"Perhaps I wouldn't be quite so easily stopped. But I shall be travelling, as you say. And really, on second thoughts, I don't know what address to give for the next three or four nights. I've not settled which route to take, or where to sleep." Then he spoke earnestly,—"Remember, my darling, nothing can finally separate us against our will. Even if there are difficulties—oppositions—still we belong one to another. You to me!—I to you! Nothing can change that. Obstacles may be overcome. In the end our love will conquer." She smiled, but only said— "You will tell father all about yourself, when you write." "In general terms. It is better to leave full details till we meet." "But I must be free to tell mother about—" she flushed up—"about Mrs. Morris." "You are free to say whatever you think right. Only, that must be in confidence. It must not get about Lynnbrooke, without permission from Mr. Stirling." "I can't see why Mr. Stirling should mind—or what he has to do with it." "He has had a good deal to do with me,—and he objects to my connections being known." "Your—mother!" she murmured. "It seems so strange for a man not to be able to speak of his—mother!" It was Maurice's turn to flush. He said only—"It is strange." Another pause; and another far off thunder-growl. A sharp line of light traversed the sky. "We've had a wonderful time here, Dick. I seem to have known you for years—oh, for fifty years." "And I you—all my life. We must have been in touch long before we met at Bex." "You don't mean—nonsense about previous existences." "I don't mean nonsense of any sort. I don't think I know what I do mean. I only know what you are to me—my own. Life without you wouldn't be life." "I've often thought of that day when we first met,—and I knew you to be an Englishman by your hand. Don't, please." "My darling, how can I help it?" "And then, the Glückhorn day! We shall never forget that. If only we could have gone up again! It is desperately disappointing not to have done one single peak." "We'll do lots on our wedding tour." "I seemed to myself to be another person that day." "You were splendidly courageous." "Oh, I don't think that. It just had to be done." Rumbling thunder again and again made itself heard. By this time several storms were in progress, at varying distances. They ceased talking, to watch the strife of elements. A flash far away to the right; a zigzag line to the left; a brilliant illumination from behind; an electric thrill to the fore. A low peal from the front; a deep mutter from one side; a clattering roll from the other side. This went on continuously. It was as if the mountains were holding solemn converse in a language not understanded of the common people,—murmuring one to another of the things of eternity, disregarding the little human pigmies planted in their midst. The circle of storms drew no nearer. It was an evening discussion of Nature's forces; an adjustment of differences.