Fortunes and reputations are not made in dawdling
beside a mountain stream, or watching the play of sunlight and shadow on
a green hill-side; unless, indeed, one were a new Wordsworth, and even
then fortune and renown are not quickly made.

And again, Maulevrier, who had been a marvel of good-nature and
contentment for the last eight weeks, was beginning to be tired of this
lovely Lakeland. Just when Lakeland was daily developing into new
beauty, Maulevrier began to feel an itching for London, where he had a
comfortable nest in the Albany, and which was to his mind a metropolis
expressly created as a centre or starting point for Newmarket, Epsom,
Ascot and Goodwood.

So there came a morning upon which Mary had to say good-bye to those two
companions who had so blest and gladdened her life. It was a bright
sunshiny morning, and all the world looked gay; which seemed very unkind
of Nature, Mary thought. And yet, even in the sadness of this parting,
she had much reason to be glad. As she stood with her lover in the
library, in the three minutes of _tete-a-tete_ She stolen from the
argus-eyed Fraeulein, folded in his arms, looking up at his manly face,
it seemed to her that the mere knowledge that she belonged to him and
was beloved by him ought to sustain and console her even in long years
of severance. Yes, even if he were one of the knights of old, going to
the Holy Land on a crusade full of peril and uncertainty. Even then a
woman ought to be brave, having such a lover.

But her parting was to be only for a few months. Maulevrier promised to
come back to Fellside for the August sports, and Hammond was to come
with him. Three months--or a little more--and they were to meet again.

Yet in spite of these arguments for courage, Mary's face blanched and
her eyes grew unutterably sad as she looked up at her lover.

'You will take care of yourself, Jack, for my sake, won't you, dear?'
she murmured. 'If you should be ill while you are in London! If you
should die--'

'Life is very uncertain, love, but I don't feel like sickness or death
just at present,' answered Hammond cheerily. 'Indeed, I feel that the
present is full of sweetness, and the future full of hope. Don't
suppose, dear, that I am not grieved at this good-bye; but before we
are a year older I hope the time will have come when there will be no
more farewells for you and me. I shall be a very exacting husband,
Molly. I shall want to spend all the days and hour