His heart gave a bound. That was what she had been trying to make him say last night, “I love you.” He hadn’t said it--hadn’t realized or thought it possible that two children could love like that. He knew now what she had meant, “You don’t say the right things, Teddy--no, never. You don’t understand.” He knew now that from the first he had loved her; his boyish fear of ridicule had forbidden him to own it. There on the panes, like a message from the dead, soon to be overlaid with dust, was her confession. Voices called to him, bidding him hurry. Footsteps were ascending. Some one was coming along the passage. The writing was sacred. It was meant for his eyes alone. No one should see it but himself. He stooped his lips to the pane. When Hal entered the writing had vanished. “You--you played here,” he said. All day he had been white and silent “I’m sorry, but we really must be going now, old chap.” On the stairs, where it was dark, he laid an arm on the boy’s shoulder. “You got to be very fond of her? We were both fond of her and--and we’ve both lost her. I think I understand.” CHAPTER XXII--THE FEAR OF KNOWLEDGE The journey back to London was like the waking moments of a dream. He gazed out of the carriage window. He couldn’t bear to look at Hal; his eyes seemed dead, as though all the mind behind them was full of darkened passages. It wasn’t easy to be brave just now, so he turned his face away from him. “Teddy.” There was no one in the carriage but themselves. “Did she ever say anything about me?” “She said that you were fond of her.” “Ah, yes, but I don’t mean that. Did she ever say how she felt herself?” “About you?” “About me.” There was hunger in Hal’s voice--hunger in the way he listened for the answer. “Not--not exactly. But she liked you immensely. She really did, Hal. She looked forward most awfully to your coming.” “Any child would have done that when a man brought her presents. Then she didn’t say she loved me? No, she wouldn’t say that.” Hal spoke bitterly. Teddy felt that Desire was being accused and sprang to her defense. “I don’t see how you could expect her to love you after what you had done.” The man looked up sharply. “After what I had done! D’you mean kidnaping her, or something further back?” “I mean taking her away from her mother.” Hal laughed gloomily. “No, as you say, a person with no claims on her couldn’t expect her to love him after that.” Sinking his head forward, he relapsed into silence and sat staring at the seat opposite. When the train was galloping through the outskirts of London, he spoke again.