He had been quick to console himself, she reflected, her lips curling with bitterness--oh yes, quite quick. Only two years. Two years to this very day. But two years mean a great deal to a man of action; and following his career in the newspapers, as she had done, this one, whom she had thrown over, was very much a man of action indeed. For herself--well, her intimates had noticed a very considerable change in Violet Courtland. She had gone through her seasons and social functions, but somehow she had done so listlessly. All her adorers, whom formerly she had patted and made sit up and fetch and carry, she now snubbed ruthlessly, including more than one eligible; and what had formerly afforded her keen enjoyment she now went through perfunctorily. During the war in Matabeleland she had developed a feverish thirst for reading newspapers, and about them she had found Lamont's name pretty frequently strewn in connection with that disastrous rising and a certain dare-devil corps known as Lamont's Tigers, from the fight at the Kezane Store onwards. But ever he seemed to be the leader of this or that desperate venture, wherein the rescue of some outlying, half-armed band, comprising women and children, was the object, and that against large odds. And this saviour of his countrymen--and women--from the horrors of savage massacre, was the man whom she, Violet Courtland, had denounced that very day two years ago, had denounced in public, with every expression of aversion and disgust, as a coward. She had not been able to escape from the sound of his name. At the dinner-table, in the ballroom--everywhere--his deeds came under discussion and comment; and that in one key--admiration. Moreover, certain newspaper men began to rake up two or three of his doings during the former war in the same wild country, causing Violet Courtland's eyes to open very wide as she recalled the scene by the mere, and how she had driven this very man from her as a coward. Two years ago that very day! Strange that exactly the same conditions should prevail: the same hard frost; the same silver sparkle on the bare trees; even the same Christmas Eve bells practising their carillon at intervals. A wave of association it might have been that moved Violet to take her skates, and start for the frozen mere. She was alone now, but she would be sure to find somebody there--the rector's girls perhaps, and a few others. She has judged correctly. The surface of Courtland Mere is covered with a smooth and glassy sheet. The ring of the skates is melodious upon the air, and gliding forms dart hither and thither: but these are few--only four, in fact--for the mere is not yet thrown open, and the ice, undulating freely, here and there with an ominous crack, is none too safe even for these four. "Come back, Violet," cries a girl's clear voice. "You're too far out. It's awfully thin there. Do you hear?"--as a couple of warning cracks dart along the heaving surface.