'My darling, are you not thinking of yourself at all?' 'Of myself? No, mother. Why should I think of myself? I have you and father and Michael--you will all comfort me; but who will comfort him?' 'His Heavenly Father, Audrey.' 'Oh yes, you are right; but do young men think as we do? Cyril is good, but he never speaks of these things. He is not like Michael.' 'It was trouble that taught Michael.' 'Yes, I know; but I would fain have spared my poor Cyril such a bitter lesson. Mother, I want you to tell them all not to talk to me--I mean Michael and Gage and Percival; I could not bear it. As I told father, I shall never give him up. If he goes away, I must bid him good-bye; but if he will write to me I shall answer his letters.' 'I do not think your father would approve of that, Audrey. My child, consider--would it not be better, and more for Cyril's good, that you should give him up entirely?' 'No, mother; I do not think so. I believe in my heart that the knowledge that I am still true to him will be his only earthly comfort. No one knows him as I do; his nature is very intense. He is almost as intense as Michael, and that is saying a great deal.' 'My love, will you let your mother say one thing to you?--that I think you are making a grievous mistake, and that your father thinks so too.' 'I know it, mother, and it pains me to differ from you both in this; but you will never convince me. I plighted my troth to Cyril because I loved him dearly, and nothing will change that love. It is quite true,' she continued dreamily, as though she were following out some train of habitual thought, 'that I have often asked myself if I loved him in the same way in which other girls cared for their lovers--as Gage did for Percival, for example--if mine were not too quiet and matter-of-fact an attachment; and I have never been able to answer myself satisfactorily.' 'Have you not, Audrey?' 'No, mother dear; but of course this is in confidence: it must be sacred to you and me. I think I am different from most girls. I have never wished to be married; and dear as Cyril is to me, the thought of my wedding-day has always oppressed me. I have made him unhappy sometimes, because he saw that I shrank from it.' Mrs. Ross felt a quick sense of relief that almost amounted to joy. Was Audrey in love with him, after all? She had never heard a girl talk so strangely. What an unutterable blessing it would be to them all if she were not utterly crushed by her misfortune, and if any future healing would be possible; but she was careful not to express this to her daughter. 'My experience has been very different,' she answered quietly. 'My happiest moments were those in which your dear father spoke of our future home. I think I was quite as averse to a long engagement as he was.'