ied back to the vault for good and all, or end my days in the
topmost tower of the castle, with a keeper, and the storms and
sea-gulls for sole companions."

She sat up in a moment, and putting her hand on his shoulder, looked
him full in the face for the first time. "It seems to me that I know
you now," she said, "and that I never knew you before. When I first
saw you to-night I shrank from you: why, I hardly know, except that
the personality of that woman had woven itself so strongly into mine
that for the moment I felt I had no right to love you. But I have
never loved you as I do to-night, because that dream, however little
else I may have to thank it for, did for me this at least: it seemed
to give me a glimpse into every nook and corner of your character; I
feel now that my understanding of your strange nature is absolute.
I had seen only one side of it before, and had made but instinctive
guesses at the rest; but as I stood with you in that dream, I had,
graven on my memory, the knowledge of every side and phase of your
character as you had revealed it to me many times; and that memory
abides with me. I remember no details, but that makes no difference;
if I were one with you I could not know you better." She slipped her
arms about his neck and pressed her face close to his. "You have one
of your attacks of melancholy to-night," she murmured. "You tried
to conceal it, and the effort made you appear cold. It was the first
thing I thought of when I turned and saw you, in spite of all I felt
myself. And although you had described those attacks before, the
description had conveyed little to me; that your moods were different
from other people's blues had hardly occurred to me, we had been
so happy. But now I understand. I pay for the knowledge with a high
price; but that is life, I suppose."

IX.

Two Days later Dartmouth received a despatch from the steward of his
estates in the north of England announcing that there was serious
trouble among his tenantry, and that his interests demanded he should
be on the scene at once. The despatch was brought to his room, and he
went directly down to the hall, where he had left Weir, and told
her he must leave her for a few days. She had been standing by the
fire-place warming her foot on the fender, but she sat suddenly
down on a chair as he explained to her the nature of the telegram.
"Harold," she said, "if you go you will never come back."

"My dear girl," he sa