"I wanted to put an end to it before it was too late. I saw nothing but pain in it for you. It filled me with heart-broken fear to think of the girl such a mother and such a life would make." "She was such a little thing--" said Donal, "--such a tender mite of a thing! She's such a little thing even now." "Is she?" said Helen. Now she knew he would not tell her. And she was right. Up to that afternoon there had always been the chance that he would. Night after night he had been on the brink of telling her of the dream. Only as the beauty and wonder of it grew he had each day given himself another day, and yet another and another. But he had always thought the hour would come and he had been sure she would not grudge him a moment he had held from her. Now he shut everything within himself. "I wish you had not done it. It was a mistake," was all he said. Suddenly he felt thrown back upon himself, heartsick and cold. For the first time in his life he could not see her side of the question. The impassioned egotism of first love overwhelmed him. "You met her on the night of the old Duchess' dance," Helen said. "Yes." "You have met her since?" "Yes." "It is useless for older people to interfere," she said. "We have loved each other very much. We have been happy together. But I can do nothing to help you. Oh! Donal, my own dear!" Her involuntary movement of putting her hand to her throat was a piteous gesture. "You are going away," she pleaded. "Don't let anything come between us--not _now_! It is not as if you were going to stay. When you come back perhaps--" "I may never come back," he answered and as he said it he saw again the widowed girl who had hurried past him crying because he had saluted her. And he saw Robin as he had seen her the night before--Robin who belonged to no one--whom no one missed at any time when she went in or out--who could come and go and meet a man anywhere as if she were the only little soul in London. And yet who had always that pretty, untouched air. "I only wanted to be sure. It was a mistake. We will never speak of it again," he added. "If it was a mistake, forgive it. It was only because I could not hear that your life should not be beautiful. These are not like other days. Oh! Donal my dear, my dear!" And she broke into weeping and took him in her arms and he held her and kissed her tenderly. But whatsoever happened--whatsoever he did he knew that if he was to save and hold his bliss to the end he could not tell her now. CHAPTER X