a sob impeded her utterance.

'I was never in a position to tell you so,' he returned, with his old
gentleness. 'For years I doubted whether I should ever be well enough to
marry. Do you think I would have condemned my wife, even if I could have
won her, to a life of nursing? I was far too proud to demand such a
sacrifice of any woman. And then I was a poor man, Audrey.'

'What did that matter?' she replied, with a touch of scorn in her voice;
'Cyril was poor too.'

'You must not think I blame him, if I say we were very different men. I
was prouder than he, and I knew your generous nature too well to take
advantage of it. When the money came it was too late: you were engaged
to him. I had only to hide my pain, so that you should not be made
unhappy by it. I thought I was a bad actor; but you never guessed my
secret--you would not have guessed it now.'

'How could I?' she returned simply; 'I was only thinking of Cyril.'

'Yes, and you are thinking of him now; he is as much my rival now he is
dead as when he was living. That is why I am going away, because I can
bear it no longer.'

'Must you go?'

Audrey's voice sank so that he could hardly hear the faint words.
Perhaps she herself did not know what they implied; she was too shaken
and miserable. That Michael, her own dear Michael, should have suffered
all these years, and that she had never known it! Cyril was in his
grave--he no longer needed her--what did it matter if the idea of
another man wooing her so soon gave her pain, if she could only comfort
Michael? But happily for them both, Michael guessed at that secret
thought, and as he caught the words the flush mounted to his brow.'

'Yes, I must go,' he said firmly; 'it is my best, my only chance. In my
absence you will think of me more kindly. The old Michael--who was your
friend, your faithful, devoted friend--will unconsciously blend with the
new Michael, who you know is your lover. There,' he continued in a
pained voice, 'as I speak the word you shrink again from me; and yet I
am asking you nothing. Dear, if you were to promise me this moment that
you would be my wife, if you were to tell me that you would try to love
me as I wish to be loved, I would not marry you! No--though you are
dearer to me than anything in life--I would not marry you!'

'Do you not wish me to try, then?' she asked, rather bewildered by this
strange wooing.

Was it because Cyril was young that she had never feared him as she
f