fruit of our
mistakes, so everlasting peace should be the reward of our heart's
best endeavor.

Sadness is past; joy comes with High Noon.

"The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen!"

THE AUTHOR.

HIGH NOON

CHAPTER I

It was Springtime in Switzerland! Once more the snow-capped mountains
mirrored their proud heads in sapphire lakes; and on the beeches by
the banks of Lake Lucerne green buds were bursting into leaves.
Everywhere were bright signs of the earth's awakening. _Springtime in
Switzerland!_ And _that_, you know--you young hearts to whom the gods
are kind--is only another way of saying _Paradise_!

Towards Paradise, then, thundered the afternoon express from Paris,
bearing the advance guard of the summer seekers after happiness. But
if the cumbrous coaches carried swiftly onward some gay hearts, some
young lovers to never-to-be-forgotten scenes, one there was among the
throng to whom the world was gray--an English gentleman this, who
gazed indifferently upon the bright vistas flitting past his window.
The _London Times_ reposed unopened by his side; _Punch_, _Le Figaro_,
_Jugend_ had pleased him not and tumbled to the floor unnoticed.

There seemed scant reason for such deep abstraction in one who bore
the outward signs of so vigorous a manhood. Tall, well-formed,
muscular as his faultless clothes half revealed, half hid, his bronzed
face bearing the clear eyes and steady lips of a man much out of
doors, this thoughtful Englishman was indeed a man to catch and hold
attention. No callow youth, was he, but in the prime of life--strong,
clean, distinguished in appearance, with hair slightly silvered at
the temples; a man who had lived fully, women would have said, but who
was now a bit weary of the world.

Small wonder that the smart American girl sitting opposite in the
compartment stared at him with frank interest, or an elegantly gowned
Parisienne _demi-mondaine_ (travelling _incognito_ as the Comtesse de
Boistelle) eyed him tentatively through her lorgnette.

So Sir Paul Verdayne sat that afternoon in a compartment of the
through express, all unconscious of the scrutiny of his fellow
travellers; his heart filled with the dogged determination to face the
future and make the best of it like a true Englishman; somewhat
saddened--yes--but still unbroken in spirit by the sorrows that had
been his.

Many years ago it was, since he had vowed to revisit the Springplace
of his youth, Lucerne, a sp