Ethel woke up from a maze; and as she woke, a dream of long years died a quiet death. She saw it die while she sat there, saw it fade away, and another dream arise, grey-toned, of a long lonely life, apart from one whom she loved best. Yet no tears threatened, no agitation came. She was so full of thought for Nigel, so grieved for him, that self-pity had as yet no place. Perhaps she was a little stunned by the unexpected blow—as one is apt to be, at first. "Tell me," he repeated; "I want your advice. Must I do this thing?" "Must you marry Fulvia?" "Yes." Unconsciously, he caught in his, the hand lying on her knee. "Tell me what you think I ought to do!" he pleaded. "No one else can help me." Ethel drew her hand away, but so slowly that he could not be pained. "I think you feel sure yourself already," she said in a soft still voice. "It is hard for one to see clearly for another. If I were in your place—" "Yes, that is what I want. If you were in my place, how should you feel?" Another break. Ethel noted the growing darkness. She was so composed as even to draw out her watch. "No, I cannot see the time;" and she put it away again. "But it must be getting late. I think we ought to go home." Did she wish to avoid giving an opinion? She stood up, and Nigel did the same. They had to go cautiously over the uneven grass, and along the narrow path bordered by yew trees; but the broader path beyond was straight and level, with more light. Nigel said then again— "Yes. If you were in my place—" "It is so difficult to be sure. I am trying to see things rightly for you—from your standpoint. But one little touch either way makes all the difference; and I cannot know the whole as you do." "Tell me, so far as you can, at least. If you were in my place—" "I think I might perhaps feel, as you do, that I ought—perhaps even that I must!" There was again the sense of tightness at Ethel's heart, though no sign of it appeared in her voice. "I mean, I might feel that I must do all I could to repay Fulvia, and to spare my—to spare Mrs. Browning. That would be your side of the matter—to feel bound—perhaps to try—if—" Nigel could not see the gloved hands wrung together, and she went on, scarcely faltering, only hesitating for words; yet somehow he understood. "To feel bound—" she repeated, "to try if—to offer to Fulvia—But if I were in Fulvia's place, there would be a difference. Nothing could seem to me more dreadful than—to—" "Than to—marry me!" He said it seriously. "No—no—than to marry anybody who did not really mean it—wish it; to be asked out of duty by one who—" and a pause—"one who did not care for me—as I cared." "If you were Fulvia, you would think I ought to hold back—not to offer?" Ethel's calmness was calming him; her apparent strength was strengthening him. "You would think me wrong to speak, unless—"