182 THE SILVER FOX 



afterwards, something about the balance- 

 strap of her saddle, but he had not seemed 

 different. She had noticed that he looked 

 ill, and had presently forgotten all about 

 it. The past flowed in on her; his kindli- 

 ness, his simpleness, his straightness, most 

 of all, that belief in her that was bound 

 up in the deepest heart of an unjealous 

 nature. 



The face that lay sideways in the heather 

 began to torture her with its mute reproach ; 

 she knelt down beside him, tearless and 

 tense, enduring strong feeling as the un- 

 demonstrative must endure it. She bent 

 over him at length, and, as if half afraid, 

 stooped her head and kissed the pale cheek, 

 knowing for the first time the dreadful kiss 

 that is so much to one, so much less than 

 nothing to the other. 



