‘Fool that I was! But I have been paying the price of my folly for two years without ceasing. Till seven months ago I believed you were going to marry Sebastian Mallory. You may suppose I was anxious for nothing so much as to be silent--to hear nothing of you.’ Adrienne made no answer, till Myles said, ‘And now you are going to leave Thanshope?’ ‘Yes, for ever.’ ‘You have come to say good-bye to the old place?’ ‘I never meant to come. Brandon found some difficulties about the arrangements I wished him to make, and telegraphed for me. I came this afternoon, and am leaving again to-morrow morning.’ Adrienne had lost her self-command as he gained more of his. Her voice shook uncontrollably, as she leaned her elbow on the top of the piano. ‘I shall always feel happy that I have been able to see you, to tell you that, whether you forgave me or not, I have repented, and do repent, my churlishness, and to thank you for your--your _unspeakable_ kindness to a rough, stupid, clumsy fellow like me,’ said he. ‘Your great goodness and your gentle influence will go with me through my life; and--may you never know a sorrow or a care as long as you live!’ The aspiration appeared useless, for Adrienne had buried her face in her hands, and was weeping with a quiet sorrow that had something of despair in it. ‘But before I go,’ he added, ‘will you answer me a question? Perhaps I have no right to ask it, but I must, I have been listening to your singing; I heard every word.’ ‘Yes,’ was the almost inaudible answer. ‘Tell me if you had some one in your mind when you sang that song.’ ‘Yes,’ said Adrienne, still scarce above her breath. ‘You had!’ he exclaimed, and forgot the solemn farewell, the almost benediction, he had just bestowed upon her, while he hurried his words out desperately. ‘Oh, Adrienne! forgive me if I am too presumptuous; but have mercy! Tell me, when you sang ‘Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen’.... But I am too bold--I----’ ‘Do not look at me so strangely!’ she began, raising her tear-stained face. ‘Tell me----Ah!’ she suddenly exclaimed, as with one movement they clasped each other, ‘it is you, Myles--it was always you; but you were so dreadfully proud.’ ‘Do you mean,’ he asked, after a long pause, ‘that if I had come to you that night--if I had forgotten myself, and told you, as I felt sure I should, that I loved you, and that no “friendship” could be anything but a wretched mockery to me--do you mean that _then_ you would have taken me, ruined and wretched, and without one bright thought or one hope for the future?’ ‘If you had come then, and told me all that, you need not have gone away without hope, and I should have spent a different two years than I have done. But it is all right now,’ she added. ‘The probation is over, my love, and you have borne it bravely.’ ‘If you think so, it must be so; but at the time, I assure you, I felt anything but brave. _Now_ I feel--I feel at rest,’ said Myles.