swinging along his miles from honiton back into exeter he saw the patteran just within the two-mile-stone. “she wants me. she’s here. bless her wild heart.” then he walked into the city, sat in the tree-shaded alley of the inn by exebridge, and breakfasted, as well he might. he had eaten nothing since yesterday’s noon.

at two o’clock, as he leaned, smoking his pipe and looking at the river, he saw duplessis in a dog-cart drive over the bridge. this was precisely what he had expected the moment he saw the patteran in the road. “he’ll lunch before he moves; he’ll treat himself handsomely. i’ll give him till half-past three. then we go together—the three of us.” bingo lowered his ears. senhouse and he were too old friends for eye-service or tail-signals. together they crossed the bridge and strolled up the curving street. the second inn-yard they visited showed them the wraybrook dog-cart, high and yellow-wheeled. “he’s put up. he goes back to-night. he’s lunching. now what shall we do? i think, a walk.”

he addressed himself to the wooded heights which look down on exeter. his spirits were high to meet the evening’s battle; he urged bingo to extend himself, infected him with the fray to come. “my friend, do you know who lives in this town? do you know whom we are to see by-and-by? a gentle-handed acquaintance, my friend—a lover of yours, whose troubles have been told you and me by signs. not by words, bingo, my boy; for words have not been made fine enough to voice her thoughts, half-thoughts and quarter-thoughts: no, but by a sigh scarcely heard, or a hand on your head, by caresses, and lingering touches, and suchlike pretty talk. that’s how we know her, and what we love her for, bingo; because she’s timid and full of alarms—all on the edge of the real thing, hovering on the threshold of the cage.”

bingo pricked up his ears, then whined. he moved his head to acknowledge a friendly speech, but he was trembling and looking up the road.

“bingo, come in,” said senhouse, and trembled, too. he saw mary coming up the road, books under her arm. she was rosy with breasting the hill; and he could see that her eyes were very bright. he could see, from the gate at which he leaned, that she was charged with excitement; that her lips were never still, that she looked sideways for events. he had to put his hand on bingo’s head to keep him back—and to keep himself back. “i’ll give him one more chance,” he told himself, and stayed where he was. mary passed him, all unconscious, went quickly up the road, stopped at a white gate, and slowly pushed it open. as she went in he saw her pause and look down the road by which she had come. then she went in, and the gate swung to and fro, and clicked as the latch caught.

senhouse inspected the gate, then his watch. “rosemount academy for young ladies—three o’clock. she’s teaching till four. she expects him.” he retired to his trees; but had to call bingo twice. he was halfway up the drive, nosing out his friend.

duplessis came up the hill at five minutes to four, and smoked three cigarettes one after another. he looked at his watch incessantly, as he walked up and down the road. senhouse watched him calmly, not making any effort at concealment—but concealed, because, it was obvious, duplessis had no notion of his whereabouts. ladies—young ladies in straw hats—came out of rosemount academy in twos and threes and vanished up or down the road, as the case might be. some rode bicycles, and waved the prouder farewells to their friends afoot. one was fetched in a brougham by a furred matron; two had a maid; and one joined a brother in a cricket cap. ladies of severer mien, tightly jacketed and in black, came presently; a long-haired music-master—and mary.

as she stood beyond the gate she saw duplessis. senhouse knew that by her look. she had a trick, when she was at a pass, of driving all expression from her eyes. they showed then as masks of black: it was her way of defence. you could not tell whether she was glad or afraid of you.

but she addressed herself to her task; completed, or allowed the young musician to complete, the conversation, bade him a smiling farewell which sent him happily on his way, and then waited, blankly, but with colour, for duplessis. the road was now empty but for these two.

he came up, lifting his hat; he took her hand, and held it while he bent to speak to her. senhouse saw her so held, but with averted face; saw that she was listening, that she was serious—too serious to be frightened. once he saw her look up at the man, and frame no with her grave lips; once again look up and frame yes. at that second answer duplessis took her hand again—her left hand which had been idle by her side—and held it while he continued to talk vehemently, in low tones. he watched her now intently, as she fought these long odds; and had bingo by the scruff—bingo on his hind legs, shivering and whining in whispers—“steady, boy; hold yourself——.”

mary was now pale, and in her eyes was the light of distress. they beaconed across the way: but no help came. as she listened she began to breathe quickly; he could see her bosom’s unrest. her hand was caught up to tristram’s lips—but she sprang away then, and her “oh, no, no! never, never—i could not do it,” gave senhouse the cue for which he shook. he loosed bingo, who, like a streak of grey light, shot across the road.

duplessis started violently; but a low glad cry came from mary’s heart. “bingo! oh, my dearest friend! oh, bingo!” she stooped in the road, and the two were one. then she rose vividly bright and waited for senhouse.

he crossed the road leisurely—with no looks for duplessis. he held out the maple-branch. “my excuse,” he said. she took it from him, and kept it in her hand. but she could not speak. in the presence of the two men she showed nothing common or mean—no consciousness. she was perhaps at her best: her colour high, but not painful, her eyes serious, but not veiled. modesty had been jarring affectation here: modesty was not possible. her left hand still held bingo’s head to her side: bingo on his hind legs, revelling in her hand.

the two men, each in his way, put their fate to the touch. neither took his eyes off her, neither gave an inch. duplessis would not have compromised if he could. his sullen rage was patent: he let it smoulder. senhouse smiled—all the faun showed in him: the stored secret knowledge, the power of the adept, of the seer into the dark, of him who would mock if he were not full of pity.

he spoke first. “it seems that you are to choose,” he said. “i can ask you to do that.”

her soft eyes beamed, and her smile met his in the way. “halfway house?” she said, asking.

he nodded. “halfway house, we’ll put it still.”

duplessis said nothing at all; but fixed her with his knit brows. a good ear might have heard three hearts beating. i think that bingo’s did, for he nozzled in mary’s hand.

she let him gently down, stooped over him, kissed his head, whispered in his ear. then, rising to her assize, with a look divinely mild and a gesture of confidence which brought tears into one pair of eyes, she put her hand in senhouse’s, and stood by his side.

duplessis stiffened and looked at the pair of them. “i take your answer,” he said, bowed to her, and walked down the hill. bingo, sitting sagely on his haunches, suddenly yawned.

shyly they turned to each other, shyly kissed. senhouse kissed her twice, then threw his head back and laughed his joy to the skies. “oh, wonder of the world!” he cried, and took her to his heart.

here’s for the last of her. in the train, on their way to london and l?ffner, senhouse was commenting upon what lay before them: the caucasus, the schwarzwald. what would she do in the caucasus, for example? that was easy. “i shall sit in the door of the tent, waiting for you,” she told him. in the black forest? what else?

he believed her. “we are to leave halfway house, then?” and then he looked out of the window at the rolling hills of wilts. “at any rate, here i am a bondslave—yoked by baden for five years. make what you will of it.”

she said nothing; she was always slow of speech with her betters when they talked above her head. but she pondered the saying, it was clear, for presently she picked up his hand, stooped to it, and kissed it; then, lowering her head, put his arm over her neck, and looked at him from below it. it was a pretty act, one of her prettiest. he saw the beauty of her gentle rebuke.

it sent him to his knees. bingo, sitting on her skirt, looked pityingly at his master, for a few seconds, and then up into her face.