“Don’t you remember that day--the morning when we began lessons together? You explained the alphabet to me, and when we came to W-- you said it was a ship--a ship of stars. There was a story about it, you said, and promised to tell me some day.” He laughed. “What queer things you remember!” “But what was the story?” “I wonder! If I ever knew, I’ve forgotten. I dare say I had something in my head. Now I think of it, I was always making up some foolish tale or other, in those days.” Yes; he had forgotten. “I have often tried to make up a story about that ship,” she said gravely, “out of odds and ends of the stories you used to tell. I don’t think I ever had the gift to invent anything on my own account. But at last, after a long while--” “The story took shape? Tell it to me, please.” She hesitated, and broke into a bitter little laugh. “No,” said she, “you never told me yours.” Again it came to her with a pang that he and she had changed places. He had taken her forthrightness and left her, in exchange, his dreams. They were hers now, the gaily coloured childish fancies, and she must take her way among them alone. Dreams only! but just as a while back he had started to confess his dream and had broken down before her, so now in turn she knew that her tongue was held. Humility rose as they entered the kitchen together. A glance as Honoria held out her hand for good-bye told her all she needed to know. “And you are leaving in a day or two?” Honoria asked. “Thursday next is the day fixed.” “You are very brave.” Again the two women’s eyes met, and this time the younger understood. _Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God_--that which the Moabitess said for a woman’s sake women are saying for men’s sakes by thousands every day. Still holding her hand, Humility drew Honoria close. “God deal kindly with you, my dear,” she whispered, and kissed her. At the gate Honoria blew a whistle, and after a few seconds Aide-de-camp came obediently out of the darkness to be bridled. This done, Taffy lent his hand and swung her into the saddle. “Good-night and good-bye!” Taffy was the first to turn back from the gate. The beat of Aide-de-camp’s hoofs reminded him of something--some music he had once heard; he could not remember where. Humility lingered a moment longer, and followed to prepare her son’s supper. But Honoria, fleeing along the ridge, hugged one fierce thought in her defeat. The warm wind sang by her ears, the rhythm of Aide-de-camp’s canter thudded upon her brain; but her heart cried back on them and louder than either-- “He is mine, mine, mine! He is mine, and always will be. He is lost to me, but I possess him. For what he is I have made him, and at my cost he is strong.”