And now her head was on his breast, and his kisses on her cheek. "Cruel doubts tortured me often," he whispered, "for how could I tell what changes time might not have wrought? It had left _my_ love untouched, but what right had I to expect that you might not have lost the feeling you had--yes, I did know you once had for me? Leo, darling, can you think how terrible it was to know that, and have to affect ignorance? To have every beat of my heart go out towards you, and to feign indifference? To meet your poor, piteous eyes, and keep the answer to their appeal out of mine? Not that you meant to show, dear; oh, no, you never dreamed your secret was revealed--and it was _not_, to others,--but to me----" "Oh, Paul! Oh, Paul!" "Hush, you were not to blame. It was no fault of yours, you poor, brave, little thing. You played your part nobly----" "Oh, no--oh, no." "You may think not, but I know you did. I know, for I shared the struggle. There was once," he paused and considered, "there was that day when we were together in the green-house. You were cold and careful at first, but gradually the mask wore off and--and mine too slipped. We were happy, too happy. I think we both knew it. We did not look at each other as we came away, but I gave you a red vine leaf, and I saw that you did not put it with the others, even with those I had picked for you before." "I have it now, Paul." "After that, I began to suspect myself. I had hardly done so before, for there was only a vague sense of disappointment, and dissatisfaction with things as they were. Your sister was not--but no matter. I reasoned myself out of this over and over again. I argued that I was not well, was not fully recovered from my late attack of fever--in short, that I was hipped, and would certainly take a more cheerful view of things as my strength came back. I really had been rather bad, you know--and was low and easily depressed. But what might have opened my eyes to the truth was that all depression vanished, and all inertia ceased, directly _you_ appeared,--and _that_ was after I had ceased to hear your gay little laugh and merry voice. For though you soon grew grave as myself, my heart would jump when you came into the room, or when I came upon you in some distant corner, not knowing you were there." "Paul, Paul, my heart jumped too." He drew her closer--ah, she was very close now. "I scarcely ever spoke to you, do you remember? We avoided each other; and I cannot even now imagine how I came to know you so well,"--and so on, and so on.... Presently Leo had a question to ask. Where had he been during those three blank days when no communications from Boldero Abbey reached him? He had disposed of them in a fashion that satisfied others, but not her.