"Natalie, where is your courage? I give my life without question; you must bear your part too." She still held her hand over her bosom. "Yet," she said, as if she had not heard him, "that is what they say; it kills, this pain in the heart. Why not--if one does not wish to live?" At this moment the door was opened, and the mother came into the room. "Madame," said Brand, quickly, "come and speak to your daughter. I have had to tell her something that has upset her, perhaps, for a moment; but you will console her; she is brave." "Child, how you tremble, and how cold your hands are!" the mother cried. "It does not matter, mother. From every pain there is a release, is there not?" "I do not understand you, Natalushka?" "And I--and I, mother--" She was on the point of breaking down, but she held firm. Then she released herself from her mother's hold, and went forward and took her lover's hand, and regarded him with the sad, fearless, beautiful eyes. "I have been selfish," she said; "I have been thinking of myself, when that is needless. For me there will be a release--quickly enough: I shall pray for it. Now tell me what I must do: I will obey you." "First, then," said he, speaking in a low voice, and in English, so that her mother should not understand, "you must make light of this affair, or you will distress your mother greatly, and she is not able to bear distress. Some day, if you think it right, you may tell her; you know nothing that could put the enterprise in peril; she will be as discreet and silent as yourself, Natalie. Then you must put it out of your mind, my darling, that you have any share in what has occurred. What have I to regret? My life was worthless to me; you made it beautiful for a time; perhaps, who knows, it may after all turn out to have been of some service, and then there can be no regret at all. They think so, and it is not for me to question." "May I not tell my mother now?" she said, imploringly. "Dearest, how can I speak to her, and be thinking of you far away?" "As you please, Natalie. The little I have told you or Evelyn can do no harm, so long as you keep it among yourselves." "But I shall see again?" It was her heart that cried to him. "Oh yes, Natalie," he said, gravely. "I may not have to leave England for a week or two. I will see you as often as I can until I go, my darling, though it may only be torture to you." "Torture?" she said, sadly. "That will come after--until there is an end of the pain." "Hush, you must not talk like that. You have now one with you whom it is your duty to support and console. She has not had a very happy life either, Natalie." He was glad now that he was able to leave this terror-stricken girl in such tender hands. And as for himself, he found, when he had left, that somehow the strengthening of another had strengthened himself. He had less dread of the future; his face was firm; the time for vain regrets was over. CHAPTER XLIII. A QUARREL.