Alice was happy, very happy; but she was still disposed to regard her lover as Fate, and her happiness as an enforced necessity.
They stopped a night at Basle, and again she stood upon the balcony. He was close to her as she stood there,--so close that, putting out her hand for his, she was able to take it and press it closely. "You are thinking of something, Alice," he said. "What is it?"
"It was here," she said--"here, on this very balcony, that I first rebelled against you, and now you have brought me here that I should confess and submit on the same spot. I do confess. How am I to thank you for forgiving me?"
[Illustration: "How am I to thank you for forgiving me?"]

They stopped a night at Basle, and again Alice stood upon the balcony. Mr. Grey was close to her - so close that she was able to take his hand and press it.
"You are thinking of something, Alice," he said. "What is it?"
"It was here," she said, "on this very balcony, that I first rebelled against you, and now that you have brought me here I confess and submit. How am I to thank you for forgiving me?"
