She walked up and down her room excitedly. She looked at the door; she had a mad desire to go to him now--to abandon everything for his sake. Her honour, her happiness, her station, were only precious because she could sacrifice them for him. He was her life and her love, he was her body and her soul. She listened at the door; Miss Ley would be watching, and she dared not go. “I’ll wait,” said Bertha. She tried to sleep, but could not. The thought of Gerald distracted her. She dozed, and his presence became more distinct. He seemed to be in the room and she cried: “At last, my dearest, at last!” She awoke and stretched out her hands to him; she could not realise that she had dreamed, that nothing was there. Then the day came, dim and gray at first, but brightening with the brilliant summer morning; the sun shone in her window, and the sunbeams danced in the room. Now the moments were very few, she must make up her mind quickly--and the sunbeams spoke of life, and happiness, and the glory of the unknown. Oh, what a fool she was to waste her life, to throw away her chance of happiness--how weak not to grasp the love thrown in her way! She thought of Gerald packing his things, getting off, of the train speeding through the summer country. Her love was irresistible. She sprang up, and bathed, and dressed. It was past six when she slipped out of the room and made her way downstairs. The street was empty as in the night; but the sky was blue and the air fresh and sweet, she took a long breath and felt curiously elated. She walked till she found a cab, and told the driver to go quickly to Euston. The cab crawled along, and she was in an agony of impatience. Supposing she arrived too late? She told the man to hurry. The Liverpool train was fairly full; but Bertha walking up the crowded platform quickly saw Gerald. He sprang towards her. “Bertha you’ve come. I felt certain you wouldn’t let me go without seeing you.” He took her hands and looked at her with eyes full of love. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said at last. “I want--I want to beg your pardon.” “What do you mean?” whispered Bertha, and suddenly she felt a dreadful fear which gripped her heart with unendurable pain. “I’ve been thinking of you all night, and I’m dreadfully ashamed of myself. I must tell you how sorry I am that I’ve caused you unhappiness. I was selfish and brutal; I only thought of myself. I forgot how much you had to lose. Please forgive me, Bertha.” “Oh, Gerald, Gerald.” “I shall always be grateful to you, Bertha. I know I’ve been a beast, but now I’m going to turn over a new leaf. You see, you have reformed me after all.” He tried to smile in his old, light-hearted manner; but it was a very poor attempt. Bertha looked at him. She wished to say that she loved him with all her heart, and was ready to accompany him to the world’s end; but the words stuck in her throat.