may give thought to children. Well, it's a matter for the individual. I
shouldn't feel comfortable myself.'

'It's a matter for the world, too,' said Mary.

Harvey nodded. As he sat at the foot of the piled stones, his hand
touched a sprig of last year's heather; the stem was hung with dry,
rustling, colourless bells, which had clung there all through the cold,
stormy months, telling of beauty that was past, and of beauty that was
to come. He broke it off, and showed it to his companion. Until the time
for moving, they talked of simpler things, and Mary Abbott recovered her
spirits.


CHAPTER 3


Turning regretfully from the place of rest, with its lulling sounds and
noble prospects, they began to descend the other side of the mountain,
which was more rugged than that by which they had come up. Harvey timed
the walk so well, that they reached the point of the road where Alma
would meet them, at a few minutes before the time agreed upon. No one
was in sight. The road in its inland direction could be scanned for a
quarter of a mile; the other way it curved rapidly, and was soon hidden
by gorse-bushes.

'I hear nothing,' said Rolfe, when they had stood silent for a little.
'A mistake is impossible; the man has driven to meet us here before.
Shall we walk on?'