all I do without you? You are
more necessary to me than ever now.'

She so seldom thought of herself that this speech took him by surprise.
There was a tone of reproach in her voice, as though she thought him
unkind for leaving her. Michael was not his ordinary calm self that
afternoon. For months he had dreaded to find himself alone with her; but
now the very sweetness of that loving reproach seemed too much for him.

'A man is not always master of himself,' Cyril had once said; and at
that moment Michael felt that it was no longer possible for him to be
silent. He could bear it no more.

'I shall stay away,' he said in a strangely-suppressed voice, 'because
it is only right for me to do so--because it is my duty to leave you.'

'Your duty to leave me,' she faltered. 'Oh, Michael, why?'

'Do you wish me to tell you?' he said, looking at her fully as he stood
opposite to her; and there was a gleam in the keen blue eyes that made
her suddenly avert her face. 'Is it possible that all these years you
have not known what you have been to me--that you have not guessed my
love?'

Then for the first time in her life she shrank from him.

'What do you mean?' she said helplessly. 'We have always loved each
other; you have been like my own brother, Michael.'

'Then I can be your brother no longer,' he returned passionately; 'from
a child you have been far dearer to me. I never remember the time since
I was a subaltern that I did not love you, and my love has grown every
year.'

'Do you mean that you cared for me as Cyril cared?'

But even as she asked the question he saw that her face was suffused
with a burning blush.

'I do mean it! From a child you have been the one woman in the world to
me--the only one I wished to make my wife.'

Then she covered her face with her hands, and he could see that she was
trembling from head to foot.

'It is too soon,' he heard her say; 'it is terribly soon;' and he knew
the shock of this discovery was very great.

'It is not too soon,' he said, sitting down beside her and trying to
draw away her hands. 'Audrey, my dearest, I cannot bear this. You must
not shrink from me so. Do not misunderstand me; I am asking you for
nothing. Surely you are not afraid of me--of Michael?'

'I think I am afraid of you,' she whispered. 'Oh, Michael, if this be
true! But I cannot--cannot believe it! Why have you never told me this
before? Why have you let me----'

And then she stopped, as though