looking much out of the door across the rice fields and banana
plantations to the Hebron Mountains. The wife's eyes fixed on the hills
and stayed. A road ran down the hill towards a platform of rock which
swept smooth and straight to the sheer side of the mountain called White
Bluff. At first glance it seemed that the road ended at the cliff--
a mighty slide to destruction. Instead, however, of coming straight to
the cliff it veered suddenly, and ran round the mountain side, coming
down at a steep but fairly safe incline. The platform or cliff was
fenced off by a low barricade of fallen trees, scarcely noticeable from
the valley below. The wife's eyes had often wandered to the spot with a
strange fascination, as now. Her husband looked at her meditatively.
He nodded slightly, as though to himself. She looked up. Their
understanding of each other's thoughts was singular.

"Tom," she said, "I will ride the chestnut, Bowline, to that fence some
day. It will be a big steeplechase." He winced, but answered slowly.
"You have meant to say that for a long time past. I am glad it has been
said at last."

She was struck by the perfect quietness of his tone. Her eyes sought his
face and rested for a moment, half bewildered, half pitying.

"Yes, it has been in my mind often--often," she said. "It's a horrible
thought," he gravely replied; "but it is better to be frank. Still,
you'll never do it, Alice--you'll never dare to do it."

"Dare, dare," she answered, springing to her feet, and a shuddering sigh
broke from her. "The thing itself is easy enough, Tom."

"And why haven't you done it?" he asked in a hard voice, but still