u saw
Everard--that marriage hadn't altogether agreed with him."

Bernard's kindly blue eyes met hers with absolute directness. "No, I
shouldn't have thought that," he said. "But I see a change in him of
course. He is growing old much too fast. What is it? Overwork?"

"I don't know." She still spoke with hesitation. "I think it is a good
deal--anxiety."

"Ah!" Bernard's hand closed very strongly upon hers. "He is not the only
person that suffers from that complaint, I think."

She smiled rather wanly. "I ought not to worry. It's wrong, isn't it?"

"It's unnecessary," he said. "And it's a handicap to progress. But it's
difficult not to when things go wrong, I admit. We need to keep a very
tight hold on faith. And even then--"

"Yes, even then--" Stella said, her lips quivering a little--"when the
one beloved is in danger, who can be untroubled?"

"We are all in the same keeping," said Bernard gently. "I think that's
worth remembering. If we can trust ourselves to God, we ought to be able
to trust even the one beloved to His care."

Stella's eyes were full of tears. "I am afraid I don't know Him well
enough to trust Him like that," she said.

Bernard leant towards her. "My dear," he said, "it is only by faith
that you can ever come to knowledge. You have to trust without
definitely knowing. Knowledge--that inner certainty--comes afterwards,
always afterwards. You can't get it for yourself. You can only pray for
it, and prepare the ground."

Her fingers pressed his feebly. "I wonder," she said, "if you have ever
known what it was to walk in darkness."

Bernard smiled. "Yes, I have floundered pretty deep in my time," he
said. "There's only one thing for it, you know; just to keep on till the
light comes. You'll find, when the lamp shines across the desert at
last, that you're not so far out of the track after all--if you're only
keeping on. That's the main thing to remember."

"Ah!" Stella sighed. "I believe you could help me a lot."

"Delighted to try," said Bernard.

But she shook her head. "No, not now, not yet. I want you--to take care
of Everard for me."

"Can't he take care of himself?" questioned Bernard. "I thought I had
taught him to be fairly independent."

"Oh, it isn't that," she said. "It is--it is--India."

He leaned nearer to her, the smile gone from his eyes. "I thought so,"
he said. "You needn't be afraid to speak out to me. I am discretion
itself, especially where he is concerned. What