an tell
me--now, as your eyes look into mine,--that you love Cassilis. Tell me
that, and I will take you back, this very instant; and never trouble you
again. But, unless you do tell me that, why then--your Pride shall not
blast two lives, if I can help it. Now speak!"

But Anthea was silent, also, she would have turned aside from his
searching look, but that his arms were about her, strong, and
compelling. So, needs must she suffer him to look down into her very
heart, for it seemed to her that, in that moment, he had rent away every
stitch, and shred of Pride's enfolding mantle, and that he saw the
truth, at last.

But, if he had, he gave no sign, only he turned and set the car humming
upon its way, once more.

On they went through the midsummer night, up hill and down hill, by
cross-road and bye-lane, until, as they climbed a long ascent, they
beheld a tall figure standing upon the top of the hill, in the attitude
of one who waits; and who, spying them, immediately raised a very stiff
left arm, whereupon this figure was joined by another. Now as the car
drew nearer, Anthea, with a thrill of pleasure, recognized the Sergeant
standing very much as though he were on parade, and with honest-faced
Peterday beside him, who stumped joyfully forward, and,--with a bob of
his head, and a scrape of his wooden leg,--held out his hand to her.

Like one in a dream she took the sailor's hand to step from the car, and
like one in a dream, she walked on between the soldier and the sailor,
who now reached out to her, each, a hand equally big and equally gentle,
to aid her up certain crumbling, and time-worn steps. On they went
together until they were come to a place of whispering echoes, where
lights burned, few, and dim.

And here, still as one in a dream, she spoke those words which gave her
life, henceforth, into the keeping of him who stood beside her,--whose
strong hand trembled as he set upon her finger, that which is an emblem
of eternity.

Like one in a dream, she took the pen, and signed her name, obediently,
where they directed. And yet,--could this really be herself,--this
silent, submissive creature?

And now, they were out upon the moon-lit road again, seated in the car,
while Peterday, his hat in his hand, was speaking to her. And yet,--was
it to her?

"Mrs. Belloo, mam," he was saying, "on this here monumentous occasion--"

"Monumentous is the only word for it, Peterday!" nodded the Sergeant.

"On this her