"Yes," said Bice after a moment's pause. "Oliver forbade me to speak, but I don't see that he knows best. I don't know who to consult. I asked Mr Ibbetson, and he seemed to think it all very bad indeed." She went on hurriedly. "There were some things I could not tell him--but you! Oh, I am very, very miserable. Do you think it will be very ungrateful of me if Mr Trent saves Clive and yet I do not marry him?" "Is that what he wishes?" "Yes. He says he risks everything--that it is only for me." "And you don't love him?" "Oh, no, no, no!" The girl shivered as she spoke. There was a little pause, then Phillis said-- "How long has he been asking you to do this?" "I don't know," Bice said, letting her hands drop wearily. "Ever since he brought us the bad news of Clive, I suppose. But it is in the last few days that he has said the most, and every day it seems to grow worse and worse. To-night I must tell him." Phillis took her hands in hers and looked into her face. "You must tell him you will not marry him," she said quietly. The girl's face flushed with sudden joy, then the colour faded quite away. "Ah! you don't know," she said, shaking her head. "So much I do know. Nothing that you can tell me can make wrong right. But perhaps you will let me hear more." "Wrong?" repeated Bice, looking at her. To her, poor child, it seemed that she was only shrinking from a duty, from the stern call to self-sacrifice. That there could be any higher principle, that no aim, whether we call it self-sacrifice, or self-surrender, or anything else, can sanctify one step taken out of the right road, she did not realise. All her life she had been brought up to think of right and wrong as having somewhat hazy outlines. As she told Clive's story over again, perhaps she dwelt more on the fear of disgrace than on his sin. But she could not help noticing the look of pain which gathered in Phillis's brown eyes. She stopped and sighed. "Now you are shocked," she said. "So was Mr Ibbetson. You think it is hopeless." "Wait a moment," said Phillis, "let me think." They walked on silently beneath the trees; the grass near them was lilac with autumnal crocuses, a great crimson rose swung itself down from a pole. "I wonder if I am right," Phillis said, hesitatingly. "It seems to me there might be some mistake. Mr Trent may not know, and you have no right to think hard things of your brother without proof. Surely you will ask him, ask him directly." "But Oliver said--" "Oh, never mind," said Phillis, with a touch of impatience. "Tell him that you can't follow his advice in that respect. Suppose it is not so bad as he imagines, I don't see how you can expect Mr Masters to forgive your want of confidence. No, be open and write. Perhaps he can clear himself. At any rate do not marry without love. If Mr Trent is an honourable man, he will not attempt to take advantage of your anxiety."