of the past. Yet it
was of another than herself that she wrote; she felt that even in her
memory of woe.

They faced each other again. Beatrice's eyes were distended; their
depths lightened.

'I am glad! I am glad you met her before it was too late!'

Her voice quivered upon a low, rich note. Such an utterance was the
outcome of a nature strong to the last limit of self-conquest. Wilfrid
heard and regarded her with a kind of fear; her intensity passed to him;
he trembled.

'I have nothing to pardon,' she continued. 'You were hers long before my
love had touched your heart. You have tried to love me; but this has
come soon enough to save us both.'

And again--

'If I did not love you, I should act selfishly; but self is all gone
from me. In this moment I could do greater things to help you to
happiness. Tell me; have you yet spoken to--to the others?'

'To no one.'

'Then do not. It shall all come from me. No one shall cast upon you a
shadow of blame. You have done me no wrong; you were hers, and you
wronged her when you tried to love me. I will help you--at least I can
be your friend. Listen; I shall see her. It shall be I who have brought
you together again--that is how the shall all think of it. I shall see
her, and as your friend, as the only one to whom you have yet spoken. Do
you understand me, Wilfrid? Do you see that I make the future smooth for
her and you? She must never know what _we_ know, And the others--they
shall do as I will; they shall not dare to speak one word against you.
What right have they, if _I_ am--am glad?'

He stood in amaze. It was impossible to doubt her sincerity; her face,
the music of her voice, the gestures by which her eagerness expressed
herself, all were too truthful. What divine nature had lain hidden in
this woman! He gazed at her as on a being more than mortal.

'How can I accept this from you?' he asked hoarsely.

'Accept? How can you refuse? It is my right, it is my will! Would you
refuse me this one poor chance of proving that my love was unselfish? I
would have killed myself to win a tender look from you at the last
moment, and you shall not go away thinking less of me than I deserve.
You know already that I am not the idle powerless woman you once thought
me; you shall know that I can do yet more. If _she_ is noble in your
eyes, can _I_ consent to be less so?'

Passion the most exalted possessed her. It infected Wilfrid. He felt
that the common laws of intercou