ng me in ignorance of
unpleasant facts is any kindness to me. If anything happens to cause
you anxiety, I should feel humiliated if you were left to endure it
all alone."

[Illustration: "'Sure I was that worritted,' burst out Mrs. Connor."]

He remained silent, troubled, uncertain as yet, how much she knew of
what had happened in the garden the night before.

"Clive, dear, don't let this thing spoil anything for us. I know about
it. Don't let any shadow fall upon this house of ours."

"You saw me last night in the garden."

Between diffidence and the candour that characterised her, she
hesitated; then:

"Dear, a very strange thing has happened. Until last night never in
all my life, try as I might, could I ever 'see clearly' anything that
concerned you. Never have I been able to 'find' you anywhere--even
when my need was desperate--when my heart seemed breaking--"

She checked herself, smiled at him; then her eyes grew dark and
thoughtful, and a deeper colour burned in her cheeks.

"I'll try to tell you," she said. "Last night, after I left you, I lay
thinking about--love. And the--the new knowledge of myself
disconcerted me.... There remained a vague sense of dismay
and--humiliation--" She bent her head over her folded hands, silent
until the deepening colour subsided.

Still with lowered eyes she went on, steadily enough: "My instinct was
to escape--I don't know exactly how to tell this to you, dear,--but
the impulse to escape possessed me--and I felt that I must rise from
the lower planes and free myself from a--a lesser passion--slip from
the menace of its control--become clean again of everything that is
not of the spirit.... Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"So I rose and knelt down and said my prayers.... And asked to be
instructed because of my inexperience with--with these new and
deep--emotions. And then I lay down, very tranquil again, leaving the
burden with God.... All concern left me,--and the restless sense of
shame. I turned my head on the pillow and looked out into the
moonlight.... And, gently, naturally, without any sense of effort, I
left my body where it lay in the moonlight, and--and found myself in
the garden. Mother was there. You, also, were there; and two men with
you."

His eyes never left her face; and now she looked up at him with a
ghost of a smile:

"Mother spoke of the loveliness of the flowers. I heard her, but I was
listening to you. Then I followed you where you were dri