't advise you to begin;" and with that
he went on puffing away.

Brooke at last finished his smoke, after which he put his pipe in his
pocket, and then, throwing his head back, sat with his eyes
obstinately fixed on the ceiling.

Talbot remained in the same attitude, without moving. She had kept
her eyes all this time fixed on Brooke, and knew that he was avoiding
her glance. All the same, however, she continued watching him, and
was waiting patiently till she should catch his eye. But Brooke, as
though aware of her purpose, avoided her, and still locked away.

Thus these two sat in utter silence for a long time.

It was Talbot who first broke the silence.

"Brooke," said she, in a soft, low voice, which sounded like a sigh.

"Well, Talbot," said Brooke, in a voice which was strangely altered
from the somewhat hard tones of forced gayety in which he had last
been speaking.

"Brooke," said Talbot, "I am miserable."

Brooke was silent for a time. He made a movement, then checked
himself, and then said,

"Are you? Odd, too, isn't it?"

"I am miserable," said Talbot again; "and it is strange, for your
life has been saved, and we are out of immediate danger. Yet I am now
more miserable than I was last night when your life was in danger.
Can you tell me why it is so, Brooke?"

Again Brooke made a movement, which he checked, as before, by a
strong impulse.

"Give it up," said he, shortly.

"I know," said Talbot. "I'll tell you. It was this," and her voice
dropped as she spoke to a lower tone. "Last night I had made up my
mind to die for you, Brooke."

Brooke drew a long breath. For an instant his eyes lowered. They
caught the gaze which Talbot had fixed on him--deep, intense,
unfathomable. It was but for a moment, and then it was as though he
made a violent effort, and tore them away.

One of his hands caught at the other, and held it in a tight grip.

"Too much Talbot in that," he said at length, in a harsh voice. "If
you go on dying for people, what'll become of you?"

"And now," continued Talbot, in a dreamy way--"now, when suspense and
danger seem over, I am miserable--simply miserable, Brooke. Why
should my mind have such strange alternations, feelings so
contradictory, so unreasonable? I ought to be happy--why am I not?"

"Now," said Brooke, in the same harsh tone as before, "you're
beginning to talk metaphysics, and I'm all at sea there."

Talbot was silent.

Brooke began to sing:

"How