It was, of course, the cry of the coward--the despairing cry of the man who, having failed, shifts the blame on Fate, and cries out what might have been, had everything been different! But of course she did not know that; her young heart warmed to him at that blessed thought that she might have helped him--that she might even help him now. She was lonely--as he was; her life seemed to have gone down into the shadows--as his had done. She looked at him with shining eyes. "Oh, it isn't too late, Charlie; you're young, and you can fight the world easily enough. All your energy will come back. You must fight." "Not alone, dear." He said it then, as he said most things, on the impulse of the moment; perhaps because her eyes were shining as they looked into his; perhaps because her mouth was soft and tender as it pleaded with him. He dropped the hands upon her shoulders to her elbows, and drew her towards him. "Not alone, Moira; I haven't the strength." "But how could I help you?" she whispered. "As only a woman can help a man," he went on more eagerly, pleased with the sudden idea that had come to him, and almost feeling that it had been in his mind for a long time. "I love you, Moira; with you beside me I can fight such a battle as never man fought yet. You shall help me; we'll fight together." "But, Charlie"--her hands were on his breast, and she was holding him away for a moment--"we are so poor, both of us--so young. After all, although I want to help you--why should I add to your burden? How should we live?" "Oh, the old parrot cry of living!" he exclaimed, getting his arms about her, and drawing her towards him. "Look here, my dear; the world has behaved pretty roughly to both of us; to me most of all. I've been a bit wild, I know; but no one has properly understood me yet. I can do big things; I can do anything; but I want steadying. Besides--I've always loved you, you know; didn't I hunt for you in London, directly I knew you were here? Say you love me, dear." "Of course--of course I love you, Charlie," she faltered. "At least, I think----" "Oh, never mind what you think," he exclaimed impetuously. "The words are enough--you've said you love me. Kiss me; I'll be awfully good to you--and you'll find you've made a new man of me. Don't look so frightened; I've been meaning to say this to you for a long time." Her lips met his, but with no ardour in the touch; she seemed to be thinking. He kissed her again, and strove to look into her eyes; and asked a little roughly what was the matter. She looked up into his face; perhaps she strove to read there some fulfilment of the dreams that had been hers during these past few years; perhaps she remembered, in that hour, certain words of Old Paul's--spoken a long, long time ago; they seemed to rise like an echo in her heart now. "What will love do to you in the big world, Moira?"