Her hand dropped to her side and pressed her heart; the sudden mention of the name had struck her like a blow. He glanced round. "I beg your pardon," he said, "I forgot; his name was never to be mentioned, was it? I will not sin again--in word. In thought--one can't help one's thoughts, Stel!" "No," she murmured, almost inaudibly. "Thoughts are free," he said; "mine are not, however; they are always flying after him--after him, the best and noblest of men, the man who saved my life. You see, though I may not speak of him, it would be ungrateful to forget him!" "Frank!" At her tone of piteous supplication and almost reproach, he turned and put his hand on her arm. "Forgive me, Stel! I didn't mean to hurt you, but--but--well it is so hard to understand, so hard to bear! To feel, to know that he is far away and suffering, while that man, Jasper Adelstone--I beg your pardon, Stel! There! I will say no more!" "Do not," she murmured, her face white and strained, but resigned--"do not. Besides, you are wrong; he has forgotten by this time." He turned and looked at her with a sudden anger; then he smiled as the exquisite beauty of her face smote him. "You wrong him and yourself. No, Stel, men do not forget such a girl as you----" "No more!" she said, almost in a tone of command. He shook his head, and the cough came on and silenced him. She put her arm round his neck. "That cough," she said. "You must go in, dear! Look at the mist. Come, come in!" He turned in silence and walked beside her for a few steps. Then he said tremulously: "Stella, let me ask one question, and then I will be silent--for always." "Well?" she said. "Have you heard from him?--do you know where he is?" She paused a moment to control her voice, then she said: "I have heard no word; I do not know whether he is alive or dead." He sighed and his head dropped upon his breast. "Let us go in," he said, then he started, for his ears, particularly sharp, had caught the sound of a well-known footstep. "There is--Jasper," he said, with a pause before the name, and he drew his arm away and walked away from her. Stella turned with a strange set smile on her face, the set smile which she had learnt to greet him with. He came up the path with his quick and peculiar suppressed step, his hand outstretched. He would have taken her in his arms and kissed her--if he had dared. But he could not. With all his determination and resolution he dared not. There was something, some mysterious halo about his victim which kept him almost at arm's length; it was as if she had surrounded herself by a magic circle which he could not pass. He took her hand and raised it to his lips and kissed it, his eyes drinking in her beauty and grace with a thirsty wistfulness. "My darling," he murmured, in his soft, low voice, "out so late. Will you not catch cold?"