What was there to fear? What occult uneasiness was haunting them? Where might lie any peril, now? How could the battle begin again when all was quiet along the firing line--quiet with the quiet of death? Do dead memories surge up into furies? Can dead hopes burn again? Is there any resurrection for the insurgent passions of the past laid for ever under the ban of wedlock? The fear within her turned to impatience--to a proud incredulity. And now she felt the calm reaction as though, unbidden, an ugly dream, passing, had shadowed her unawakened senses for a moment, and passed away. As long as they lived there was nothing to be done. Endurance could cease only with death. What was there to fear? She asked herself, waiting half contemptuously for an answer. But her unknown self had now subsided into the obscurity from whence it rose. The Phantom of the Future was laid. CHAPTER XXIII A CAPITULATION As Hamil left the garden Malcourt sauntered into view, halted, then came forward. "I'm glad to see you," he said pleasantly. "Thank you." Neither offered to shake hands; Malcourt, lightly formal, spoke of Hamil's illness in a few words, using that excellent taste which was at his command when he chose to employ it. He expressed his pleasure in Hamil's recovery, and said that he was ready at any time to take up the unfinished details of Portlaw's business, agreeing with Hamil that there remained very little to talk over. "The main thing, of course, is to squelch William's last hopes of any Rhine castles," continued Malcourt, laughing. "If you feel like it to-day I'll bring over the plans as you sketched them." "In a day or two," nodded Hamil. "Or perhaps you will lunch with m--with us, and you and I can go over the things comfortably." But he saw by the scarcely perceptible change in Hamil's face that there were to be no such relations between them, informal or otherwise; and he went on quietly, closing his own suggestion: "Or, if you like, we'll get Portlaw some morning after his breakfast, and end the whole matter by laying down the law to him." "That would be perfectly agreeable to me," said Hamil. He spoke as though fatigued, and he looked it as he moved toward his house, using his walking-stick. Malcourt accompanied him to the road. "Hamil," he said coolly, "may I suggest something?" The other turned an expressionless face toward him: "What do you wish to suggest?" "That, some day when you feel physically better, I'd like to go over one or two matters with you--privately--" "What matters?" "They concern you and myself." "I know of no private matters which concern you and myself--or are ever likely to." Malcourt's face darkened. "I think I warned you once that one day you would misunderstand my friendship for you." Hamil straightened up, looking him coldly in the eye.