on a lounge and Sylvia surrendered. After
all, the man had made a good defense and, as far as her nature
permitted, she had grown fond of him.

CHAPTER XXXIII

GEORGE MAKES UP HIS MIND

Dusk was closing in when George and Edgar alighted at a little English
station. Casting an eager glance about, George was disappointed to see
nobody from his cousin's house waiting to meet him. In another moment,
however, he was warmly greeted by Ethel West.

"A very hearty welcome, George," she said. "You're looking very fit,
but thinner than you were when you left us. Stephen's waiting outside.
He told Muriel we would drive you over; Herbert's away somewhere."

"How's everybody?" George inquired.

"Sylvia looked as charming as ever when I last saw her a few days ago,"
Ethel answered with a smile, which George was too eager to notice was
somewhat forced. "The rest of us, are much as usual. But come along;
we'll send over afterward for your heavy things."

They turned toward the outlet, and found Stephen having some trouble
with a horse that was startled by the roar of steam. Edgar got up in
front of the high trap, George helped Ethel to the seat behind, and
they set off the next moment, flying down the wet road amid a cheerful
hammer of hoofs and a rattle of wheels. For the first few minutes
George said little as he looked about. On one side great oaks and
ashes raised their naked boughs in sharp tracery against the pale
saffron glow in the western sky. Ahead, across a deep valley, which
was streaked with trains of mist, wide moors and hills rolled away,
gray and darkly blue. Down the long slope to the hollow ran small
fields with great trees breaking the lines of hedgerows; and the
brawling of a river swollen by recent rain came sharply up to him.

It was all good to look upon, a beautiful, well-cared-for land, and he
felt a thrill of pride and satisfaction. This was home, and he had
come back to it with his work done. A roseate future stretched away
before him, its peaceful duties brightened by love, and the contrast
between it and the stress and struggle of the past two years added to
its charm. Still, to his astonishment, he thought of the sterner and
more strenuous life he had led on the western plains with a faint,
half-tender regret.

By and by Edgar's laugh rang out.

"The change in my brother is remarkable," Ethel declared. "It was a
very happy thought that made us let him go with you."

"I'm