aight from the window where she stood. He was a wild
idealist himself, and was sure of her. But he must wait her good time.

Often, therefore, she drifted out by herself, and he suffered
damnably. But she never went far--he comforted himself with that
assurance. "She has the homing instinct. She won't go without me; and
she knows that I can't come--but oh, to be kissing her under those
birches by the water's edge!"

He was not the only one who was aware that she had flitted. Macartney
was always intensely aware of it, and being by this time exceedingly
fond, it tended to spoil his play. So long as Urquhart left her alone
he was able to endure it.

Then came an evening when, tending to the open door, she found
Urquhart there before her. He had behaved so admirably that her fears
were asleep. He acted with the utmost caution, saying just enough,
with just enough carelessness of tone, to keep her unsuspicious. The
boreal lights were flashing and quivering in the sky: very soon he saw
her absorbed in the wonder and beauty of them. "A night," she said,
"when anything might happen!"

"Yes, it looks like that," he agreed. "But that is not what enraptures
you."

"What do you think enraptures me?" she wished to know.

"The certainty," he replied, "that nothing will."

She waited a while, then said, "Yes, you are right. I don't want
anything else to happen."

"You have everything you want, here in the house. Safe to hand! Your
Lancelot in bed, your James at cards, and myself at the window.
Wonderful! And you are contented?"

"Yes, yes. I ask so little, you see. But you despise me for it."

"God forbid. I promised you that you shouldn't repent this trip. And
you don't, I hope?"

Her eyes were wide open and serious. "No, indeed. I never expected to
be so happy as this. It never happened to me before." She had no
compunctions at all--but he was in the fatuous stage, drugged by his
own imaginings.

"That's good. Shall we go down to the water?"

"I think we might," she said, not daring to look back into the room,
lest he should think that she feared him.

They strolled leisurely through the wood, she in a soft rapture of
delight at the still grey beauty of the night; Urquhart in a state of
mind bordering upon frenzy. He gripped himself by both hands to make
sure of the mastery. What gave him conviction was his constant sense
of Lucy's innocency. This beautiful woman had the heart of a child and
the patience of the m