His voice had grown serious; he went on with restrained fervor: “I know you promised your mother to keep them secret from every one except the man you should come to love. But death is an even stronger reason for speaking than love. And if you do not love me, I love you as your mother would have wished that you should be loved. Forgive me for telling you this in spite of the vow I made to you; but there are times at which one can keep silent no longer. I love you—I love you and I wish to save you—I love you. I cannot allow you to keep silent, for it would be a crime against yourself. Answer my questions. Perhaps a few words will be enough to enlighten me.” “Question me,” she murmured. “What passed during your last visit after your coming here with your mother? What scenes did you see? Where did your grandfather and his friend take you?” “Nowhere,” she said confidently. “I’m sure of having slept here, in a hammock, as I have done to-day. The others were talking. The two men were smoking. These are things which I had forgotten and which I now recall. I remember the smell of the tobacco and the noise of the uncorking of a bottle. And then—then—I was quite awake, and we had a meal. Outside, the sun was shining——” “The sun?” “Yes, it must have been the next day.” “The next day? You’re sure? Everything lies in this detail,” he said quickly. “Yes: I’m certain. I awoke here the next day, and, outside, the sun was shining. I see myself still here, yet it is somewhere else. I see the rocks, though they’re no longer in the same place.” “How? They’re no longer in the same place?” he said in bewildered accents. “No: the water was no longer washing the foot of them.” “The water was no longer washing the foot of the cliffs and yet you came out of this grotto?” he said. “I came out of this grotto. Yes: my grandfather led the way; my mother followed, holding me by the hand. It was slippery under our feet. Around us were odd-looking houses—ruins. And then came the chiming of the bells—the same bells we heard to-day.” “It is so—it certainly is so,” murmured Ralph. “Everything is in accordance with my supposition. There is no possible doubt about it.” A heavy silence fell on them. The water was lapping against the walls with a sinister sound. The table, the easel, the books, and the chairs were floating about. He had to sit on the end of the hammock crouched down under the granite ceiling. Outside, the dusk was mingling with the fading light. Of what use would the darkness be to him, however thick it might be? In what quarter was he to act? He cudgelled his brains desperately, trying to force them to discover the solution. Aurelie was half sitting up, and he guessed that her eyes were kind and affectionate. She took hold of one of his hands, bent down, and kissed it. “Heavens!” he cried. “What are you doing?” She murmured: “I love you.”