outward life be clean and seemly; but nothing can govern the impulses of the inner secret life. Its movements can only be prevented from reacting shamefully on daily demeanour; they can never be measured, foretold, forbidden. Kingston knew that his heart was faithless to his wife--knew that, in reality, it had never been pledged to her at all. Her heart to his, perhaps; but he had pledged her nothing, he found, but his approval, his affection, his respect. All the more reason, then, that, having bought so much of her, and for coin so innocently false, he should pay his debt to the uttermost farthing in the only money he had to pay. Respect, affection, approval, all that he had pledged and promised--these should be paid without grudge or chicane, and the very completeness and honesty of these tributes must atone as far as possible for the cruel fact that he had no more to give her. In the fullness of his tribute to Gundred he must find at once the redemption of his own self-respect, the safeguarding of her happiness, and the glorification of this love of his, that might sink so low, and might be made to rise so high. The whole air, vibrating with cold intensity, was now of a poignant emerald. In the East it grew keener and keener from moment to moment. Beneath, at his feet, through the milky sea of cloud, the heavy presence of the lowlands began to pierce, and grew from mere darkness into dim husky purples. Against the fierce green of the dawn a few clouds stood out fiercely black against the pure sky. The deep abysmal blue of the night was flying westward, retreating, fading, passing. Now it looked wan and worn; the faint stars staled and grew sickly as morning lamps. Slowly, very slowly, the world began to stir, to reveal itself far down in the valleys and distances. Detail had not yet been delivered of chaos, but gradually the separate existence of hill and hollow showed itself in flat masses of obscurity. And then the tones began to change, to grow sharper, more real. In the first dawn outlines had been clear and hard, the blackness dense and without modification. Against the pale horizon moorland and mountain had stood out hard and stark, as if cut from cardboard. Now the haze of atmosphere began to clothe the new-born world in glamour, faint, mysterious, phantasmal. Along the eastern rim of the darkness stretched the swooping profile of Ravensber, like a lion couchant, flushing now, from a thing grey, cold, and dead, to a living mass of opal. Diaphanous, vague, uniform in colour against the pulsing vividness behind, the far-off mountain came nearer, its azure and amethyst grew every moment keener. At its feet the lower hills still lay dim and indistinguishable, but to them also life was returning; and as the great leonine shape above took warmer and warmer shades, from the first vaporous dimness of opaque blue to the splendours of a transparent jewel, so the intervening fells grew