ow and
then to listen. A faint moon was shining through a misty sky, and he
caught a glimpse of her face, which startled him. It was as though she
were listening to voices which he could not hear. There was the breath
of another world about her.

"Are you afraid of being dull here?" he asked. "You see, we have no
neighbors, and the village is a mile away."

She smiled curiously.

"There is never any dullness," she said, "where that is!"

He was prepared for changes in her, but this sudden transition from a
materialism almost gross was staggering. It was only a few weeks ago
that he had watched in vain for a single sign of feeling in her face.
Now she was pale almost to the lips with emotion.

The next afternoon she called to him. He sprang up and found her
standing in the open window dressed for walking. Even in his first rapid
glance he saw a wonderful change in her appearance. Her cheeks were
flushed, and her eyes bright. Once more she carried herself with the old
lightsome grace. She called to him gaily.

"Come for a walk, Powers! I am going to take you somewhere."

He caught up his stick and hat, and followed her. Then he saw that the
color in her cheeks was not wholly natural. She was nervous and excited.

"Why not inland, Eleanor?" he suggested. "Let us go to Turton Woods."

She seemed scarcely to have heard him. Already she was well on her way
shoreward.

He caught her up in a few strides. The tide had gone down, and they
walked dry-footed along the road. Above their heads the larks were
singing, and in their faces the freshening sea wind blew.

Her head was thrown back, her lips were parted. She drank in the breeze
as though it were wine.

"This is the wind which Ulric and his men always loved," she murmured.
"A wind from the north to the shore. Can't you feel the sting of the
Iceland snows?"

"Not I?" he answered, laughing. "To me it is soft and warm enough. But
then, you know, I have no imagination."

"Powers," she said suddenly, "I want to ask you a question. Is there any
fear of my going mad?"

He started violently.

"Certainly not!" he answered. "Why do you ask me such a question?"

"I know that I am not like other girls," she said wistfully. "I cannot
remember my father, or my life in India, or the voyage. When I try to
think about these things my head plays me such strange tricks. I cannot
remember where I was, or what I was doing a year ago--but----"

"Go on. Tell me exactly how yo