I am obliged."

"Yes, and there is no reason why you should not tell me everything," she
said, turning her quiet eyes upon him with a look of such perfect trust
that the tumult in Alan's mind was suddenly stilled. "But you knew that
there would be difficulties. Is there anything else?"

"I hardly know how to tell you. She has done what I half expected her to
do--she has brought a counter charge against me--against----"

"Ah, I understand. All the more, reason, Alan, why we should fight it
out."

"My love," he said, in the lowest possible tone that could reach her
ears, "if you knew how it grieves me that you should suffer!"

"But I am suffering with you," she answered tenderly; "and don't you
think that I would rather do that than see you bear your suffering
alone?"

Here the first notes of the orchestra fell upon their ear, and the
conversation had to cease. For the next hour or so they had scarcely
time to do more than interchange a word or two, but they sat side by
side rapt in a strange content. The music filled their veins with
intoxicating delight; it was of a kind that Lettice rejoiced in
exceedingly, and that Alan loved without quite knowing why. The
Tannhauser Overture, the Walkueren-Ritt, two of Schubert's loveliest
songs, and the less exciting but more easily comprehensible productions
of an earlier classical composer, were the chief items of the first part
of the concert. Then came an interval, after which the rest of the
afternoon would be devoted to the Choral Symphony. But during this
interval Alan hastened to make the most of his opportunity.

"We shall have a bitter time," he murmured in her ear, feeling,
nevertheless, that nothing was bitter which would bring him eventually
to her side.

She smiled a little. "Leave it alone then," she said, half mockingly.
"Go your own way and be at peace."

"Lettice! I can never be at peace now without you."

"Is not that very unreasonable of you?" she asked, speaking lightly
because she felt so deeply. The joy of his presence was almost
oppressive. She had longed for it so often, and it had come to her for
these two short hours so unexpectedly, that it nearly overwhelmed her.

"No, dearest, it is most natural. I have nobody to love, to trust, but
you. Tell me that you feel as I do, that you want to be mine--mine
wholly, and then I shall fight with a better heart, and be as brave as
you have always been."

"Be brave, then," she said with a shadowy smile