There was silence for a while, and then the girl began recounting in a low voice the steps which one by one had led her to the present moment. She did not find it easy. It was hard to forget that under Marion's kind and grave attention there must be, for all her love, the little barrier raised by the dissentient voice of her conscience. It had been much easier to be quite frank with Isabella, whose love for Francis swept aside every scruple, every obstacle, but with Marion it was different. It was not that she could not understand the power of love, or was incapable of sacrificing herself on love's altar; she was essentially a woman who knew love at its very best and strongest, and who would at any time have laid down her life for the beloved; but there was another thing more precious to her than life, and that was righteousness. She had in her some of the stuff of which martyrs were made, and she would have torn her heart out by the roots sooner than have stepped into happiness over the grave of a principle. And to her, at any rate, it was clear that in this case a very precious principle was being violated, for the whole matter hung upon a deception. Truth was right, and untruth was wrong, and her whole heart was bent upon bringing Philippa to a correct vision of right. "My dearest," she said, as Philippa ceased speaking, "you say that he is better and stronger now. Well, then, tell him the truth." "I cannot do that," replied the girl firmly. "It would only make him very unhappy, even if he were strong enough to bear it." "It might make him unhappy just for the time," rejoined Marion quickly. "But surely, oh, surely that would be better than the greater unhappiness of knowing you have deceived him. For he must find out. You cannot possibly guard him against enlightenment. Why, any day when he is able to go out he might meet some one who would make some remark quite by chance which would betray you. He needs you, he is to a certain extent dependent on you; once he knew he would--in a little while if not at once--turn to you for comfort." "I love him too much to hurt him." "I believe you love him, and I am sorry." "Why are you sorry?" "Because this love must bring you pain; but believe me, dearest Philippa, for his sake it would be kinder to tell him." "I cannot see it," answered the girl rather hotly. "He is absolutely happy, absolutely contented. He knows I love him. The fact that he has made a mistake hurts nobody." "There can be no blessing on a love which is not based on truth," said Marion gently. "You speak as if I were defrauding some one. There is no one else to be considered. Phil is dead and gone, and the whole matter rests between him and me." "You are defrauding him and you are defrauding yourself of the highest and best part of love, and what love should mean--confidence and trust! Philippa, let me tell him. Let me tell him, and explain your pity which misled you and which grew into love for him."