tened the white kerchief, and the bodice and skirt of a faint
pink, throwing the face into a pleasing shadow where the hand curved
over the forehead. She stood like some Diana of a ruined temple looking
out into the staring day.

At once his pulses beat faster, for to him a woman was ever the fountain
of adventure, and an unmanageable heart sent him headlong to the oasis
where he might loiter at the spring of feminine vanity, or truth, or
impenitent gaiety, as the case might be. In proportion as his spirits
had sunk into sour reflection, they now shot up rocket-high at the sight
of a girl's joyous pose of body and the colour and form of the picture
she made. In him the shrewdness of a strong intelligence was mingled
with wild impulse. In most, rashness would be the outcome of such a
marriage of characteristics; but clear-sightedness, decision, and a
little unscrupulousness had carried into success many daring actions of
his life. This very quality of resolute daring saved him from disaster.

Impulse quickened his footsteps now. It quickened them to a run when
the hand was dropped from the girl's forehead, and he saw again the face
whose image and influence had banished sleep from his eyes the night
before.

"Guida!" broke from his lips.

The man was transfigured. Brightness leaped into his look, and the
greyness of his moody eye became as blue as the sea. The professional
straightness of his figure relaxed into the elastic grace of an athlete.
He was a pipe to be played on: an actor with the ambitious brain of a
diplomatist; as weak as water, and as strong as steel; soft-hearted to
foolishness or unyielding at will.

Now, if the devil had sent a wise imp to have watch and ward of this
man and this maid, and report to him upon the meeting of their ways,
the moment Philip took Guida's hand, and her eyes met his, monsieur the
reporter of Hades might have clapped-to his book and gone back to his
dark master with the message and the record: "The hour of Destiny is
struck."

When the tide of life beats high in two mortals, and they meet in
the moment of its apogee, when all the nature is sweeping on without
command, guilelessly, yet thoughtlessly, the mere lilt of existence
lulling to sleep wisdom and tried experience--speculation points all one
way. Many indeed have been caught away by such a conjunction of tides,
and they mostly pay the price.

But paying is part of the game of life: it is the joy of buying that we