She laughed again at that, and though faint, her laughter had a ring of indomitable resolution. “Oh, indeed I shall not. I know exactly what my capabilities are. I have been unlucky to-day, but I am in reality much stronger than I seem.” He turned from her with the hint of a shrug. “No doubt you know your own business best, and of course I fully recognise that it is no part of mine to give advice.” “Oh, please!” she said gently. That was all; but spoken in a tone that brought him back to her with a sharp turn. He looked at her, and was amazed at himself because the faint smile in her tired eyes gave him a new sensation. “Wasn’t that what you meant?” he said, after a moment. “No,” she made quiet answer. “I never mean that to the people who show me kindness. It happens—much too seldom.” She spoke with a dignity that was above pathos, but none the less was he touched. It was as if she had lifted the official mask to give him a glimpse of her soul, and in that glimpse he beheld something which he certainly had not expected to see. Again, almost against his will, was he stirred to a curious reverence. “You must have had a pretty rotten time of it,” he said. To which she made no reply, though in her silence he found no sign of ungraciousness, and was more attracted than repelled thereby. He remained beside her without speaking until the irritable, uneven tread of feet in the corridor warned them of the Bishop’s return; then again he looked at her and found her eyes upon him. “Thank you very much for all your kindness,” she said. “Please—will you go now?” “You wish it?” he said. “Yes.” Just the one word, spoken with absolute simplicity! He lingered on the step. “I shall see you again?” He saw her brows move upwards very slightly. “Quite possibly,” she said. He turned from her with finality. “I shall,” he said, and passed out without a backward glance into the hot sunshine of the Palace garden. CHAPTER III A BUSINESS PROPOSITION There was a sheet of water in the Palace garden, fed by a bubbling spring. Cypress and old yew trees grew along its banks, and here and there the crumbling ruins of an old monastery that had once adjoined the Cathedral showed ivy-covered along the path that wound beside it. It was said that the frocked figure of an ancient friar was wont to pace this path in the moonlight, but none who believed the superstition ever had the courage to verify it.