things unite to charm a traveler who strikes Algiers in the winter time,
and they usually go hence with many regrets, and memories that will
never fade.

John watches his chance to speak to the girl at his side. He feels that
the time has come when he must tell her what he has in his heart--that
he loves her.

If she gives him his _conge_, he will go his way and try to forget; but
he has hopes of a different answer; eye speaks to eye, and there is a
language of the heart that needs not lips to proclaim it, a secret
telegraphy that brings together those who love. The touch of a hand
thrills as no other touch can, and the sound of a voice heard
unexpectedly causes the heart to almost cease beating.

At length he makes an opportunity, as only a bold and determined lover
can. They have gone in the street-cars to the terraced heights of
Mustapha Superieur, to visit a house which most tourists see--a house
with a remarkable history--and in departing, John and Lady Ruth somehow
are separated from the rest. The fault lies with him, because at the
last moment he proposed a final view of the wonderful scene spread out
below, to which Lady Ruth consented, and as the others boarded the
tram-car that would take them back to the city, John called out their
intention, and that they would join them later.

There is nothing singular about this, and yet Lady Ruth's cheeks turn
rosy as she hears Aunt Gwen's laugh, and stealing a glance over her
shoulder discovers that quaint individual shaking her finger out of the
car-window.