much of what you were mumbling, but I understood you to say that you
thought I was here. Well, why shouldn't I be here?"

He stared at her blankly and answered:

"God knows, I don't! But since you ask the question, _why_ are you
here, Isobel? It is Isobel, isn't it, or am I still dreaming? Let me
touch you and I shall know."

She drew back a little way, quite three inches.

"Of course it is Isobel, don't your senses tell you that without
wanting to touch me? Why, I knew it was you from the end of the church.
But you ask me why I am here. I wish you would tell me. I was passing,
and something drew me into this place. I suppose it was you, and if so,
I say at once that I resent it; you have no right----"

"No, no, certainly not, but do let me touch you to make sure that you
are Isobel."

"Very well," she said, and stretched out a hand towards him.

He caught it with his left which was nearest, and then with his right
hand reached forward and seized her other hand. With a masterful
movement he draw her towards him, and though she was a strong woman she
seemed to have no power to resist. She thought that he was going to
kiss her and did not care greatly if he did.

But he checked himself in time, and instead of pressing his lips upon
hers, only kissed her hands, first one and then the other, for quite a
long while: nor did she attempt to deny him, perhaps because a wild
impulse took possession of her to kiss his in answer. Yes, his hands,
or his lips, or even his coat or anything about him. Oh! it made her
very angry, but there it was, for something rushed up in her which she
had never felt before, something mad and wild and sweet.

She wrenched herself away at last and began to scold him again.

"What have you been doing all these years? Why did you never write to
me?"

"Because I was too proud, as you never wrote to me."

"Too proud! Pride will be your ruin; it goes before every sort of fall.
Besides, I did write to you. I can show you a copy of the letter, if I
haven't torn it up."

"I never got it; did you post it yourself?"

"Yes, that is I took it to the Abbey House and left it to be addressed
there."

"Oh! then perhaps it is there still," and he looked at her.

"Nonsense, no one could have been so mean, not even----"

He shrugged his shoulders, a trick he had learned abroad, then said:

"Well, it doesn't matter now, does it, Isobel?"

"Yes, it matters a lot. Years of misunderstanding and doub