McTaggart smiled in his heart, as, following up the train of thought, Jill proceeded, somewhat gravely, to hold forth on economy.

"I shan't cost you very much. I can make lots of things myself. And I expect, in a place like Siena, it doesn't matter what one wears. Oh, do tell me about your house?--or is it a flat?"

"Not exactly. I hope you won't be disappointed. It's rather a cheerless sort of place."

"I don't care if it's a barn!" The breeze had brought a bright colour into her cheeks, as they paced along, arm in arm, and she laughed aloud. "I don't care about anything! I'm just too glad to be alive.

I'm awfully strong--I can learn to cook..." McTaggart hugged himself for joy.

"Oh, I hope it won't come to that. Mario might object."

Jill stopped suddenly, overwhelmed by a new thought.

"I say, Peter--what is he? Exactly, I mean. Is he ... your valet?"

"Yes--you know--over there---wages are a mere trifle. And he's handy, in all sorts of ways."

"I see. Would he clean the windows?"

"Knives and boots?..." McTaggart choked. "I dare say--if you asked him."

"Hm...." Jill looked a little doubtful. The fur coat had made her think. She mustn't let Peter ruin himself--even on their honeymoon.

In her practical mind she decided to say nothing more till they reached Siena and then take up the reins of the house, with a careful eye on the exchequer.

But all these thoughts were swept aside by the novelty of her arrival on the French coast, the foreign tongue, the stir and bustle of the Customs.

Then came dinner in the train, with strange wine, strange dishes, and their "doll's house" quarters for the night. She revelled in the unexpected.

Slowly the dark swept down, blotting out the sleeping earth, as they rocked along, happily tired, in the warm coup, side by side.

"Time for bed..." said McTaggart at last. "I'm not going to let you chatter all through the night, old lady. It's close upon eleven o'clock!"

"I'm not sleepy a bit," said Jill.

Something in her quick glance roused McTaggart's chivalry--a childish touch of helplessness.

"Look here..." he leaned closer and whispered softly in her ear. For a moment Jill clung to him, her face hidden from his eyes.

"You've got a long journey before you," he went on in a careless voice.

"So just turn in and get to sleep. I'm going outside for a last smoke.

Pull that shade over the lamp when you're ready. I shan't want the light. I'll be as quiet as a mouse. We'll say good night--here--_now_."

"Peter ... you _are_ a darling!" The whisper barely reached his ears.

He held her closely for a moment--kissed her quickly and stood up.

"Happy dreams! And take your time. I shan't turn in for another hour." He opened the door and went out, his face rather white and set.

"Another test..." he said to himself. "Hang it all! She's such a child! It's the straight game." And at the words he thought instinctively of Bethune. "I'm glad I've had it out with him."

For the two men had parted friends. Perhaps, in the long years ahead, Jill would no longer stand between them.

McTaggart hoped so fervently. He paced up and down the corridor; steady action that soothed his nerves, smoking, with an absent mind, cigarette after cigarette.

The stars came out in the heavens, and he thought once more of that other night, when he stood and watched them, three years back, and pondered on his "double heart."

What a blind fool he had been! He realized how well the excuse had served to screen the follies due to the hot impulses of youth. His "double heart"...! He smiled grimly, as the truth slowly dawned on him: the dual nature of all men: the daily battle waged between human weakness and spiritual strength.

The night air blew in, sharp with an early Autumn frost, cooling his brow and bringing peace, the hushed silence that Nature loves.

And at last he paused before his door, opened it, inch by inch, and stole through, with a quick glance at the lower berth. Jill was asleep!

In the dim light of the shaded lamp he could see the dark cloud of her hair, her childish profile, pure and sweet, and the long lashes on her cheek.

For a moment he stood and gazed at her, a great longing in his heart.

"Only ... to kiss her!" he said to himself, then, sternly, turned away.

And with the action, all unknown, he broke the insidious habit of years; the indecision of boyhood days changed to the firm control of the man.

The train rocked on....

In his berth above, McTaggart, restless, watched till the dawn filtered in between the blinds, pale shafts of primrose light.

He had only to lean and call her name to see those grey eyes open wide, filled with love--the love of a wife! But he fought it out, hour by hour. And as the sun stole over the edge of the long plains, white with frost, he turned on his pillow with a smile and was gathered in the arms of sleep.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

McTaggart glanced at his watch.

"Ten minutes more. Are you very tired?"

"Not a bit." Jill turned with a bright face from the window in the corridor where she stood, gazing out. "It's all so lovely. Look at that hill rising up like a fir cone, against the sky. And _isn't_ it blue! I never saw such colouring. Those silvery trees!--Olives, did you say they were? Fancy seeing olives grow!--and oranges and lemons too. It sounds like the game we used to play in our nursery days."

In a low voice, sweet as a thrush:

"Oranges and lemons Said the bells of St. Clement's, I owe you four farthings Said the bells of St. Martin's..."

Jill sang happily.

"Can't say much for the rhymes." McTaggart smiled.

But the girl had turned to the window again. "It's beautiful." She slipped a hand through his arm. "As long as I live I'll never forget those vines with their early Autumn tints--blood red; and the little towns perched on the hills like Robber Castles ... Peter!--what's that?" She broke off excitedly, pointing out.

McTaggart followed the line of her hand.

"Siena, I think--I can't be sure. You know, it was dark when I got here before. Why, Jill!--Whatever's the matter?"