ne.

"We must speak of it now, Grizel," he said, when he knew that he was
dying.

She pressed his hand. She knew to what he was referring. "Yes," she
said, "I should love you to speak of it now."

"You and I have always fought shy of it," he said, "making a pretence
that it had altogether passed away. I thought that was best for you."

"Dearest, darlingest," she said, "I know--I have always known."

"And you," he said, "you pretended because you thought it was best for
me."

She nodded. "And we saw through each other all the time," she said.

"Grizel, has it passed away altogether now?"

Her grip upon his hand did not tighten in the least. "Yes," she could
say honestly, "it has altogether passed away."

"And you have no more fear?"

"No, none."

It was his great reward for all that he had done for Grizel.

"I know what you are thinking of," she said, when he did not speak.
"You are thinking of the haunted little girl you rescued seven years
ago."

"No," he answered; "I was thanking God for the brave, wholesome woman
she has grown into; and for something else, Grizel--for letting me
live to see it."

"To do it," she said, pressing his hand to her breast.

She was a strange girl, and she had to speak her mind. "I don't think
God has done it all," she said. "I don't even think that He told you
to do it. I think He just said to you, 'There is a painted lady's
child at your door. You can save her if you like.'

"No," she went on, when he would have interposed; "I am sure He did
not want to do it all. He even left a little bit of it to me to do
myself. I love to think that I have done a tiny bit of it myself. I
think it is the sweetest thing about God that He lets us do some of it
ourselves. Do I hurt you, darling?"

No, she did not hurt him, for he understood her. "But you are
naturally so impulsive," he said, "it has often been a sharp pain to
me to see you so careful."

"It was not a pain to me to be careful; it was a joy. Oh, the thousand
dear, delightful joys I have had with you!"

"It has made you strong, Grizel, and I rejoice in that; but sometimes
I fear that it has made you too difficult to win."

"I don't want to be won," she told him.

"You don't quite mean that, Grizel."

"No," she said at once. She whispered to him impulsively: "It is the
only thing I am at all afraid of now."

"What?"

"Love."

"You will not be afraid of it when it comes."

"But I want to be afraid," she said.