e stronger light of this room, he could see more plainly than
before the havoc trouble had made of her face. And yet, in spite of the
shadows that had descended on it, it was still to him the most adorable
face in the world. He could not analyse his feelings any better now
than in the beginning; but this face had exactly the same effect upon
him now as then. It seemed to be a matter of the nerves. Nor was it the
face alone: it was also the lines of throat and chin, when she turned
her head; it was the gesture with which she fingered the knot of hair
on her neck; above all, her hands, whose every movement was full of
meaning: yes, these things sent answering ripples through him, as sound
does through air.

He had stared too openly: she felt his eyes, and raised her own. For a
few seconds, they looked at each other. Then she held out her hand.

"You are my friend."

He pressed it, without replying; he could not think of anything
suitable to say; what rose to his lips was too emotional, too
tell-tale. But he made a vow that, from this day on, she should never
doubt the truth of what she said.

"You are my friend."

He would take care of her as no one had ever yet tried to do. She might
safely give herself into his charge. The unobtrusive aid that was
mingled tenderness and respect, should always be hers.

"Are you warmer now?"

He could not altogether suppress the new note that had got into his
voice. All strangeness seemed to have been swept away between them; he
was wide-awake to the fact that he was sitting alone with her, apart
from the rest of the world.

He looked at his watch: it was time to go; but she begged for a little
longer, and so they sat on for another half-hour, in the warm and
drowsy stillness.

Outside, they found a leaden sky; and they had not gone far before snow
began to fall: great flakes came flying to them, smiting their faces,
stinging their eyes, melting on their lips. The wind was against them;
they were exposed to the full force of the blizzard. Maurice pushed
till he panted; but their progress was slow. At intervals, he stopped,
to shake the snow off the rug, and to enwrap Louise afresh; and each
violent gust that met him when he turned a corner, smote him doubly;
for he pictured to himself the fury with which it must hurl itself
against her, sitting motionless before it.

It took them twice as long to return; and when Louise tried to get out
of the chair, she found herself so par