She hung with a kind of happy languor in the man’s arms now that her heart could unburden itself of all bitterness. The mouth had softened and was no longer petulant. Their eyes held each other in one long, steady look. Neither desired to have it otherwise. “Bess.” She thrilled a little, and colored under her brown skin. “You are safe with me.” “You will not send me away? You will not send me away?” Jeffray drew a deep breath, and knew in his heart that the riddle was solving itself as he had prayed. “How can I send you away from me?” he said. “Mr. Jeffray!” “Do you not know? My God, I ought not to speak to you like this! And yet—I cannot help myself.” She turned suddenly in his arms, red to the bosom. “It is the dream,” she said. “We cannot help it; no, we cannot kill the truth.” “The dream?” “The dream I had on the saint’s night of you at Holy Cross. It has come true, in spite of Dan. I would not change it for all the gold in the wide world.” Suddenly she put Jeffray’s arms gently away from her, and drew apart with a simple dignity that preserved her womanhood from any air of wantonness. Jeffray felt the subtle change in her, and respected her the more for it. He took his inspiration from her on the instant. “Bess,” he said, “do with me what you will. My honor is yours. You will trust me?” She smiled at him, a soft light of pride and joy shining in her eyes. “I will do all that you tell me,” she answered, with a sense of dependence. “You are tired.” “No, not now.” So engrossed were they with each other that neither Bess nor Jeffray had heard the distant sound of wheels as the Hardacre coach rolled up from the lodge-gates towards the priory. The road was hidden from the two in the oak-wood. Only the gables and the tall chimneys showed between the trunks of the trees. Jeffray took the path that led through beech-thickets to the north wall of the great garden. Bess set herself at his side as though this slightly built man held the threads of her fate firmly in his delicate yet sinewy hands. They walked together under the trees with the sunlight splashing through the fresh, green foliage, Bess telling Jeffray of her night’s adventure in Pevensel, and of the perils she had dared thereby. They crossed the wooded hollow of the park, and entered the garden by a little gate in the red brick wall. To Jeffray the whole passage seemed a dream—strange, tragic, yet infinitely sweet. His hand touched Bess’s as they walked side by side amid the rose-trees. His fingers closed on hers for one swift moment, tightened as his eyes met hers, and then relaxed with pure regret. They approached the stairway leading to the terrace, holding a little apart, yet very conscious of each other’s nearness.