128 THE SILVER FOX 



February that the Irish air begins again to 

 breathe suggestion — no longer mere food 

 for the lungs, it invades the heart, and 

 bewilders the brain with griefs and hopes. 

 Even to the dimming of the eye that smell 

 of the fields entered into Slaney ; with a 

 new and strong understanding of herself 

 she could have wept for the guileless egoist 

 who had been Slaney Morris when last the 

 February winds blew sweet. 



" Have you written that letter to say 

 that you are not going home to-morrow ? " 

 said Bunbury, as he held open the gate that 

 admitted them into the wood. 



He had realized during his walk up across 

 the pastures that days in which Slaney had 

 no share would be strangely meaningless. 

 Not being introspective the discovery was 

 sudden enough to set his blood beating and 

 his heart instinctively aching. He knew 

 that she could look forward to days without 

 him as unconcernedly as she would look 

 back to days with him ; she was self- 

 sufficing, as the ideal ever seems to be the 



