"I think so too," said Lord Braydon. "Come at six. I will undertake that you shall see her." How Bellairs spent the intervening hours he could never remember. He did not go back to the hotel; he must have wandered all day along the river bank. Yet he felt neither the heat, nor any fatigue, nor any hunger. At six o'clock he reached the dahabeeyah. Lady Betty was sitting alone on the deck. She looked very pale and grave. "My father and mother and Clarice have gone up to the hotel," she said. "That Austrian is playing again this evening." "Is he?" Bellairs answered. He sat down beside her and tried to take her hand. But she would not let him. "No," she said. "No, it's no use. I have made a ghastly mistake, but I will not make another. Oh, forgive me, do forgive me!" "How can I? If you will not try to love me my life is ruined." "Don't say that. It's no use to try to love. You know that. We must just let ourselves alone. Love comes, or hate, just as God wills it. We can only accept our fate." "As God wills," Bellairs said passionately; "why do you say that, when you know it is not true?" "Not true--Mr Bellairs!" "Yes. If you echoed the will of God how could I blame you? We must all do that--at least, when we are good. And those of us who are wicked I suppose echo the Devil. But you--what do you echo?" "I--I echo no one. I don't understand you." "But you shall, before it is too late. Betty, be yourself. Emancipate your soul. You are the echo of that woman, of Clarice. Don't you see it? Don't you know it? You are her echo--and she hates me!" Betty drew back from him--she was evidently alarmed. "Are you mad?" she said. "Why do you say such things to me? Clarice and I love each other, it is true, but our real natures are totally different. She does not hate you, nor do I. She has never said one word against you to me. She has always told me how much she liked you. What are you saying?" "The truth!" "I--her echo! Why, then--then if that were the case she must have loved you, or thought she loved you. Do you dare to tell me that?" "I do not say that," Bellairs answered hopelessly. "Of course not. The idea is so absurd. Clarice--oh! how can you talk like this? And if I am only an echo, as you call it, how can you say you care for me, care for another woman's shadow? You do not love me." "I do--with all my heart." "And yet you say I am nothing, that I have not even a heart of my own, that I love or hate at the will of another." "Forgive me, forgive me! I don't know what I say. I only know I love you." Her face softened. "And you deserve to be loved," she said; "but I--it is so horrible--I cannot!" Suddenly Bellairs caught her in his arms. "You shall," he exclaimed, "you shall. I will make you." But she pushed him back with a strange strength, and her face hardened till he scarcely recognised it. "Don't do that--don't touch me--or you'll make me hate you," she said vehemently.