, rushing over prairies infinite as the
sea; I shall see the great wall of the Rockies rising sky-high. And
England will seem like a little piece of patchwork, with a pattern of
mole-hills for mountains, and brooks for rivers. And when I've set our
Canadian farm going, I shall hunt big game. And when I've exterminated
the last bison off the face of the boundless prairie, I shall devote
myself to literature."

"Literature?" she echoed faintly. It was all so grotesquely strange that
even this announcement brought only a dreamlike surprise.

"Yes, literature. Do you think literature is only produced by the
miserable noodles who sit in their studies at home, till their muscles
wither and their hearts get flabby? _My_ book will be a man's book, with
a man's blood and a man's brains in it. It will be a book that will make
posterity sit up. And when you have enjoyed the fame of it a little,
we'll go out again together. In Canada we shall find a new heaven and a
new earth."

She sat silent and passive. The situation had a charm which she was
powerless to break. It seemed as if the mere brute force through which
Hardy had dominated her intellect hitherto, had become refined by some
extraordinary process, and was exerting a moral influence over her. In
order to assert herself against the intolerable fascination she rose
hastily and crossed the room to where her piano stood open in the
corner.

She played loud and long,--wild Polish music, alive with the beating
pulses of love and frenzy and despair. It would have roused another man
to sublime enthusiasm or delirious rapture.

It sent Hardy to sleep.

Stretched on the hearthrug, with slackened jaw, and great chest heaving
with regular rise and fall, he slept like a tired dog. She played on,
and as she played he dreamed that he stood with her in the midst of the
burning prairie, they two on a little ring of charred black earth, an
island in a roaring sea of fire. The ring grew smaller and smaller, till
they could only find standing-room by clinging close together. As he
turned to her she thrust him from her into the sea of fire, crying,
"It's perfectly fair, Vincent, for you dragged me here against my will!"

He woke with a snort as the music suddenly ceased. It was midnight. He
had to start from home early next morning, and if he delayed longer he
would lose the last train out.

He parted from Audrey as only the traveller outward bound parts from his
betrothed. In fact,