Not glad only, but sweet to a degree which even he had not known in her before. She had developed of late. He saw this, as the old Vicar had seen it, though from a different point of view. He was conscious of something new in her; something which had not been there. He was also dimly aware of power; recognising as once earlier that he might do what he would with her, Colin being out of reach. Giles was a strong man, a man of iron will, yet it might be questioned whether his strength would be equal to this strain. There are forces before which iron bends and snaps like tin. In her beloved presence he was weak, and he knew it. But in that very knowledge lay safety. Because he felt his own strength inadequate, he laid hold upon Divine strength. These weeks of lonely battling had told upon even his powerful frame. Phyllys noted something unusual; a weight, a haggard look, recalling the imaginary Interlaken glimpse. Singular that he should then have appeared to her vision as she now found him, altered and aged. Though not indeed grey-haired, he was plainly in trouble. She had debated with herself whether to tell him of that fancy, and the first evening she said nothing. She was up betimes next morning, and indulged in a ramble before breakfast. Coming back, she met him in a side-path. "This is too soon after your journey," he said. He had no choice but to turn and walk by her side. "I'm as fresh as possible. I don't think you are well." "Quite, thanks." "I fancied something might be worrying you, like Mrs. Keith. She so often seems worried. It's her way, is it not? But not your way!" "Perhaps not." "Was it not strange?—one day at Interlaken I thought I saw you. I could have declared it to be you! And you seemed bothered then too. You've not been in Switzerland, have you?—not even for one day!" She put the question laughingly. And he said—"No." "It was droll; for we had found a letter for Mrs. Keith, lying at a little Thun hotel, in your handwriting. Not really, of course, but I felt sure it was yours, and it had been posted at Interlaken. And then—that I should seem to see you yourself there too—it was queer, as if chance likenesses were in the air." Giles hardly followed her words. He was thinking of herself more than of what she said. She ventured another question:— "I suppose Mrs. Keith has not some great sorrow; something that would make her unhappy?" He showed surprise. "She gets so easily upset, and sometimes it is as if she expected things to go awfully wrong. But you would know. I don't want to interfere, only I have been so sorry for her." "She is excitable by nature. Nerves," explained Giles. "Nothing to be anxious about. She could hardly have any serious trouble, unknown to me. There is—" and he hesitated—"a tendency to exaggeration—to exaggerated views. One must allow for that. I am sure she is not aware of it herself." He changed the subject abruptly. "Colin was with you at Midfell?"