warm love
surely and living hope. Could such things, as they were within her, ever
do violence to the Kingdom of Heaven? She looked between her horse's
perpetually moving ears at the hollow athletic back of her young
husband. If she had not married she would have given rein to deep
impulses within her which now would never be indulged. They would not
have led her to Greece. If she had been governed by them she would never
have been drawn on by the secret of Olympia. How strange it was that,
within the compass of one human being, should be contained two widely
differing characters. Well, she had chosen, and henceforth she must live
according to the choice she had made. But how would she have been in
the other life of which she had dreamed so often, and so deeply, in her
hours of solitude? She would never know that. She had chosen the warm
love and the living hope, but the Kingdom of Heaven should never suffer
violence from anything she had chosen. There are doubtless many ways of
consecrating a life, of rendering service.

They came into a scattered and dingy hamlet. Hills rose about it, but
the narrowing valley still wound on.

"We are close to the ruins," said Dion.

"Already! Where are we going to sleep?"

"Up there!"

He pointed to a steep hill that was set sheer above the valley.

"Go on with the mules, Nicholas."

Nicholas rode on, smiling.

"What's that building on the hump?"

"The Museum."

"I wonder why they put the inn so far away."

"It isn't really very far, not many minutes from here. But the way's
pretty steep. Now then, Rosamund!"

They set their horses to the task. Nicholas and the mules were out of
sight. A bend of the little track had hidden them.

"Why, there's a village up here!" said Rosamund, as they came to a
small collection of houses with yards and rough gardens and scattered
outbuildings.

"Yes--Drouva. Our inn is just beyond it, but quite separated from it."

"I'm glad of that. They don't bother very much about cleanliness here, I
should think."

He was smiling at her now. His lips were twitching under his mustache,
and his eyes seemed trying not to tell something to her.

"Surely the secret isn't up here?"

He shook his head, still smiling, almost laughing.

They were now beyond the village, and emerged on a plateau of rough
short grass which seemed to dominate the world.

"This is the top of the hill of Drouva," said Dion, with a ring of joy,
and almost of pride, in