Her movements were swift, her laugh sweet and low, her love and joy on the wing.... For a moment they forgot the Hunchback.... Something had come to them from their fortnight—something that had to do with the moths and the rice fields and the tea among the pyramids. "You are wonderful, Sir Romney. You change so rapidly now.... You are sun-darkened. All waste seems burned away. You bring the breath of the desert nights—and something else. Your heart has known some great replenishment, and some great terror. I see the man who was a boy when I first looked.... All happens where Nifton Bend is. I think it must be the ignition of his mission and his service. The world will never know the wonder of him. Every one changes who touches him—the young men—" He had followed her eyes to the Hunchback, who had poured a cup of tea and was drinking leisurely. "You said you did not want tea," she ventured. "I could have had it fresh. That must be cold and bitter from standing." "I like it strong," said Nifton Bend. Moira Kelvin was speaking on, but Romney only heard the murmur of her voice. The picture of the next hour came to him—that all was done. There was something like a cry in his heart for the end of the mystic. And poignantly the sweetness of the woman before him returned—the last moment by the river when her fervent impulse to give him a token expanded his nature to its broadest reaches of emotion. Her splendour was lifted now, her whole being crowned with the spirit that can only come to one whose quest has ended.... The Hunchback came toward them. The calm that Romney saw upon that face was marmoreal, the calm of one whose circle is almost finished. He led her to a chair which the yellow rug covered, and sat before her upon a cushion, his arm across her knees. "You are young, but very old," he said. "You are a child, a girl, a woman all lavish in her love, but more than all a mother. This—this Romney—is like a son to us—and those brave young men—our sons. We are ancient, Moira. We shall end our work to-day and depart. We have known the cities of men, and the fruitful valleys have been our meeting-places. To-day we shall go to the hills. We have talked much of the world. To-day we shall talk of God. Our work is finished. This is one of our sons who will carry on the work here. It is good that he is with us.... Moira—Moira—what a love it is." She bent forward, listening, her face in a kind of noon glory. "What has come to us?" she whispered. "Has Sir Romney brought us magic from the desert? Does he carry with him some power from the Holy Men? ... I think I was never so happy. All things that I have thought undone seem accomplished. Are all the rest of the days just for you and me? Shall we walk together—our tasks all finished? ... Ah, you have always had so much to do. I have been wasteful in the waiting hours. I have seemed always waiting for you to come to me—" "I shall not leave you again," he whispered.