g for him to
speak. "I couldn't let him go--for good--without saying good-bye," she
said, as he remained silent.

He took her gently by the shoulders. "Chris, look at me!"

She drew back, yet in a moment with a desperate effort she raised her
eyes to his. He laid his hand upon her forehead, and looked at her long
and searchingly.

She endured the look in quivering silence, but she turned so deathly pale
under it that he thought she would faint. Quietly he let her go.

"You will lie down now?" he said.

"Yes," she answered, under her breath.

"Don't be in a hurry to get up," he said. "I will explain to your aunt
that I do not wish you to be disturbed, and I shall see her off myself."

He went to the windows and drew the curtains. She watched him silently.
As he turned back into the room, she spoke.

"Trevor, are you angry with me?"

He paused, as if the question were unexpected. "No," he said, after a
moment.

Her eyes shone unnaturally bright in the twilight. "You understand
that--that I couldn't obey your wishes about not seeing--Bertrand--before
he left?"

"I did not forbid you to see him," he said.

"But--you are vexed because I did," she persisted.

He came quietly back to her. "I believe you did the only thing possible
to you," he said, in a tone she could not fathom. "Therefore there is no
more to be said. Won't you lie down?"

She complied without further words. He covered her with a rug, but she
shivered under it as one with an ague. He brought a quilt, and laid that
also over her.

She reached out then, and caught his hand. "Trevor, forgive me!"

He bent over her. "My dear, I am not angry with you."

"Ah, but--but--" She broke off helplessly; there was something about him
that unnerved her. Suddenly and inexplicably the longing surged over her
to be caught to his breast and held there safe from all the tumult, the
misery, the vain regrets, that tortured her quivering soul. But she could
not tell him so, could not bring herself to pour out all the truth. For
the first time she saw how wide was the gulf that had opened between
them--that gulf which he had tried in vain to span the night before--and
her heart died within her. She knew that she was powerless, that now in
the hour of her adversity, now when she felt her need of a protector and
comforter as never before, she dared not confide in him, dared not throw
herself upon his mercy, and trust to his generosity to understand and to
forgive