speak to him as I might have done. It
alters everything; it makes everything harder. You are mistaken."

"I may be. Let us hope I am."

"How I wish I had never seen that possibility! I cannot believe it; yet
it will prevent me from looking honestly in his face, as I always have
done."

"Forget it. Let us speak only of ourselves."

But she was troubled, and Elgar, angry with himself, spoke impatiently.

"In pity for him, you would love me less. I see that."

"You are not yet satisfied? You find new ways of forcing me to say that
I love you. Seem to distrust me, that I may say it over and over; make
me believe you really doubt if I can be constant, just that I may hear
what my heart says in its distress, and repeat it all to you. Be a
little unkind to me, that I may show how your unkindness would wound
me, and may entreat you back into your own true self. You can do
nothing, say nothing, but I will make it afford new proofs of hew I
love you."

"I had rather you made yourself less dear to me. The time will be so
long. How can I live through it?"

"Will it not help you a little to help me? To know that you are unhappy
would make it so much longer to me, my love."

"It will be hell to live away from you! I cannot make myself another
man. If you knew what I have suffered only in these two days!"

"There was uncertainty."

"Uncertainty? Then what certainty could I ever have? Every hour spent
at a distance from you will be full of hideous misgivings. Remember
that every one will be doing the utmost to part us."

"Let them do the utmost twice over! You must have faith in me. Look
into my eyes. Is there no assurance, no strength for you? Do they look
too happy? That is because you are still here; time enough for sadness
when you are gone. Oh, you think too humbly of yourself! Having loved
you, and known your love, what else can the world offer me to live for?"

"Wherever you are, I must come often."

"Indeed you must, or for me too the burden will be heavier than I can
bear."

As the Denyers were coming home, it surprised them to pass, at a little
distance from the house, Clifford Marsh in conversation with the
gentleman who had called upon Miss Doran. Madeline, exercising her new
privilege of perfect _sang-froid_, took an opportunity not long after
to speak to Clifford in the drawing-room.

"Who was the gentleman we saw you with?"

"I met him at Pompeii, but didn't know his name till today. He's asked
me