t against hers, his future with hers. Her hand was steady
now. The light in the priest's house had been extinguished. The chill of
the mountain night penetrated Anita's white furs; and set her--or was it
the chill?--to shivering.

"If I had not told you, would you have married me?"

"I think so. I'll be honest, too. Yes."

"I am the same man you would have married. Only--more honest."

"I cannot argue about it. I am tired and cold."

Stewart glanced across the valley to where the cluster of villas hugged
the mountain-side There was a light in his room; outside was the little
balcony where Marie had leaned against the railing and looked down,
down. Some of the arrogance of his new virtue left the man. He was
suddenly humbled. For the first time he realized a part of what Marie
had endured in that small room where the light burned.

"Poor little Marie!" he said softly.

The involuntary exclamation did more for him than any plea he could have
made. Anita rose and held out her hand.

"Go and see her," she said quietly. "You owe her that. We'll be leaving
here in a day or so and I'll not see you again. But you've been honest,
and I will be honest, too. I--I cared a great deal, too."

"And this has killed it?"

"I hardly comprehend it yet. I shall have to have time to think."

"But if you are going away--I'm afraid to leave you. You'll think this
thing over, alone, and all the rules of life you've been taught will
come--"

"Please, I must think. I will write you, I promise."

He caught her hand and crushed it between both of his.

"I suppose you would rather I did not kiss you?" humbly.

"I do not want you to kiss me."

He released her hand and stood looking down at her in the darkness. If
he could only have crushed her to him, made her feel the security of his
love, of his sheltering arms! But the barrier of his own building was
between them. His voice was husky.

"I want you to try to remember, past what I have told you, to the thing
that concerns us both--I love you. I never loved the other woman. I
never pretended I loved her. And there will be nothing more like that."

"I shall try to remember."

Anita left Semmering the next day, against the protests of the doctor
and the pleadings of the chaperon. She did not see Stewart again. But
before she left, with the luggage gone and the fiacre at the door, she
went out on the terrace, and looked across to the Villa Waldheim, rising
from among its clusteri