"Aye, but we will be having a fine game," he exclaimed. "Though I'm thinking you will down me. But it is grand good playing with a mon again." * * * * * The match was now at the fifteenth hole. Mr. Sabin, with a long and deadly putt--became four up and three to play. As the ball trickled into the hole the Scotchman drew a long breath. "It's a fine match," he said, "and I'm properly downed. What's more, you're holding the record of the links up to this present. Fifteen holes for sixty-four is verra good--verra good indeed. There's no man in America to-day to beat it." And then Mr. Sabin, who was on the point of making a genial reply, felt a sudden and very rare emotion stir his heart and blood, for almost in his ears there had sounded a very sweet and familiar voice, perhaps the voice above all others which he had least expected to hear again in this world. "You have not then forgotten your golf, Mr. Sabin? What do you think of my little course?" He turned slowly round and faced her. She was standing on the rising ground just above the putting-green, the skirt of her riding habit gathered up in her hand, her lithe, supple figure unchanged by time, the old bewitching smile still playing about her lips. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Mr. Sabin, with his cap in his hand, moved slowly to her side, and bowed low over the hand which she extended to him. "This is a happiness," he murmured, "for which I had never dared to hope. Are you, too, an alien?" She shook her head. "This," she said, "is the land of my adoption. Perhaps you did not know that I am Mrs. Peterson?" "I did not know it," he answered, gravely, "for I never heard of your marriage." They turned together toward the house. Mr. Sabin was amazed to find that the possibilities of emotion were still so great with him. "I married," she said softly, "an American, six years ago. He was the son of the minister at Vienna. I have lived here mostly ever since." "Do you know who it was that sent me to you?" She assented quietly. "It was Felix." They drew nearer the house. Mr. Sabin looked around him. "It is very beautiful here," he said. "It is very beautiful indeed," she said, "but it is very lonely." "Your husband?" he inquired. "He has been dead four years." Mr. Sabin felt a ridiculous return of that emotion which had agitated him so much on her first appearance. He only steadied his voice with an effort. "We are both aliens," he said quietly. "Perhaps you have heard that all things have gone ill with me. I am an exile and a failure. I have come here to end my days." She flashed a sudden brilliant smile upon him. How little she had changed. "Did you say here?" she murmured softly.