should atone in some
measure for the first. He could not contemplate such a confession of
his own fault. He could not give Will and Brune Anneys such a triumph.
If Aspatria loved him, how could she ask such a humiliating atonement?
Aspatria saw the shadow of these reflections on his face. Though he
said nothing, she understood it was this struggle that gave the
momentary indecision to his pleading.

For herself, she did not desire a present reconciliation. She had
nursed too long the idea of the Aspatria that was to be, the wise,
clever, brilliant woman who was to win over again her husband. She did
not like to relinquish this hope for a present gratification, a
gratification so much lower in its aim that she now understood that it
never could long satisfy a nature so complex and so changeable as
Ulfar's. She therefore refused him his present hope, believing that
fate had a far better meeting in store for them.

While these thoughts flashed through her mind, she kept her eyes upon
the horizon. In that wide-open fixed gaze her loving, troubled soul
revealed itself. Ulfar was wondering whether it was worth while to
begin his argument all over again, when she said softly: "We must now
say farewell. I see the vicar's maid coming. In a few hours the
fell-side will know of our meeting. I must tell Will, myself. I
entreat you to leave the dales as soon as possible."

"I will not leave them without you."

"Go to-night. I shall not change what I have said. There is nothing to
be done but to part. We are no longer alone. Good-by, Ulfar!--dear
Ulfar!"

"I care not who is present. You are my wife." And he clasped her in
his arms and kissed her.

Perhaps she was not sorry. Perhaps her own glance of love and longing
had commanded the embrace; for when she released herself she was
weeping, and Ulfar's tears were on her cheeks. But she called the
vicar's maid imperatively, and so put an end to the interview.

"That was my husband, Lottie," she said. It was the only explanation
offered. Aspatria knew it was useless to expect any reticence on the
subject. In that isolated valley such a piece of news could not be
kept; the very birds would talk about it in their nests. She must
herself tell Will, and although she had done nothing wrong, she was
afraid to tell him.

When she reached home she was glad to hear that Will had been sent for
to Squire Frostham's. "It was something about a fox," said Brune.
"They wanted me too, but Al