whose windows swept the course of the sun. Seeing that her
visitor was in a state of mental disturbance such as she had once before
exhibited, she blew out the candles and took the same seat in the eastern
window she had occupied on the night which they both so well remembered.

Stephen understood both acts, and was grateful afresh. The darkness
would be a help to her in what she had to say; and the resumption of the
old seat and attitude did away with the awkwardness of new confidence.
During the weeks that had passed Stephen had kept her friend informed of
the rescue and progress of the injured man. Since the discovery of
Harold's identity she had allowed her to infer her feeling towards him.

Shyly she had conveyed her hopes that all the bitter part of the past
might be wiped out. To the woman who already knew of the love that had
always been, but had only awakened to consciousness in the absence of its
object, a hint was sufficient to build upon. She had noticed the gloom
that had of late been creeping over the girl's happiness; and she had
been much troubled about it. But she had thought it wiser to be silent;
she well knew that should unhappily the time for comfort come, it must be
precluded by new and more explicit confidence. So she too had been
anxiously waiting the progress of events. Now; as she put her arms round
the girl she said softly; not in the whisper which implies doubt of some
kind, but in the soft voices which conveys sympathy and trust:

'Tell me, dear child!'

And then in broken words shyly spoken, and spoken in such a way that the
silences were more eloquent than the words, the girl conveyed what was in
her heart. The other listened, now and again stroking the beautiful
hair. When all was said, there was a brief pause. The Silver Lady spoke
no word; but the pressure of her delicate hand conveyed sympathy.

In but a half-conscious way, in words that came so shrinkingly through
the darkness that they hardly reached the ear bent low to catch them,
came Stephen's murmured thought:

'Oh, if he only knew! And I can't tell him; I can't! dare not! I must
not. How could I dishonour him by bearing myself towards him as to that
other . . . worthless . . . ! Oh! the happy, happy girls, who have
mothers . . . !' All the muscles of her body seemed to shrink and
collapse, till she was like an inert mass at the Silver Lady's feet.

But the other understood!

After a long, long pause; when