and ignorance
had permitted herself to repose her whole future on one who might have
played the scoundrel with her, he had been content to forget his duty.
Well, he would atone.

The ceremony, when it came, was of the simplest, and had a bald and
business air about it which was discomfiting to a man who felt that he
was giving rein to a noble sentiment The registrar, as he pocketed his
fee, and shook hands in congratulation, assured him it was efficacious.
It took place, of course, in Annette's bedroom, but it was done with so
much delicacy that not even the landlady suspected it. The registrar and
his assistant passed to her mind as medical men called to the bedside of
the patient.

Paul sat for half an hour after they had gone with Annette's hand
in his, and then, seeing that she had fallen asleep, softly withdrew
himself. He strolled to the common, and there, wading through gorse, he
found the doctor who had attended her from the time of their arrival.

'Well, Mr. Armstrong,' said the medico cheerfully, 'how's the patient?'

'Better, I think,' said Paul. 'But, doctor, tell me--what made you take
so gloomy a view a week ago? Don't you think she'll mend?'

'Mend, my dear sir? said the doctor. 'Of course she'll mend. You'll have
her on her feet again in a week or two. She's never been in danger for a
moment.'

'But didn't you say a week ago----'

'That she _was_ in danger?'

'Yes. That she was in danger.'

'I give you my word, Mr. Armstrong, that the idea never crossed my mind.
I've never had a touch of anxiety from the first. I'd like you to give
me a game at chess to-night, if you're not otherwise engaged. I'm just
going across to have a look at Mrs. Armstrong now. But it's a mere
matter of form, I assure you. Good morning.'

'Why didn't I ask that question earlier?' said Paul to himself. But he
scarcely knew as yet in what direction his thoughts were pointing.

CHAPTER XV

Paul Armstrong--the real Paul Armstrong who dreamed these dreams of
memory--sat day by day in his mountain solitude surrounded by the
smoke-fog which obliterated all but the nearer objects from his view. He
could faintly distinguish the bluff on the other side of the canon. It
was like a pale, flat, and barely perceptible stain on grayish-brown
paper. The mountains were all abolished, but their ghostly voices lived.
Here and there the slumbering heat upon their flanks would provoke a
snow-slide, and the long-drawn roar and rumb