She did not answer. She simply looked at him, while the tears rose softly in her clear eyes. The question seemed to hurt her. Yet there was neither petulance nor evasion. She was Laura, and not Laura--the pale sprite of herself. One might have fancied her clothed already in the heavenly super-sensual body, with the pure heart pulsing visibly through the spirit frame. Helbeck rose, closed the door softly, came back and stood before her, struggling to speak. But she intercepted him. There was a look of suffering, a frown. "I saw a man die yesterday," she said abruptly. "Did Polly tell you?" "I heard of the accident, and that you had stayed to comfort the child." "It seems very heartless, but somehow as we were in the train I had almost forgotten it. I was so glad to get away from Froswick--to be coming back. And I was very tired, of course, and never dreamt of anything going wrong. Oh, _no_! I haven't forgotten really--I never shall forget." She pressed her hands together shuddering. Helbeck was still silent. But it was a silence that pierced. Suddenly she flushed deeply. The spell that held her--that strange transparency of soul--broke up. "Naturally I was afraid lest Augustina should be anxious," she said hastily, "and lest it should be bad for her." Helbeck knelt down beside her. She sank back in her chair, staring at him. "You were glad to be coming back--to be coming here?" he said in his deep voice. "Is that true? Do you know that I have sat here all night--in misery?" The struggling breath checked the answer, cheeks and lips lost every vestige of their returning red. Only her eyes spoke. Helbeck came closer. Suddenly he snatched the little form to his breast. She made one small effort to free herself, then yielded. Soul and body were too weak, the ecstasy of his touch too great. * * * * * "You can't love me--you can't." She had torn herself away. They were sitting side by side; but now she would not even give him her hand. That one trembling kiss had changed their lives. But in both natures, passion was proud and fastidious from its birth; it could live without much caressing. As she spoke, he met her gaze with a smiling emotion. The long, stern face in its grizzled setting of hair and beard had suffered a transformation that made it almost strange to her. He was like a man loosed from many bonds, and dazzled by the effects of his own will. The last few minutes had made him young again. But she looked at him wistfully once or twice, as though her fancy nursed something which had grown dear to it. "You can't love me," she repeated; "when did you begin? You didn't love me yesterday, you know--nor the day before." "Why do you suppose I went away the day after the ghost?" he asked her slowly. "Because you had business, or you were tired of my very undesirable company." "Put it as you like! Do you explain my recent absences in the same way?"