"No, no!" I said, "but for not loving—for misunderstanding, and slandering, and tormenting thee!" "Nay, dearest Helena!" she said, at once tenderly and playfully,—"Thou didst not slander me. It was that other Sybil with whom thou wert so angry,—the Sybil who was not true to her lord, and was about to forsake him. And I am sure she deserved every word. But that was not I, Helena." "But how my words must have tortured thee!" "Not in one light, dear. It was a rich ray of hope and comfort, to know, through all my pain, how true the dear little sister was to Guy,—what a comfort she was likely to be to him,—that whoever forsook him, his Lynette would never do it. Now finish thine undressing. There is one other thing I want to say to thee, but let me see thee lying at rest first." She sat down on the settle, just as she was, while Bertrade finished undressing me. Then they all said "Good night," and left me alone with Sybil. "Helena, darling!" she said, as she sat beside me, my hand clasped in hers,—"this one thing I wish thee to know. I could not spare thee this pain. If the faintest idea of my project had ever occurred to Count Raymond,—though it had been but the shadow of a shade,—it would have been fatal. Had he guessed it, I could never have carried it out.[#] And he has eyes like a lynx, and ears like a hare. And, little sister,—thy face talks! Thou couldst not, try as thou wouldst, have kept that knowledge out of thine eyes. And the Count would have read it there, with as little trouble as thou wouldst see a picture. The only chance, therefore, to preserve my crown for my lord, and him for me, was to leave him and thee in ignorance. Trust me, it cost me more than it did you!" [#] The extraordinary item of this series of incidents (which are historical) is, that Count Raymond did not guess it. Ah! had she not said that once before,—"Trust me!" And I had not trusted her. Yet how well she deserved it! I hardly know what I sobbed out. I only know that I was fully and undeservedly forgiven, that I was loved through all my mistrust and unworthiness and cruel anger,—and that Sybil knew how I loved her. Then she left me to rest. But as I lay there in the darkness, a thought came to me, which seemed to light up the dark wilderness of my life,—as though a lamp had been suddenly flashed into a hidden chamber. What if it be just so with God? And it seemed to me as if He stood there, at the summit of that ladder which Monseigneur Saint Jacob was permitted to behold: and He looked down on me, with a look tenderer and sweeter even than Sybil’s; and He held forth His hands to me, as she had done, but in these there were the prints of the cruel nails,—and He said—