"Yes," she said, at last, "I can tell you here."
She looked at the sea, the coast-line, then turned her head and gazed at the mountains.
"We looked at them together," she continued—"that last evening before I went away. Do you remember, Maurice?"
"Yes."
"From the arch. It is better up here. Always, when I am very happy or very sad, my instinct would be to seek a mountain-top. The sight of great spaces seen from a height teaches one, I think."
"What?"
"Not to be an egoist in one's joy; not to be a craven in one's sorrow. You see, a great view suggests the world, the vastness of things, the multiplicity of life. I think that must be it. And of course it reminds one, too, that one will soon be going away."
"Going away?"
"Yes. 'The mountains will endure'—but we—!"
"Oh, you mean death."