Evelyn noticed something that pleased her in his voice as he concluded.

"I suppose one must get hurt now and then," she responded. "After all, a
bruise that's only skin-deep doesn't trouble one long, and no doubt some
scars are honorable. It's slow corrosion that's the deadliest."

She broke off with a laugh.

"Moralizing's out of place on a day like this," she added; "and such days
are not frequent in the North. That's their greatest charm."

Vane nodded. He knew the sad gray skies of his native land, when its
lonely heights are blurred by driving snow-cloud or scourged by bitter
rain for weeks together, though now and then they tower serenely into the
blue heavens, steeped in ethereal splendor. Once more it struck him that
in their latter aspect his companion resembled them. Made finely, of warm
flesh and blood, she was yet ethereal too. There was something aloof and
intangible about her that seemed in harmony with the hills among which
she was born.

"Yes," he agreed. "On the face of it, the North is fickle; though to
those who know it that's a misleading term. To some of us it's always the
same, and its dark grimness makes one feel the radiance of its smile. For
all that, I think we're going to see a sudden change in the weather."

Long wisps of leaden cloud began to stream across the crags above,
intensifying, until it seemed unnatural, the glow of light and color
on the rest.