-the fair and innocent creature who
had, in his imagination, risen to a throne of imperial height, from
whence she could bestow on him death or salvation. How calm she seemed!
She was listening with courteous patience to a long story of
Macfarlane's whose Scotch accent rendered it difficult for her to
understand. She was pale, Philip thought, and her eyes were heavy; but
she smiled now and then,--such a smile! Even so sweetly might the
"kiss-worthy" lips of the Greek Aphrodite part, could that eloquent and
matchless marble for once breathe into life. He looked at her with a
sort of fear. Her hands held his fate. What if she could not love him?
What if he must lose her utterly? This idea overpowered him; his brain
whirled, and he suddenly pushed away his untasted glass of wine, and
rose abruptly from the table, heedless of the surprise his action
excited.

"Hullo, Phil, where are you off to?" cried Lorimer. "Wait for me!"

"Tired of our company, my lad?" said Gueldmar kindly, "You've had a long
day of it,--and what with the climbing and the strong air, no doubt
you'll be glad to turn in."

"Upon my life, sir," answered Errington, with some confusion, "I don't
know why I got up just now! I was thinking,--I'm rather a dreamy sort of
fellow sometimes, and--"

"He was asleep, and doesn't want to own it!" interrupted Lorimer
sententiously. "You will excuse him; he means well! He looks rather
seedy. I think, Mr. Gueldmar, we'll be off to the yacht. By the way,
you're coming with us to-morrow, aren't you?"

"Oh yes," said Thelma. "We will sail with you round by Soroe,--it is
weird and dark and grand; but I think it is beautiful. And there are
many stories of the elves and berg-folk, who are said to dwell there
among the deep ravines. Have you heard about the berg-folk?" she
continued, addressing herself to Errington, unaware of the effort he was
making to appear cool and composed in her presence. "No? Then I must
tell you to-morrow."

They all walked out of the house into the porch, and while her father
was interchanging farewells with the others, she looked at Sir Philip's
grave face with some solicitude.

"I am afraid you are very tired, my friend?" she asked softly, "or your
head aches,--and you suffer?"

He caught her hands swiftly and raised them to his lips.

"Would you care much,--would you care at all, if I suffered?" he
murmured in a low tone.

Then before she could speak or move, he let go her hands again