As they drew apart from the populous town the flippant temper of their meeting vanished more and more. There was silence about them save for the sound of the sea. A passionate gravity, a more potent power, seemed to weigh upon their hearts. There was a new significance in life for them. They were alone together with the future and their own thoughts. “I have missed you,” said the woman, as they drew from the town and saw the blue crescent of a bay glimmer before them beneath white cliffs. “And I, too,” said the man, with a species of melancholy self-suppression; “only fourteen days since you left Callydon. I never knew life could be so confoundedly dull.” Their eyes met, flashed in a smile, and fell away again as though desirous of husbanding the impression. “You are looking thin,” suggested the woman. “Nonsense!” “Don’t contradict me.” “I have been sleeping badly,” said the soldier; “and, upon my soul, I have half-starved myself.” “We must take care of you here.” He laughed a deep quaver of sentiment. “That hair of yours would flash heaven into any man’s heart,” he said. They walked on a burnished stretch of sand, for the tide was low and the waves mere ripples. The sea was like a garment of many colors, ribbed with iridescent hues from cloud and sky. The cliffs rose like walls of ivory fringed with emerald silk, and the pines on the hills were webbed with a purple mist. “Italian weather,” said the soldier, turning down the brim of his hat; “it is not often we get such a day in this damned climate. You know Italy?” Ophelia’s mouth hardened. “Italy!” “A land to live in.” “That depends on one’s companion.” “Ah! I remember.” “I spent my honeymoon there—a never-to-be-forgotten affair.” “Was the bibliomaniac dull?” “A sort of ‘Wandering Jew’ in trousers.” “Let him evaporate,” said the soldier, with a laugh; “upon my soul, you are looking in splendid health.” “To-day—perhaps,” she answered, with a reawakened smile. They had left the town far behind by now, and the beach stretched solitary before them and utterly silent save for the moist sound of the sea. The ripples spent themselves in a glittering film of silver at their feet. The firm, smooth sand showed hardly any impress as they passed. It seemed difficult to believe that the sea was not ever thus, but that roaring waters trampled the shore and made the shingles shriek under lowering skies. “I shall not forget my months at Callydon,” said the man, with deepening significance. “Is there any need?” she answered. “God knows! I have your picture here,” and he laid his big, brown hand over his heart. Gabriel’s wife smiled with a suggestive intelligence. “Callydon is not a lost Paradise,” she said, “nor are we Adam and Eve. Do you remember the various things you said to me that day when we were playing golf? They seem prophetic as I recall them now. Well, it will save us trouble.” He glanced suddenly in her face with a keen, desirous look. “What is it?”