But Margaret did not come. When the sail finally disappeared, Garda came back, bright and happy. Then, as she saw her friend's face, her own face changed to sudden sympathy. "Margaret," she said, taking her hands, "I cannot bear to see you so distressed." "How can I help it?" murmured Margaret. She looked exhausted. "You wouldn't care about all this as you do--care so deeply, I mean--if it were not for Evert," Garda went on; "it's that that hurts you so. Don't care so much about Evert; throw him over, as I have done." "It's true that I care about Evert--about his happiness," answered Margaret, in the same lifeless tone; "I have missed happiness myself, I don't want him to miss it." Here she raised her eyes, she looked at Garda for a long moment in silence. The girl smiled under this inspection; she leaned forward, and put her soft cheek against Margaret's, and her arm round Margaret's shoulders with a caressing touch. A revulsion of feeling swept over the elder woman, she took the girl's face in both her hands, and looked at it. "Promise me to say nothing to Evert, not one word--I mean about this renewal of fancy you have for Lucian," she said, quickly. "You call it fancy--" "Never mind what I call it. Promise." "Why, that's as you choose, I left it to you," Garda answered. "I choose, then, that you say nothing. You're not really in earnest, you don't know what you're talking about. It's a girl's foolishness; you will come to your senses in time." "Is that the way you arrange it? Any way you like. Perhaps you really do know more about me than I know about myself," said Garda, with a momentary curiosity as to her own characteristics. "We must go back," said Margaret, her fatigue again showing in her voice. Garda put her arm round her as a support, and, thus linked, they walked back through the long avenue over the silver lace-work cast by the moon upon the path. Carlos Mateo, who had been off on unknown excursions, joined them again, issuing in a ghostly manner from the Spanish-bayonet walk, and falling into his usual place behind them. The linked figures crossed the open space, which was again as white as snow with black trees at the edges, and went softly in through the unfastened door. "I'm going to get you a glass of wine," Garda whispered. Margaret declined the wine, and they separated, each going noiselessly to her own room. But, half an hour later, Garda stole in and leaned over her friend. "You're crying," she said--"I knew it! Oh, Margaret, Margaret, why do you suffer so?" "Don't mind," said Margaret, controlling herself. "I have my own troubles, Garda, and must bear them as I can. Go back to your room."