"I think you are. But never mind; it is what we both want to be. I suppose one never would sacrifice one's self in a great matter, if it had not first become 'the law' in small everyday things." "My father says every small choice between right and wrong is a rehearsal for some greater choice to follow. One can understand that. But I ought to go home." "Are you in such a hurry?" "No; not a hurry, only—" "Only you think you ought. I believe 'ought' governs every inch of your life." "It ought," Ethel said involuntarily. She was moving towards the door, and with a sudden impulse she lifted her eyes again, smiling. "At all events, I have not come here for nothing. I'm afraid I talked nonsense at first; but you have given me a thought for Christmas." "What thought?"—though he knew. "Just that—self-sacrifice in little things. Great things don't come in my way; but there is no end to the little opportunities. Now we have to turn out the gas and grope to the door." "One word!" Nigel's voice was husky, and Ethel looked at him in wonder. "We don't often get a chance of a few minutes together, like this. Ethel, you won't mind if I ask a question. Has there been something wrong lately? Something I have done to—I won't say to vex you, but—don't you know what I mean?" "No, nothing. I mean—I was not vexed." "But there has been something. I thought it was Tom Elvey." "Oh no, indeed!" with energy. "I have been afraid, till the last few minutes. Was it anything I said or did?" "No! Oh no!" "Or something somebody else said? Mr. Carden-Cox!" with a sudden recollection of the postscripts. "Please don't ask any more. It doesn't matter in the least. Nothing matters—now!" said Ethel. The colour rushed into her cheeks. "I only mean—please never think again that I could be vexed—" "With me," Nigel concluded for her. Then in a quiet tone he added: "No, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters—now!" Ethel turned off the gas in a great hurry, but not before he caught the flash of an answering glance, brighter than she knew it to be. Then they found their way to the door, and were out in the whirling gale. Ethel had to cling to his strong arm for support; and it came over her how easy life would be, thus clinging. She heard one question spoken by the way, spoken in the midst of their struggle, as the snow drifted in their faces—"Ethel, can you trust me?" "Yes!" she answered at once, not asking what he meant. "Even if—" and the sentence was not finished. Perhaps he hardly knew what he wished to say. "Yes!" came with stronger emphasis. And she never once thought of the postscript about Fulvia, till she was at home, and Nigel was gone. But the recollection made no difference. She echoed her own "Yes!" joyously in the solitude of her own room. Trust him? Yes!! CHAPTER XVIII AGED TWENTY-ONE "In that hour of deep contrition, He beheld, with clearer vision, Through all outward show and fashion, Justice, the Avenger, rise.