The stars came out in the heavens, and he thought once more of that other night, when he stood and watched them, three years back, and pondered on his "double heart." What a blind fool he had been! He realized how well the excuse had served to screen the follies due to the hot impulses of youth. His "double heart"...! He smiled grimly, as the truth slowly dawned on him: the dual nature of all men: the daily battle waged between human weakness and spiritual strength. The night air blew in, sharp with an early Autumn frost, cooling his brow and bringing peace, the hushed silence that Nature loves. And at last he paused before his door, opened it, inch by inch, and stole through, with a quick glance at the lower berth. Jill was asleep! In the dim light of the shaded lamp he could see the dark cloud of her hair, her childish profile, pure and sweet, and the long lashes on her cheek. For a moment he stood and gazed at her, a great longing in his heart. "Only ... to kiss her!" he said to himself, then, sternly, turned away. And with the action, all unknown, he broke the insidious habit of years; the indecision of boyhood days changed to the firm control of the man. The train rocked on.... In his berth above, McTaggart, restless, watched till the dawn filtered in between the blinds, pale shafts of primrose light. He had only to lean and call her name to see those grey eyes open wide, filled with love--the love of a wife! But he fought it out, hour by hour. And as the sun stole over the edge of the long plains, white with frost, he turned on his pillow with a smile and was gathered in the arms of sleep. CHAPTER XXXIII McTaggart glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes more. Are you very tired?" "Not a bit." Jill turned with a bright face from the window in the corridor where she stood, gazing out. "It's all so lovely. Look at that hill rising up like a fir cone, against the sky. And _isn't_ it blue! I never saw such colouring. Those silvery trees!--Olives, did you say they were? Fancy seeing olives grow!--and oranges and lemons too. It sounds like the game we used to play in our nursery days." In a low voice, sweet as a thrush: "Oranges and lemons Said the bells of St. Clement's, I owe you four farthings Said the bells of St. Martin's..." Jill sang happily. "Can't say much for the rhymes." McTaggart smiled. But the girl had turned to the window again. "It's beautiful." She slipped a hand through his arm. "As long as I live I'll never forget those vines with their early Autumn tints--blood red; and the little towns perched on the hills like Robber Castles ... Peter!--what's that?" She broke off excitedly, pointing out. McTaggart followed the line of her hand. "Siena, I think--I can't be sure. You know, it was dark when I got here before. Why, Jill!--Whatever's the matter?"