Much of his life Maurice had been in the attitude of judging whether other people pleased him or not. Lily reversed this habit of mind, and made him humbly solicitous to know whether he pleased her or not. He silently thanked God for the mere privilege of having her near him. Passionate selfishness was chastened out of him. One can say much behind the lips and make no sound at all. “If I drench her with my love and she does not know it,” thought Maurice, “it cannot annoy her. Let me take what she is willing to give, and ask no more.” “The Carstangs are gone,” said Lily. “Yes; I bade them good-bye this morning before I came to the lime-kiln.” “You don't say you regret their going.” “I never seek Mrs. Carstang.” He sat holding the girl's hands and never swerving a glance from her face, which was weirdly pallid—the face of her spirit. He felt himself enveloped and possessed by her, his will subject to her will. He said within himself, voicelessly: “I love you. I love the firm chin, the wilful lower lip, and the Cupid's bow of the upper lip. I love the oval of your cheeks, the curve of your ears, the etched eyebrows, and all the little curls on your temples. I love the proud nose and most beautiful forehead. Every blond hair n that dear head is mine! Its upward tilt on the long throat is adorable! Have you any gesture or personal trait which does not thrill me? But best of all, because through them you yourself look at me, revealing more than you think, I adore your blue eyes.” “What are you thinking?” demanded Lily. “Of a man who lay face downward far out in the desert, and had not a drop of water to moisten his lips.” “Is he in your story?” “Yes, he is in my story.” “I thought perhaps you didn't want me to come here any more,” she said. “You didn't think so!” flashed Maurice. “But you turned your cheek to me the last time I was here. You were too busy to do more than speak.” Voicelessly he said: “I lay under your feet, my life, my love! You walked on me and never knew it.” Aloud he answered; “Was I so detestable? Forgive me. I am trying to learn self-control.” “You are all self-control! If you have feeling, you manage very well to conceal it.” “God grant it!” he said, in silence, behind his lips. “For the touch of your hand is rapture. My God! how hard it is to love so much and be still!” Aloud he said, “Don't you know the great mass of human beings are obliged to conceal their feelings because they have not the gift of expression?” “Yes, I know,” answered Lily, defiantly. “But that can never be said of you,” Maurice went on. “For you are so richly endowed with expression that your problem is how to mask it.” “Are you coming down the trail with me? It is sunset, and time to shut the study for the day.”