simple lives being as absorbing to them as ours are to us. I can
imagine how, here among your hills, you can watch as a spectator a cycle
of life which contains, as you have pointed out, every element of
tragedy and happiness. But you yourself?"

"I am one of them," he answered, "a necessary part of them."

"How you deceive yourself! I am sure you are honest, I am sure you
believe what you say, but will you remember what I am going to tell you?
The time will come, before very long, when you will feel doubts."

"Doubts about what?"

She smiled enigmatically.

"Oh, they will assert themselves," she assured him, "and you will
recognize them when they come. Something will whisper to you in your
heart that after all you are not of the same clay as these simple
folk--that there is a different mission in the world for a man like you
than to play the part of feudal lord over a few peasants. Sooner or
later you will come out into the world; and the sooner the better, I
think, Mr. John Strangewey, or you will grow like your brother here
among your granite hills."

He moved a little uneasily. All the time she was watching him. It seemed
to her that she could read the thoughts which were stirring in his
brain.

"You would like to say, wouldn't you," she went on, "that your brother's
is a useful and an upright life? So it may be, but it is not wide enough
or great enough. No one should be content with the things which he can
reach. He should climb a little higher, and pluck the riper fruit. Some
day you will feel the desire to climb. Something will come to you--in
the night, perhaps, or on the bosom of that wind you love so much. It
may be a call of music, or it may be a more martial note. Promise me,
will you, that when you feel the impulse you won't use all that
obstinate will-power of yours to crush it? You will destroy the best
part of yourself, if you do. You will give it a chance? Promise!"

She held out her hand with a little impulsive gesture. He took it in his
own, and held it steadfastly.

"I will remember," he promised.

Along the narrow streak of road, from the southward, they both watched
the rapid approach of a large motor-car. There were two servants upon
the front seat and one passenger--a man--inside. It swung into the level
stretch beneath them, a fantasy of gray and silver in the reflected
sunshine.

Louise had been leaning forward, her head supported upon her hands. As
the car slackened speed, she r