t
this glimpse of it."

"Oh, I fear you do not know me; I do not know myself."

He made no reply, and, on their coming near to the house, Maud paused.

"Mother's sending you a note this evening," she said, as she held out
her hand, "to ask you to come on Thursday instead of to-morrow. She
will be from home to-morrow night."

"Shall you also be from home?"

"I? No."

"Then may I not come and see you?--Not if it would be troublesome."

"It would not, at all."

"It is good of you. I will come."

CHAPTER XXVII

THE WILL TO LIVE

Waymark made his way to Paddington at the usual time on the following
evening, and found Maud alone. There was agitation in her manner as she
welcomed him, and she resumed her seat as if the attitude of rest was
needful to her. In reply to his inquiries about her health, she assured
him she was well, and that she felt no painful results from the
previous evening. Waymark also showed an unusual embarrassment. He
stood for some moments by the table, turning over the leaves of a book.

"I didn't know you had Rossetti," he said, without looking up. "You
never mentioned him."

"I seem to have had no opportunity."

"No. I too have many things that I have wanted to speak to you about,
but opportunity was wanting. I have sometimes been on the point of
asking you to let me write to you again."

He glanced inquiringly at her. Her eyes fell, and she tried to speak,
but failed. Waymark went to a seat at a little distance from her.

"You do not look as well as when I met you in the summer," he said. "I
have feared you might be studying too hard. I hope you threw away your
books whilst you were at the sea-side."

"I did, but it was because I found little pleasure in them. It was not
rest that took the place of reading."

"Are your difficulties of a kind you could speak of to me?" he asked,
with some hesitation.

She kept her eyes lowered, and her fingers writhed nervously on the arm
of the chair.

"My only fear would be lest you should think my troubles unreal. Indeed
it is so hard to make them appear anything more than morbid fancies.
They are traceable, no doubt, to my earliest years. To explain them
fully, I should have to tell you circumstances of my life which could
have little interest for you."

"Tell me--do," Waymark replied earnestly.

"Will you let me?" she said, with a timid pleasure in her voice. "I
believe you could understand me. I have a feeling that you must h