"I wish I were," he answered, with a short, mirthless laugh. "I am sick to death of living; but no, I am not ill in the ordinary sense of the word. I am fortunate to have met you," he continued. "I have longed and yearned to see you alone, if only for a few minutes, to satisfy myself with my own eyes that you were happy." It was not quite clear to Hazel why he must see her alone to ascertain that fact, but she did not care to question him upon so delicate a point. "_Are_ you happy?" he asked, as she continued silent. "Oh yes, very, thank you!" she assured him fervently. But the assurance did not seem to gladden him. "So I hoped and supposed," he rejoined, with increased gloom. "And that being so," he added, after a pause, "what does one crushed spirit matter?" "Do you mean yours?" asked Hazel blankly. "I don’t blame you," he went on, evading the question. "From the first you tried to show me that my attentions were unwelcome, and I am a fool not to have overcome my feelings long ago." His words could leave no doubt in Hazel’s mind. He certainly was, or had been, in love. She was at a loss what to say to him, but she was, nevertheless, profoundly pitiful, for occasional glimpses of understanding were beginning to come to her; brief glimpses of slow-dawning light, that grew grey again before any vivid pitch was reached, were now and again permitted her youthful mind and tender sensibilities, rendering her capable of a depth of compassion toward the poor young man, that would surely have brought comfort to him, had she but expressed something of what she felt. And, all unknown to herself, it was Paul’s influence and Paul’s teaching that were thus awakening her woman’s heart. "I am dreadfully sorry if I have crushed your spirit," she said at length; "I never meant to. I cannot quite imagine how it has come about. You have always had me for a friend, and you have me still. Now you have another friend in him, haven’t you?" she added, seeking to cheer him. Digby groaned. Now indeed was he convinced that his suit was hopeless. Il she had spoken of "Mr. Charteris," or even of "Paul," it might conceivably mean that she had yet to learn her own mind; but when a girl alludes to "him" simply, that girl was lost for ever to Digby Travers. "You like him, don’t you?" Hazel pursued, slightly startled at the reception that met her question. "Oh yes, well enough, that is, very much," poor Digby stammered, writhing under her innocent and puzzled look. He could not, in justice to Paul, feel that the girl’s heart had been stolen from him, for he knew he had never for one moment possessed it. Yet there was always the possibility that she might ultimately have grown to love him, if Paul Charteris had not come between them. And now he was asked to look upon "him" as a friend!