An hour later Berwick was gone, as Barbara believed in all sincerity, for ever. He knew better, but even he felt inclined to try another dose of that absence, of that absorption in the business that he loved, to compel forgetfulness. It was clear--so he told himself when rushing back to Chillingworth through the December night air--it was clear that what this woman wanted was a stone image, not a man, for her friend! For a while, perhaps for half the time he had been with her, standing by the mantel-piece while she sat two or three yards off, there had been a truce of God. Berwick had thought out a certain line of action, and he tried to be, as some hidden instinct told him she wished to see him, once more the tender, self-less, sexless friend. He even brought his lips to mutter something like a prayer for forgiveness, and the tears came into her eyes as with uplifted hand she checked the words. Poor Barbara! She was so divinely happy, for his mere presence satisfied her heart. She had never known him quite so gentle, quite so submissive, as to-day. So glad had she been to see him that for a moment she had felt tempted to show him how welcome he was! But he had chosen,--and she was deeply grateful to him for this--to behave as if he had only parted from her the day before. Fletchings, all that happened there, was to be as if it had not been--as if the scene in the music gallery had been blotted out from their memories. Then came an allusion on his part to his forthcoming visit to Scotland, and to the invitation which he knew his sister had been at some pains to procure for Mrs. Rebell, and which Barbara would receive the next morning. "I cannot accept it; it is very kind of Miss Berwick, but how could I leave my god-mother again so soon?" "Is that the only reason?" he said, and she heard with beating heart the under-current of anger, of suppressed feeling in his voice. "If so, I am sure I can make it all right. It would only be ten days, and Madame Sampiero would like you to meet the people who will be there. But perhaps"--he came nearer and stood glowering down at her--"perhaps that is not your only reason!" And Barbara, looking up at him with beseeching eyes, shook her head. "Do you mean"--Berwick spoke so quietly that his tone deceived her, and made her think him in amicable agreement with herself--"Do you mean that you do not wish to find yourself again under the same roof with me? Did what happened at Fletchings make that difference?" She hesitated most painfully. "I have been very unhappy," she whispered at last, "I know we have both regretted----"