Her eyes felt cleansed of all the doubtful sights they had ever met, and her mind shared in the cleansing. Her happiness was so deep that she did not know of it; for, as nearly as human beings may, she was seeing things filtered of self, and the wide winds were in her soul. She had made two thick plaits by the time her father sank to the ground and leaned his head against her shoulder. "I wish your mother could have seen this," he said. "The dear soul would never have got here. And now she doesn't have to climb at all. She'll be very glad, you know, to be allowed to look down on it all without any trouble." "I came here so often without her, but it was not time I could have spent with her. That comforts me. But there are little things one did or did not do. Theresa, when you love, don't be afraid to let your conduct reflect your heart." "Well, am I not very nice to you?" "Very nice, my dear; but I was thinking of a different kind of love." "Oh, don't talk to me of that! Not till I'm middle-aged. Then, perhaps, I'll consider it, and marry a comfortable widower, slightly infirm, so that I can occasionally escape, but not ill enough to need nursing." "You'll have no such jog-trot end, my dear. I hope you'll run in harness with a swifter steed." "I don't want to be harnessed at all," she said, and lay back. Their thoughts went on different journeys, and his were so absorbing that, when he halted at his next remark, he had forgotten how easily she might trace his route. "I hope you will meet Alexander some day," he said. Then he flushed guiltily, and, with a pitiful attempt at carelessness, began to hum untunefully. Her words came instinctively, like an arm raised against a blow. "Oh, I expect I shall." The next moment, she could marvel at the readiness with which she had spoken, in spite of her stiffened body and the lump of revolt in her throat. She lay very still, but her heart was thudding and, as though with the glow of her father's blush, her face was crimsoned; but soon it faltered into white and her lips trembled. The quality of her anger brought her near tears, and a great pity for herself surrounded her like air. Was she a chattel to be proffered in hope of sale? she asked silently, and that brought pride to drive back her weeping. She sat up with a beautiful, strong lift of her back. Pride was her strength. It enabled her to deceive her father. "Shall we go on?" she said, and smiled, so that he thought she had not understood, and was thankful. She saw care visibly lifted from him, and her heart was tender for him. Was he not true to his own advice, and did not all his actions speak of love? She could not blame him since he loved her, thought her incomparable, and said so, through his eyes. She linked her arm in his, but her rage against Alexander was red-hot. CHAPTER XVIII