After they had dined they sat together in the long Highland twilight before her window in the Tower room where he had found her sitting when he arrived. Her work basket was near her and she took a piece of sheer lawn from it and began to embroider. And he sat and watched her draw delicate threads through the tiny leaves and flowers she was making. So he might have watched Alixe if she had been some unroyal girl given to him in one of life's kinder hours. She seemed to draw near out of the land of lost shadows as he sat in the clear twilight stillness and looked on. As he might have watched Alixe. The silence, the paling daffodil tints of the sky, the non-existence of any other things than calm and stillness seemed to fill his whole being as a cup might be filled by pure water falling slowly. She said nothing and did not even seem to be waiting for anything. It was he who first broke the rather long silence and his voice was quite low. "Do you know you are very good to me?" he said. "How did you learn to be so kind to a man--with your quietness?" He saw the hand holding her work tremble a very little. She let it fall upon her knee, still holding the embroidery. She leaned forward slightly and in her look there was actually something rather like a sort of timid prayer. "Please let me," she said. "Please let me--if you can!" "Let you!" was all that he could say. "Let me try to help you to rest--to feel quiet and forget for just a little while. It's such a small thing. And it's all I can ever _try_ to do." "You do it very perfectly," he answered, touched and wondering. "You have been kind to me ever since I was a child--and I did not know," she said. "Now I know, because I understand. Oh! _will_ you forgive me? _Please_--will you?" "Don't, my dear," he said. "You were a baby. _I_ understood. That prevented there being anything to forgive--anything." "I ought to have loved you as I loved Mademoiselle and Dowie." Her eyes filled with tears. "And I think I hated you. It began with Donal," in a soft wail. "I heard Andrews say that his mother wouldn't let him know me because you were my mother's friend. And then as I grew older--" "Even if I had known what you thought I could not have defended myself," he answered, faintly smiling. "You must not let yourself think of it. It is nothing now." The hand holding the embroidery lifted itself to touch her breast. There was even a shade of awe of him in her eyes. "It is something to me--and to Donal. You have never defended yourself. You endure things and endure them. You watched for years over an ignorant child who loathed you. It was not that a child's hatred is of importance--but if I had died and never asked you to forgive me, how could I have looked into Donal's eyes? I want to go down on my knees to you!" He rose from his chair, and took in his own the unsteady hand holding the embroidery. He even bent and lightly touched it with his lips, with his finished air.