ss than the truth, even as he, Austen Vane, had not been
satisfied. And he thought of the life-long faith that would be broken
thereby.

They had made the circle of the hills, and the sparkling lights of the
city lay under them like blue diamond points in the twilight of the
valley. The crests behind them deepened in purple as the saffron faded
in the west, and a gossamer cloud of Tyrian dye floated over Holdfast.
In silence they turned for a last lingering look, and in silence went
down the slope into the world again, and through the streets to the
driveway of the Duncan house. It was only when they had stopped before
the door that she trusted herself to speak.

"I ought not to have said what I did," she began, in a low voice; "I
didn't realize--but I cannot understand you."

"You have said nothing which you need ever have cause to regret," he
replied. He was too great for excuses, too great for any sorrow save
what she herself might feel, as great as the silent hills from which he
came.

She stood for a moment on the edge of the steps, her eyes lustrous,--yet
gazing into his with a searching, troubled look that haunted him for
many days. But her self-command was unshaken, her power to control
speech was the equal of his. And this power of silence in her revealed
in such instants--was her greatest fascination for Austen, the thing
which set her apart among women; which embodied for him the whole charm
and mystery of her sex.

"Good-by," she said simply.

"Good-by," he said, and seized her hand--and drove away.

Without ringing the bell Victoria slipped into the hall,--for the latch
was not caught,--and her first impulse was to run up the staircase to
her room. But she heard Mrs. Pomfret's voice on the landing above and
fled, as to a refuge, into the dark drawing-room, where she stood for a
moment motionless, listening for the sound of his sleigh-bells as they
fainted on the winter's night. Then she seated herself to think, if she
could, though it is difficult to think when one's heart is beating a
little wildly. It was Victoria's nature to think things out. For the
first time in her life she knew sorrow, and it made it worse that that
sorrow was indefinable. She felt an accountable attraction for this man
who had so strangely come into her life, whose problems had suddenly
become her problems. But she did not connect the attraction for Austen
Vane with her misery. She recalled him as he had left her, big and
s