ppeal, "I did not realize that you would be publicly
opposing your father. And I did not realize that you would not care to
criticise--mine."

On the last word she faltered and glanced at his profile.

Had she gone too far?

"I felt that you would understand," he answered. He could not trust
himself to speak further. How much did she know? And how much was she
capable of grasping?

His reticence served only to fortify her trust--to elevate it. It was
impossible for her not to feel something of that which was in him and
crying for utterance. She was a woman. And if this one action had been
but the holding of her coat, she would have known. A man who could keep
silent under these conditions must indeed be a rock of might and honour;
and she felt sure now, with a surging of joy, that the light she had
seen shining from it was the beacon of truth. A question trembled on
her lips--the question for which she had long been gathering strength.
Whatever the outcome of this communion, she felt that there must be
absolute truth between them.

"I want to ask you something, Mr. Vane--I have been wanting to for a
long time."

She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten,--a manner he had when earnest or
determined,--and she wondered in agitation whether he divined what she
was going to say. He turned his face slowly to hers, and his eyes were
troubled.

"Yes," he said.

"You have always spared my feelings," she went on. "Now--now I am asking
for the truth--as you see it. Do the Northeastern Railroads wrongfully
govern this State for their own ends?"

Austen, too, as he thought over it afterwards, in the night, was
surprised at her concise phrasing, suggestive; as it was, of much
reflection. But at the moment, although he had been prepared for and
had braced himself against something of this nature, he was nevertheless
overcome by the absolute and fearless directness of her speech.

"That is a question," he answered, "which you will have to ask your
father."

"I have asked him," she said, in a low voice; "I want to know what--you
believe."

"You have asked him!" he repeated, in astonishment.

"Yes. You mustn't think that, in asking you, I am unfair to him in any
way--or that I doubt his sincerity. We have been" (her voice caught a
little) "the closest friends ever since I was a child." She paused. "But
I want to know what you believe."

The fact that she emphasized the last pronoun sent another thrill
through him. Did it