must have been watching him, for
she rose suddenly from her seat and quickly gained the terrace, which
she crossed immediately to enter the hotel.

"Why did she leave when she saw him coming?" the girl asked, quick to
divine the hidden impulse. "Why did she run away like that? I'd rather
have stayed and had a good look at him! I wonder if she doesn't want
him to see her. Now that I think about it, she never stays where he
can meet her."

"Come, child! Don't be absurd!" said Mrs. Livingstone, and locking her
arm within that of her daughter's, she drew gently away.

With lagging steps Paul climbed the hill. The natural quieting effect
of the day spent in tender cherishing of old-time memories had not
been dispelled by his recent violent exercise, and the rustic bench
invited him more than the bustling hotel and the prospect of a dreary
dinner. But he forced himself to his tub and evening clothes, and once
more dined alone. The fixed habits of a lifetime are not to be lightly
set aside for some passing whim.

That night would be Paul's last at Lucerne. The week had been one of
strain, and there had come over him a fatigue scarcely less intense
than he could have felt had he actually experienced anew the scenes he
had been living over in imagination. But with weariness had come a
resignation which at last seemed final--a renunciation of his
dream-life. Now must he put away forever the haunting memories that
seemed always outlined, however, dimly, on the tablets of his brain.
To-morrow he would be speeding on his way westward, to London and
duty. Can we blame Paul if he shrank a bit from defining the latter
too precisely.

He dined very late, and after an hour spent with his cigar, a
newspaper, and letters that demanded attention, he felt the oppression
of the room and stepped out into the night, where myriads of stars
dotted the sky with their bright points. On the bench beneath the
great cedar, a little distance down from the terrace, Paul seated
himself to enjoy a final cigar. The cool air put new life into him; he
felt calmer--more at peace with the world--than had been the case for
many years.

All was settled now. He was sure of his ability to return to England,
to go straight to Isabella and tell her all. That she would marry him,
he had no doubt. Too much of the old fondness still persisted between
them for any other outcome to be possible. Indeed, he could see no
reason why they should not make each other c