Dangerous ground for both, but especially so for the lovely young woman whose sincerity and singleness of purpose led her to believe that a very natural and womanly instinct was the prompting of a spiritual concern for an immortal soul wandering from the right path. Roland as a hypocrite, affecting a piety he despised, would not have been either so captivating or so dangerous as Roland honestly ignorant and doubtful, yet willing to be taught and convinced. Dangerous ground for both, for both constantly assured themselves there was no danger. Ada Lanhearne was not a woman that any man could approach with laughter or half-concealed flirtation. And Roland had no desire to overstep the boundary her noble presence inspired. Also, Denasia held him by the mysterious strength of the marriage tie. Apart from her and relieved of the petty cares which degraded their love, he forgot her shortcomings and thought more and more frequently of her affectionate, forgiving heart. The radiance of her youthful beauty was still in his memory, and the haunting charm of her voice called him at all kinds of incongruous hours. He awoke at night with the silvery cry of "Caller Herrin'" in his ears. At the dinner-table he heard her light musical laugh ring through the decorous, quiet room, and often when discussing an old Roman coin with Mr. Lanhearne he felt her hand upon his shoulder, and feared to turn lest her face should confront him. Ada's beaming eyes, and soft voice, and mystical rapture of holy enthusiasm touched him on quite a different side of his nature. She made him long to be good--he was almost afraid he would become good if he dwelt too much in her presence. And he did not desire to be so--not just yet. But as she talked so earnestly to him of righteousness, and duty and the life to come, it was impossible that he should not in some way respond. And when his handsome eyes were shadowed with feeling and his gay face and manner subdued to the gravity of the subject, it was equally impossible for the young teacher not to be moved by the evidences of her own eloquent persuasion. After all, much must be left to the imagination; the situation was so full of possibilities, so absolutely free of all wrong conditions, so ready to yield itself to many wrong conditions. Roland's days went by in a placid sameness, which did not become fretting, because he knew he should end its pleasant monotony of his own free will in a very few weeks. And Ada had never before been so happy. Why should she ask herself the reason? To question fate is not a fortunate thing, at any rate; she felt a reluctance to begin a catechism with her feelings or her surroundings.