If aught else be lacking between brother and sister, between friend and friend, between husband and wife, while there is perfect trust, there cannot be misery. It is hardly possible that perfect trust should exist without growing love; but trust must stand upon a firm foundation; it can only exist where such a foundation is found. He who trusts must know from practical experience that the one whom he trusts is trustworthy. And whatever else is present, if trust fails everything fails; there is then no firm ground to stand upon; love sinks at once to a lower level. Fulvia's own hand had cut away this firm ground from beneath her feet. In the main she was, as Nigel had always counted her, truthful and honourable; but one failure long persisted in had undone what went before. She might indeed never so fail again; but how could Nigel know? Where one cannot trust, there can be no security of happiness. He might be kind to any extent, but how could he rest upon her word? "If only I had not done it! If one could but undo the past! And it did me no good. Things would have come about just the same! . . . If I had destroyed the paper! But would that have been enough? It might have been known some day; or I might have felt that I must tell! If only I had not done it!" Round and round the circle of regrets she travelled; and when at length a sound aroused her, she was startled to find how quickly the afternoon was passing. Unless she made haste, Nigel might reach home before her. That would never do! And what if he and Malcolm should at any moment row by, detecting her on the bank? Fulvia had liked to follow in his steps; but she did not wish to meet him, since he had not asked her to do so. There was indeed no time to lose, if she would avoid the possibility, still more if she would ensure being the first to arrive at home. Fulvia sprang up, somewhat carelessly in her haste, and found the ground giving way beneath. Late spring frosts had loosened the soil, heavy rains since had carried on the work of disintegration, and Fulvia's weight bestowed the finishing touch. A complete landslip on a tiny scale seemed to be taking place. She struggled round to a kneeling position, and strove to find her feet; but in vain. The earth was sliding, and she was sliding with it. Fulvia resisted fiercely, clutching at grass, weeds, rotten roots, anything within reach; but everything in turn failed. Screaming was not her natural mode of expression, unless under a very severe shock, and she kept her self-command, making no outcry, though keenly aware of her predicament. The steep bank ended abruptly in a natural upright wall of clay, the stiff clay being surmounted by a layer of more friable earth—that which was now yielding. Close underneath flowed the stream, shelving at once into deep water, deeper now than usual from spring rains.