lk with his mother, whose eyes watched
him always.

It was a still autumn evening when Honoria came riding to visit
Humility; the close of a golden day. Its gold lingered yet along the
west and fell on the whitewashed doorway where Humility sat with her
lace-work. Behind, in the east, purple and dewy, climbed the domed
shadow of the world. And over all lay that hush which the earth only
knows when it rests in the few weeks after harvest. Out here, on
barren cliffs above the sea, folks troubled little about harvest.
But even out here they felt and knew the hush.

In sight of the whitewashed cottages Honoria slipped down from her
saddle, removed Aide-de-camp's bridle, and turned him loose to
browse. With the bridle on her arm she walked forward alone.
She came noiselessly on the turf, and with the click of the gate her
shadow fell at Humility's feet. Humility looked up and saw her
standing against the sunset, in her dark habit. Even in that instant
she saw also that Honoria's face, though shaded, was more beautiful
than of old. "More dangerous" she told herself; and rose, knowing
that the problem was to be solved at last.

"Good-evening!" she said, rising. "Oh yes--you must come inside,
please; but you will have to forgive our untidiness."

Honoria followed, wondering as of old at the beautiful manners which
dignified Humility's simplest words.

"I heard that you were to go."

"Yes; we have been packing for a week past. To North Wales it is--
a forsaken spot, no better than this. But I suppose that's the sort
of spot where light-houses are useful."

The sun slanted in upon the packed trunks and dismantled walls; but
it blazed also upon brass window-catches, fender-knobs,
door-handles--all polished and flashing like mirrors.

"I am come," said Honoria, "now at the last--to ask your pardon."

"At the last?" Humility seemed to muse, staring down at one of the
trunks; then went on as if speaking to herself. "Yes, yes, it has
been a long time."

"A long injury--a long mistake; you must believe it was an honest
mistake."

"Yes," said Humility gravely. "I never doubted you had been misled.
God forbid I should ask or seek to know how."

Honoria bowed her head.

"And," Humility pursued, "we had put ourselves in the wrong by
accepting help. One sees now it is always best to be independent;
though at the time it seemed a fine prospect for him. The worst was
our not telling him. That was terribly