Paula at the _Palms_ reflected the Charter conflict that morning. She had seen it in his eyes and felt it in his heart, as they had walked together in the mock-winter of the mango-grove before breakfast. Away from him now, however, she could not be sure that "Wyndam," representing the woman, altogether satisfied his vision of Skylark. Very strange, he was, in his struggling, and it became harder, and a more delicate thing than she had believed, to say, "I am Paula Linster." She had felt this great restlessness of his spirit vaguely in the early letters--a stormy, battling spirit which his brain constantly labored to interpret. She had seen his moments of calm, too, when the eyes and smile of the boy rendered his attractions so intimate to her, that she could have told him anything--but these calms did not endure even in her presence. She did not want the woman, Wyndam, despised, nor yet the Skylark put from him. It became a reality, that out of his struggle Truth would rise; meanwhile, though not with the entire sanction of a certain inner voice, she withheld her secret, remaining silent and watchful in the midst of the greatest drama the world could bring to her understanding.... Paula did not fail to note that Peter Stock was somewhat surprised when she refused for the present his invitation to spend the nights at least out in the cool Caribbean. She saw, moreover, that Quentin Charter was beginning to fear the mountain, because she remained at the _Palms_. Indeed, it was hard for all to remember that in form, at least, they were mere acquaintances, so familiar had they become to each other in the pressure of Pelée. Above all this, she was almost continually conscious of Bellingham since the receipt of Madame Nestor's letter. It was not that his power was formidable enough to disorder the unfolding of the drama, but she felt his nearness, his strategies--all the more strange, as there had been no sign of him since the arrival of the _Panther_. If for no other reason, she would have found it difficult to disclose her real name to Quentin Charter, while her mind was even distantly the prey of the black giant. These were tremendous hours--when but a word from her withheld two hearts from bursting into anthems. Bravely, she gloried in these last great refinings--longings, fears, exaltations, but never was she without the loftiest hope of her life. The man who had come was so much that _the man_ should be. She saw his former years as the wobblings of a top that has not yet gained its momentum. Only at its highest speed does the top sing its peace with God.... Had not the finest glow of his powers been reserved until her coming?...