answered.

His voice was firm but low, yet vibrant with sincerity, with the vast
store of feeling, of compelling magnetism that was in the man and moved
in spite of themselves those who knew him. His words Victoria remembered
afterwards--all of them; but it w