An agitation he could barely control took possession of him. All day long he had been scourging himself for the incident of the night before. They had not met since. He looked at her now humbly--with a deep sadness--and waited for what she had to say. "Shall we go into the drawing-room? Is there a light?" "We will take one." He lifted a lamp, and she led the way. Without another word, she opened the door into the deserted room. Nobody had entered it since the orphanage function, when some extra service had been hastily brought in to make the house habitable. The mass of the furniture was gathered into the centre of the carpet, with a few tattered sheets flung across it. The gap made by the lost Romney spoke from the wall, and the windows stood uncurtained to the night. Laura, however, found a chair and sank into it. He put down the lamp, and stood expectant. They were almost in their old positions. How to find strength and voice! That room breathed memories. When she did speak, however, her intonation was peculiarly firm and clear. "You gave me a rebuke last night, Mr. Helbeck--and I deserved it!" He made a sudden movement--a movement which seemed to trouble her. "No!--don't!"--she raised her hand involuntarily--"don't please say anything to make it easier for me. I gave you great pain. You were right--oh! quite right--to express it. But you know----" She broke off suddenly. "You know, I can't talk--if you stand there like that! Won't you come here, and sit down"--she pointed to a chair near her--"as if we were friends still? We can be friends, can't we? We ought to be for Augustina's sake. And I very much want to discuss with you--seriously--what I have to say." He obeyed her. He came to sit beside her, recovering his composure--bending forward that he might give her his best attention. She paused a moment--knitting her brows. "I thought afterwards, a long time, of what had happened. I talked, too, to Augustina. She was much distressed--she appealed to me. And I saw a great deal of force in what she said. She pointed out that it was absurd for me to judge before I knew; that I never--never--had been willing to know; that everything--even the Catholic Church"--she smiled faintly--"takes some learning. She pleaded with me--and what she said touched me very much. I do not know how long I may have to stay in your house--and with her. I would not willingly cause you pain. I would gladly _understand_, at least, more than I do--I should like to learn--to be instructed. Would--would Father Leadham, do you think, take the trouble to correspond with me--to point me out the books, for instance, that I might read?" Helbeck's black eyes fastened themselves upon her. "You--you would like to correspond with Father Leadham?" he repeated, in stupefaction.