nicism, the
verjuice drop of suspiciousness engendered by a life of strange
experiences, injected itself upon his reflections, and he began steadily
to review all the circumstances of their acquaintanceship.

He remembered how she had first attracted, then repelled him; how she
had first been disposed to make much of him, only to turn suddenly, in
the most capricious and irresponsible manner, to lavish her favour upon
Lambert. Well, that had in no way troubled him. Lambert was a newer
arrival; Lambert was young, and he himself was not exactly young, but a
tolerably jaded and experienced victim of circumstances; and while
disliking him, never for a moment had he dreamed of regarding the doctor
in the light of a rival. He had merely stood by and watched this new
development of her preferences with a whole-hearted amusement not
undashed with contempt. To-day, however, his eyes were opened. She had
merely been resorting to the stale device of playing off Lambert against
himself. But now--? The better, truer, nobler side of Mona's nature
had flashed forth in that moment of peril. She had displayed a glimpse
of her true self in yielding up possession of the secrets of her
innermost heart; and up till that day he would not have believed that
she had a heart.

But the enlightenment? What was to be the upshot of it? She had saved
his life--could she not therefore claim it? _Would_ she not therefore
claim it? And at the thought his mind stirred uneasily. For he did not
return her love.

How should he? Again drawing upon the stores of his experiences he
could recall that same look in other eyes, could recall even the same
utterances--the latter far more impassioned, far more self-oblivious
than hers had been--all perfectly genuine at the moment. _At the
moment_! For how had it ended? A year or two of absence, of
separation--new interests surrounding--the gradual dimming effects of
time, and all that warm, real, live passion had cooled down into the dry
ashes of worn-out memories--had faded into extinction. How should he,
we repeat, credit with any more lasting properties the fervour of this
latest instance?

He tossed restlessly from side to side, the same feverish thirst
tormenting him. Suddenly his room grew light--he could distinguish
objects quite plainly. The moon had risen, suffusing the heavens and
the black loom of the mountain-top across the vista of the open window
with golden light. Wearily, ho