nted him like a melody that we
continually try to catch. He endeavoured to place both as he rode out
to Richmond. More than once the thought of Aspatria came to him, but
he could not make any memory of her fit that splendid vision of the
woman with uplifted hand and the string of pearls dropping from it.
Her exquisite face, between the beauty of their reflection and the
flashing of the gems beneath, retained in his memory a kind of glory.
"Such loveliness is the proper setting for pearls and diamonds," he
said. "Many a beauty I have seen, but none that can touch the heel of
her shoe."

For he really thought that it was her personal charms which had so
moved him. It was the sense of familiarity; it was in a far deeper
and dimmer way a presentiment of right, of possession, a feeling of
personal touch in the emotion, which perplexed and stimulated him as
the mere mystery and beauty of the flesh could never have done.

As soon as he reached the top of Richmond Hill he saw Sarah. She was
sauntering along that loveliest of cliffs, with Brune. An orderly was
leading Brune's horse; he himself was in the first ecstasy of Sarah's
acknowledged love. Ulfar went into the Star and Garter Inn and watched
Sarah. He had no claim upon her, and yet he felt as if she had been
false to him. "And for a mere soldier!" Then he looked critically at
the soldier, and said, with some contempt: "I am sorry for him! Sarah
Sandys will have her pastime, and then say, 'Farewell, good sir!'" As
for the mere soldier being Brune Anneys, that was a thought out of
Ulfar's horizon.

In a couple of hours he went to Sarah's. She met him with real
delight.

"You are just five years lovelier, Sarah," he said.

"Admiration from Sir Ulfar Fenwick is admiration indeed!"

"Yes; I say you are beautiful, though I have just seen the most
bewitching woman that ever blessed my eyes,--in your carriage too."
And then, swift as light or thought, there flashed across his mind a
conviction that the Beauty and Aspatria were identical. It was a
momentary intelligence; he grasped it merely as a clew that might lead
him somewhere.

"In my carriage? I dare say it was Ria. She went to Piccadilly this
morning about some jewels."

"She reminded me of Aspatria."

"Have you brought back with you that old trouble? I have no mind to
hear more of it."

"Who is the lady I saw this morning?"

"She is the sister of the man I am going to marry. In four months she
will be my si