The experiences of another man's whole lifetime Paul was going through in the space of days.

It was the Monday following the wet Sunday when an incident happened which soon came back to him, and gave him food for reflection.

They would spend the day in the launch, she decided, going whither they wished, stopping here to pick gentians, going there under the shadow of trees—landing where and when they desired—even sleeping at Flüclen if the fancy took them to. Anna was sent on with their things in case this contingency occurred. And earth, water and sky seemed smiling them a welcome.

Just before they started, Dmitry, after the gentlest tap, noiselessly entered Paul's room. Paul was selecting some cigars from a box, and looked up in surprise as the stately servant cautiously closed the door.

"Yes, Dmitry, what is it?" he said half impatiently.

Dmitry advanced, and now Paul saw that he carried something in his hand. He bowed low with his usual courtly respect. Then he stammered a little as he began to speak.

The substance of his sentence, Paul gathered, was that the Excellency would not be inconveniencing himself too much, he hoped, if he would consent to carry this pistol. A very good pistol, he assured him, which would take but little room.

Paul's surprise deepened. Carry a pistol in peaceful Switzerland! It seemed too absurd.

"What on earth for, my friend?" he said.

But Dmitry would give no decided answer, only that it was wiser, when away from one's home and out with a lady, never to go unarmed. Real anxiety peeped from his cautious grey eyes.

Did Paul know how to shoot? And would he be pardoned for asking the Excellency such a question?—but in England, he heard, they dealt little with revolvers—and this was a point to be assured of.

Yes, Paul knew how to shoot! The idea made him laugh. But now he came to think of it, he had not had great practice with a revolver, and might not do so well as with a gun or rifle. But the whole thing seemed so absurd, he did not think it of much consequence.

"Of course I'll take it to please you, Dmitry," he said, "though I wish you would tell me why."

However, Dmitry escaped from the room without further words, his finger upon his lips.

The lady was looking more exquisitely white than usual; she wore soft pale mauve, and appeared in Paul's eyes a thing of joy.

When they were seated on the launch in their chairs, she let him hold her hand, but she did not talk much at first; only now he understood her silences, and did not worry over them—so great a teacher is love to quicken the perception of man.

He sat there, and gazed at her, and tried to realise that it was really he who was experiencing all this happiness. This wonderful, wonderful woman—and he was her lover.

At last something in her expression of sadness caught his watchful eye, and an ache came into his mind to know where hers had gone.

"Darling," he said tenderly, "mayn't I come there, too?"

She turned towards him—a shadow was in her eyes.

"No, Paul," she said. "Not there. It is a land of rocks and precipices—not for lovers."

"But if you can go—where is the danger for me, my Queen? Or, if there is danger, then it is my place to stand by your side."

"Paul, my sweet Paul," she whispered, while her eyes filled with mist, "I was thinking how fair the world could be, perhaps, if fate allowed one to meet one's mate while there was yet time. Surely two souls together, like you and I, might climb to Paradise doing deeds of greatness by the way. But so much of life is like a rushing torrent tearing along making a course for itself, without power to choose through what country it will pass, until it meets the ocean and is swallowed up and lost. If one could only see—only know in time—could he change the course? Alas! who can tell?"

Her voice was sad, and as ever it wrung Paul's heart.

"My darling one," he said, "don't think of those odd things. Only remember that I am here beside you, and that I love you, love you so—"

"My Paul!" she murmured, and she smiled a strange, sweet smile, "do you know, I find you like a rare violin which hitherto has been used by ordinary musicians to play their popular airs upon, but which is now highly strung and being touched by the bow of an artist who loves it. And oh! the exquisite sounds which are coming, and will yet come forth to enchant the ear, and satisfy the sense. All the capacity is there, Paul, in you, beautiful one—only I must bring it out with my bow of love! And what a progress you have made already—a great, great progress. Think, only a few days ago you had never noticed the colours of this lake, or even these great mountains, they said nothing to you at all except as places to take your exercise upon. Life, for you, was just eating and sleeping and strengthening your muscles." And she laughed softly.

"I know I was a Goth," said Paul. "I can hardly realise it myself, the change that has happened to me. Everything now seems full of joy."

"Your very phrases are altered, Paul, and will alter more yet, while our moon waxes and our love grows."

"Can it grow? Can I possibly love you more intensely than I do now—surely no!" he exclaimed passionately. "And yet—"

"And yet?"

"Ah! yes, I know it. Yes, it can grow until it is my life—my very life."

"Yes, Paul," she said, "your life"—and her strange eyes narrowed again, the Sphinx's inscrutable look of mystery in their chameleon depths.

Then her mood altered, she became gay and laughing, and her wit sparkled like dry champagne, while the white launch glided through the blue waters with never a swirl of foam.

"Paul," she said presently, "to-morrow we will go up the Rigi to the
Kaltbad, and look from the little kiosk over the world, and over the
Bernese Oberland. It gives me an emotion to stand so high and see so vast
a view—but to-day we will play on the water and among the trees."

He had no desires except to do what she would do, so they landed for lunch at one of the many little inviting hotels which border the lake in sheltered bays. All through the meal she entertained him with subtle flattery, drawing him out, and making him shine until he made flint for her steel. And when they came to the end she said with sudden, tender sweetness:

"Paul—it is my caprice—you may pay the bill to-day—just for to-day—because—Ah! you must guess, my Paul! the reason why!"

And she ran out into the sunlight, her cheeks bright pink.

But Paul knew it was because now she belonged to him. His heart swelled with joy—and who so proud as he?

She had gone alone up a mountain path when he came out to join her, and stood there laughing at him provokingly from above. He bounded up and caught her, and would walk hand in hand, and made her feel that he was master and lord through the strength of his splendid, vigorous youth. He pretended to scold her if she stirred from him, and made her stand or walk and obey him, and gave himself the airs of a husband and prince.

And the lady laughed in pure ecstatic joy.