OFF DUTY The last of the sunlight streamed level through a gap in the western ridges.

It melted, with sinuous, tender shadows, the dry contour of field and knoll, and poured over all the parching land a liquid, undulating grace.

Like the shadow of clouds on ripe corn, the red tiles of the village roofs patched the countryside.

From the distant sea had come a breath of air, cool enough to be felt with gratitude, yet so faint as neither to disturb the dry pulsation of myriad insect-voices, nor to blur the square mirrors of distant rice-fields, still tropically blue or icy with reflected clouds.
Miss Drake paused on the knoll, and looked about her.
"This remains the same, doesn't it, for all our troubles ?" she said; then to herself, slowly, "'It is a beauteous evening, calm and free.'" Heywood made no pretense of following her look.
"'Dear Nun,'" he blurted; "no, how does it go again?
--'dear child, that walkest with me here--'" The girl started down the slope, with the impatience of one whose mood is frustrated.

The climate had robbed her cheeks of much color, but not, it seemed, of all.
"Your fault," said Heywood, impenitent.