"You had plenty to think of," she said. "Amethyst, have you quite said yes?" "No," said Amethyst petulantly, "I haven't." "Kiss me, hold me!" whispered Una, nestling up to her. "Then I can tell you. I told Sylvester Riddell about that day, I made him believe that he saw me. And there's not one of them as much in love with you as he is. That's the real thing. That's how I fainted, it was so hard." "Oh, my dear child, let the past alone. What does it matter?" said Amethyst, though with a great throb at her heart. "That's all too late, all done with, that old time." There was a minute's silence, then Una whispered-- "Amethyst, love me--I must tell--he came--Tony. Done with? Oh no, no,--it has been burning me up. But I cried out, and there came like a great light in my heart of a sudden, and for a moment I hated him like a fiend; and I escaped, and got to you. But oh--my life to come--my life to come! I can't be glad that He saved me! But He did!" She pressed her face into Amethyst's neck, kissing her with burning lips. "Christ came between," she said. "He took me from him." The tone of intense conviction awed Amethyst all the more, that it was so quiet and sad. She was greatly shocked at the revelation of Una's trial, and reproached herself for her failure as guard or guide. Nothing however but tender soothing was possible now, and Una lay quite passive, till her throbbing pulses grew quieter, and at last she seemed to fall asleep. Then Amethyst stole over to the open window, and looked across the square. The midsummer dawn was stealing over the sky, the sound of the dance music at the ball mingled with the twitter of the London sparrows. She could see the blaze of light in the houses opposite. Her own fate pressed so upon her that she could scarcely think of Una's, save with a sort of half-incredulous surprise. If she herself was tempted--if this that she purposed was a sin against herself, no angel with a flaming sword would stop her way. Was it indeed so? She had been stopped, with the words of self-committal upon her lips, and, in the moment's pause, had come upon her a revulsion of feeling almost as complete as that which Una had described. Sir Richard's momentary want of tact in pressing her, the sudden recall of the past by Una's reference to it--Suddenly all her philosophy, her good sense, and her surface contentment fell away, and over her there came with a rush the thought, the feeling rather, of that other night,--of Lucian's boyish wooing, of his first kiss, of her own rapturous joy. Her strong nerves gave way, and sinking into a chair she wept silently, but with a passion of anguish, for the days that were gone for ever. A tap at the door roused her. She hurried to open it, and there stood Tory, who, at her sign of silence, caught her hand and pulled her across the passage into her own room.