She told herself that, had he lacked ambition, she could not have loved him, and did not stop to reflect upon the completeness of her satisfaction with the Viking.  He seemed, indeed, in these weeks, one whom the sea has marked for its own, and her delight in watching him as he moved about the boat never palled.  His nose reminded her of the prow of a ship of war, and his deep-set eyes were continually searching the horizon for an enemy.  Such were her fancies.  In the early morning when he donned his sleeveless bathing suit, she could never resist the temptation to follow him on deck to see him plunge into the cold ocean:  it gave her a delightful little shiver—­and he was made like one of the gods of Valhalla.

She had discovered, too, in these intimate days, that he had the Northman’s temperament; she both loved and dreaded his moods.  And sometimes, when the yacht glided over smoother seas, it was his pleasure to read to her, even poetry and the great epics.  That he should be fond of the cruel Scotch ballads she was not surprised; but his familiarity with the book of Job, and his love for it, astonished her.  It was a singular library that he had put on board the ‘Adhemar’.

One evening when the sails flapped idly and the blocks rattled, when they had been watching in silence the flaming orange of the sunset above the amethystine Camden hills, he spoke the words for which she had been waiting.

“Honora, what do you say to going back to Grenoble?”

She succeeded in smiling at him.

“Whenever you like, Hugh,” she said.

So the bowsprit of the ‘Adhemar’ was turned homewards; and with every league of water they left behind them his excitement and impatience seemed to grow.

“I can’t wait to show it to you, Honora—­to see you in it,” he exclaimed.  “I have so long pictured you there, and our life as it will be.”

CHAPTER XII

THE ENTRANCE INTO EDEN

They had travelled through the night, and in the early morning left the express at a junction.  Honora sat in the straight-backed seat of the smaller train with parted lips and beating heart, gazing now and again at the pearly mists rising from the little river valley they were climbing.  Chiltern was like a schoolboy.

“We’ll soon be there,” he cried, but it was nearly nine o’clock when they reached the Gothic station that marked the end of the line.  It was a Chiltern line, he told her, and she was already within the feudal domain.  Time indeed that she awoke!  She reached the platform to confront a group of upturned, staring faces, and for the moment her courage failed her.  Somehow, with Chiltern’s help, she made her way to a waiting omnibus backed up against the boards.  The footman touched his hat, the grey-headed coachman saluted, and they got in.  As the horses started off at a quick trot, Honora saw that the group on the station platform had with one consent swung about to stare after them.