aid, "if I have anything to
forgive."

But in her tone was the resentment of a woman who does not forgive. Yet
he had been right. He had sacrificed himself; and if he had chosen to
suffer? But what about the blue lines under her dear eyes, the hollows
in her dear face?

"You have been unhappy," he said.

"Well," she laughed, "I wasn't exactly pleased to lose my fortune."

"Dear," he said desperately, "won't you try to forgive me? It seemed
right. How could I sacrifice you to a penniless----"

"I'd enough for both--or thought I had," she said obstinately.

"Ah, but don't you see----"

"I see that you cared more for not being thought mercenary by Stephen
than----"

"Forgive me!" he pleaded; "take me back."

"Oh no"--she tossed her bright head--"Stephen might think me mercenary;
I couldn't bear _that_. You see you are richer than I am now. How much
did you tell me you made a year by your writing? How can I sacrifice you
to a penniless----"

"Rosamund, do you mean it?"

"I do mean it. And, besides----"

"What?"

"I don't love you any more." The bright head drooped and turned away.

"I have killed your love. I don't wonder. Forgive me for bothering you.
Good-bye!"

"What are you going to do?" she asked suddenly.

"Oh, don't be afraid, nothing desperate. Only work hard and try to
forgive you."

"Forgive _me_? You have nothing to forgive."

"No, nothing--if you had left off loving me? Have you? Is it true?"

"Good-bye!" she said. "You are staying at the 'Ship'?"

"Yes."

"Don't let's part in anger. I shall be on the sea-wall in the morning.
Let's part friends, then."

In the morning Andrew went into the fresh air. The trees, still gold in
calmer homes, stood almost leafless in wild, windy Lymchurch. He stood
in the sunlight, and in spite of himself some sort of gladness came to
him through the crisp October air. Then the _ping_ of a bicycle bell
sounded close behind him, and there was Stephen.

They shook hands, and Stephen's eyebrows went up.

"Is it all right?" he asked. "I knew you'd come here when I came home
last night and found you'd had my letter."

"No; it's not all right. She won't have me."

"Why?"

"Pride or revenge, or something. Don't let's talk about it."

"All right. I want some breakfast; we left town by the 7.20. I'm
starving."

"Who are 'we'?"

"Miss Grant and I. I thought Rosamund would be wanting a _chaperon_ or a
bridesmaid, or something, so I brought her and her b