Hilda's eyes, with their effect of wide, almost unseeing expansion, rested on his for a moment longer. She drew herself up, and a look of resolution, self-control, and fidelity hardened her young face. Odd still felt somewhat disconcerted, somewhat at a loss. "I must go now; they don't know that I am here." "They didn't know that you were coming, I suppose?" "No; they wouldn't have let me come if I had told them before, but I will tell them now." "Well, we will tell them together." "Are you going to take me home?" "Did you imagine that I would let you go alone?" "You are very kind." "And what are you, then? Your shoes are wringing wet, my child. Your dress is thin, too, for this time of year. Wrap this coat of mine around you. There! and put on this hat." Peter laughed as he coiffed her in the soft felt hat that came down over her ears; she looked charming and quaint in the grotesque costume. Hilda responded with a quiet, patient little smile, gathering together the wide sleeves of the covert coat. Odd lit a cigar, put on his own hat, took her hand, and they sallied forth. "You came across, I suppose?" "Yes, by the woods." "And you weren't frightened?" He felt the patient little smile in the darkness as she replied-- "You know already that I am a coward." "I know, on the contrary, that you are amazingly courageous. The flesh may be weak, but the spirit is willing with a vengeance. Eh, Hilda?" "Yes," said Hilda vaguely. They walked in silence through the woods. Clouds hid the moon, and the wind had risen. Peter had dreary thoughts. He felt like a ghost in the ghost-like unreality of existence. The walk through the melancholy dimness seemed symbolical of a wandering, aimless life. The touch of Hilda Archinard's little hand in his was comforting. When they had passed through the Priory shrubbery and were nearing the house, Hilda's step beside him paused. "Will you kiss me 'Good-bye' here, not before them all?" "What beastly things 'Good-byes' are," Odd said, looking down at the glimmering oval of her uplifted face; "what thoroughly beastly things." He took the little face between his hands and kissed her: "Good-bye, dear little Hilda." "Thank you so much--for everything," she said. "Thank you, my child. I shall not forget you." "Don't be different. _Try_ not to change." "Ah, Hilda! Hilda!" That she, not he, would change was the inevitable thing. He stooped and kissed again the child beside him. Part I KATHERINE CHAPTER I Odd knew that he was late as he drove down the Champs Elysées in a rattling, closed _fiacre_. He and Besseint had talked so late into the evening that he had barely had time to get to his hotel in the Marboeuf quarter and dress. Besseint was one of the cleverest French writers of the day; he and Peter had battled royally and delightfully over the art of writing, and as Besseint was certainly more interesting than would be the dinner at the Embassy, Peter felt himself excusable.