"Answer me, Enderby--answer me this instant," Hope cried, advancing to place himself between Enderby and Margaret, whom he saw now entering the ruin, and rapidly approaching them. "You are right," said Enderby, aloud. "You may trust me." "Philip, what am I to think?" said Margaret, walking quite up to him, and looking intently in his face. "I hardly know whether we are living, and in our common world." Hope shuddered to see the glance she cast round the dreary place. Philip half turned away and did not speak. "Why will not you speak? What reason can there be for this silence? When you last left me, you feared your sister might make mischief between us; and then I promised that if such a thing could happen as that I should doubt you, I would tell you my doubt as soon as I was aware of it myself; and now you are angry with me--you would strike me dead this moment, if you dared--and you will not speak." "Go now, Margaret," said Hope, gently. "He cannot speak to you now: take my word for it that he cannot." "I will not go. I will take nobody's word. What are you, Edward, between me and him? It is my right to know how I have offended him. I require no more than my right. I do not ask him to love me; nor need I, for he loves me still--I know it and feel it." "It is true," said Enderby, mournfully gazing upon her agitated countenance, but retreating as he gazed. "I do not ask to be yours, any farther than I am now--now when our affections are true, and our word is broken. But I do insist upon your esteem, as far as I have ever possessed it. I have done nothing to forfeit it; and I demand your reasons for supposing that I have." "Not now," said Philip, faintly, shrinking in the presence of the two concerning whom he entertained so painful a complexity of feelings. There stood Hope, firm as the pillar behind him. There stood Margaret, agitated, but unabashed as the angels that come in dreams. Was it possible that these two had loved? Could they then stand before him thus? But Mrs Grey--what she admitted!--this, in confirmation with other evidence, could not be cast aside. Yet Philip dared not speak, fearing to injure beyond reparation. "Oh, Margaret, not now!" he faintly repeated. "My heart is almost broken! Give me time." "You have given me none. Let that pass, however. But I cannot give you time. I cannot hold out--who can hold out, under injurious secrecy-- under mocking injustice--under torturing doubt from the one who is pledged to the extreme of confidence? Let us once understand one another, and we will never meet more, and I will endure whatever must be endured, and we shall have time--Oh, what a weary time!--to learn to submit. But not till you have given me the confidence you owe--the last I shall ever ask from you--will I endure one moment's suspense. I will not give you time." "Yes, Margaret, you will--you must," said Hope. "It is hard, very hard; but Enderby is so far right."