ed to him so absolutely--remembering the thousand
thrilling intimacies that bound them immortally together--and now to be
actually so isolated, so beyond his reach, so alone, so miserably
certain of her soul's safety!... And now, for the first time, she missed
the pleasures of fear--the exquisite trepidation that lay in
unsafety--the blessed thrill of peril warning her to avoid his eyes, his
touch, his--lips.

She glanced uneasily at him, a slow side gaze; and met his eyes.

Her heart had begun beating faster; a glow grew in her veins; she closed
her eyes, sitting there surprised--not yet frightened.

Time throbbed on; rigid, motionless, she endured the pulsing silence
while the blood quickened till body and limbs seemed burning; and
suddenly, from heart to throat the tension tightened as though a cry,
echoing within her, was being strangled.

"Perhaps you had better--go--" she managed to say.

"Why?"

She looked down at her restless fingers interlacing, too confused to be
actually afraid of herself or him.

What was there to fear? What occult uneasiness was haunting them? Where
might lie any peril, now? How could the battle begin again when all was
quiet along the firing line--quiet with the quiet of death? Do dead
memories surge up into furies? Can dead hopes burn again? Is there any
resurrection for the insurgent passions of the past laid for ever under
the ban of wedlock? The fear within her turned to impatience--to a proud
incredulity.

And now she felt the calm reaction as though, unbidden, an ugly dream,
passing, had shadowed her unawakened senses for a moment, and passed
away.

As long as they lived there was nothing to be done. Endurance could
cease only with death. What was there to fear? She asked herself,
waiting half contemptuously for an answer. But her unknown self had now
subsided into the obscurity from whence it rose. The Phantom of the
Future was laid.

CHAPTER XXIII

A CAPITULATION

As Hamil left the garden Malcourt sauntered into view, halted, then came
forward.

"I'm glad to see you," he said pleasantly.

"Thank you."

Neither offered to shake hands; Malcourt, lightly formal, spoke of
Hamil's illness in a few words, using that excellent taste which was at
his command when he chose to employ it. He expressed his pleasure in
Hamil's recovery, and said that he was ready at any time to take up the
unfinished details of Portlaw's business, agreeing with Hamil that there
rem