."

"I should like to stay--as long as seems right."

"As seems right--as seems right?" He repeated her words. "Yes, you think
a great deal about that."

"Of course one must. You're very tired," said Isabel.

"I'm very tired. You said just now that pain's not the deepest thing.
No--no. But it's very deep. If I could stay--"

"For me you'll always be here," she softly interrupted. It was easy to
interrupt him.

But he went on, after a moment: "It passes, after all; it's passing now.
But love remains. I don't know why we should suffer so much. Perhaps I
shall find out. There are many things in life. You're very young."

"I feel very old," said Isabel.

"You'll grow young again. That's how I see you. I don't believe--I don't
believe--" But he stopped again; his strength failed him.

She begged him to be quiet now. "We needn't speak to understand each
other," she said.

"I don't believe that such a generous mistake as yours can hurt you for
more than a little."

"Oh Ralph, I'm very happy now," she cried through her tears.

"And remember this," he continued, "that if you've been hated
you've also been loved. Ah but, Isabel--ADORED!" he just audibly and
lingeringly breathed.

"Oh my brother!" she cried with a movement of still deeper prostration.

CHAPTER LV

He had told her, the first evening she ever spent at Gardencourt, that
if she should live to suffer enough she might some day see the ghost
with which the old house was duly provided. She apparently had fulfilled
the necessary condition; for the next morning, in the cold, faint
dawn, she knew that a spirit was standing by her bed. She had lain down
without undressing, it being her belief that Ralph would not outlast
the night. She had no inclination to sleep; she was waiting, and such
waiting was wakeful. But she closed her eyes; she believed that as the
night wore on she should hear a knock at her door. She heard no knock,
but at the time the darkness began vaguely to grow grey she started up
from her pillow as abruptly as if she had received a summons. It seemed
to her for an instant that he was standing there--a vague, hovering
figure in the vagueness of the room. She stared a moment; she saw his
white face--his kind eyes; then she saw there was nothing. She was not
afraid; she was only sure. She quitted the place and in her certainty
passed through dark corridors and down a flight of oaken steps that
shone in the vague light of a hall-window. O