from their road of yesterday, and were upon a saner highway among more amiable hills that she asked him why he was so quiet.
"If you do not talk to me I must think one of two things."
"What two things?"
"Either that you are not well or that you are angry with me."
"Not at all. I am perfectly well."
"Ah, so?" she said. "Why are you angry with me?"
"I'm not angry."
"What then?"
"Nothing!"
She looked at him, considering him thoughtfully; but he did not meet her eyes;—instead, he sat staring moodily before him. "My dear," she said, "you remember something I once told you of the great effect places may have upon people? I told you that Africa might make a change in you—and already it has."
"Not at all."
She laughed sadly. "Yes, you would say not. But you are like the man I told you of. Do you remember? He went upon a high mountain, and when
