He was the first to break silence. It would have been a farce to have done so with any ordinary conventional form of greeting; her agitation, as she stood there, pale as death, trembling from head to foot, grasping convulsively at the rough woodwork of the bench for support--her poor "Philosophie" lying on the ground at her feet--was too palpable to be ignored; to have attempted to do so would have been to insult her. And Beauchamp Chancellor was not the man to stab deliberately and in cold blood, however indifferent he might be to suffering which fell not within his sight. And just now, in full view of Eugenia's altered features and pitiful agitation, all the latent manliness of his nature was aroused; for the time he almost forgot himself in the sudden rush of tenderness for the girl who, he could no longer doubt, had suffered sorely for his sake; whose guileless devotion contrasted not unpleasantly with the still fresh remembrance of Roma Eyrecourt's scornful indifference. So it was in a tone of extreme and unconcealed anxiety that he spoke. "You have been ill, Miss Laurence," he exclaimed; "I can see that you have been dreadfully ill. Good heavens, and I not to know it! And I have startled you by coming upon you so unexpectedly. What can I do or say to make you forgive me." Eugenia was recovering herself a little by now; some consciousness of what was due to her own self-respect was returning to her; she made a hard fight to regain her self-possession. "There is nothing to forgive," she answered, trying to smile, though her quivering lips and tremulous voice were by no means under her control. "I have been ill, but not `dreadfully.' When one is usually strong, I suppose even a slight illness shakes one's nerves. I am still absurdly easily startled."