She had come, poor child, full of her fierce and jealous maiden pride--she was only twenty, and life had been revealed to her of late as a tumultuous conflict of men with devils,--she had come highly wrought for battles with the Apollyons that straddled across the path; she had come with high hopes of bringing help to the faint-hearted, solace to the afflicted, of proving to her tiny world that she was the help-giver instead of the help-seeker; she had come on the wings of conquest; and she fluttered down like a tired bird to the surrender of herself on the bosom of the simplest and, in the eyes of men, the least important creature on God's earth. She drew gently away and dried her eyes, and while Miss Lindon spoke a few words to Lady Blount, she went somewhat shyly up to John. “You should have let me know Miss Lindon long ago,” she said. “I should have done many things long ago,” he replied. “But I myself have known my aunt only the last few days.” She regarded him somewhat incredulously. “Yes,” he said, “it's true. The last few days have taught me all kinds of things. I never knew what she was”--he made a vague gesture--“until it was too late. I think, Stella dear, I have gone through life with my heart shut.” “Except to me,” said Stellamaris. “That's different,” he said, with a turn of his great shoulders. He left her abruptly and joined the group of the three elders by the window. She came to Herold, who had been standing with his back against the empty fire-place. “You must be very tired.” He saw her brows knit in their familiar little fairy wrinkles as she anxiously scanned his face. Indeed, he was very weary, and his eyes and cheeks showed it. “There has been a lot not only to do, but to feel of late,” he said. She put out a timid hand and touched his sleeve. “You must n't do and feel too much, or you 'll break down.” “Why should I, if you have n't?” he asked with a faint smile. “I think it cowardly to break down when one ought to be strong,” she said. “Are you afraid of my being a coward, Stella?” She uttered a little cry, and her touch became a grasp. “You! Oh, no! You? You 've _been_ strong. There 's no need for you to do any more. You 've got to live your own life and not that of other people--” “The only life left to me,” he said in a low voice, “is that of those dear to me.” John lumbered up gloomily. “You must persuade him to take a rest, Stella. He has been driving himself to death.” He laid a heavy hand on his friend. “God knows what I should have done without him all this time. Wait,” he said suddenly, with the other hand uplifted. And all were silent when to a scuffle of feet succeeded a measured tramp of steps descending the stairs. The bearers passed along the passage by the door of the drawing-room. Unity was going forth on her last journey through the familiar Kilburn streets.