He spoke with absolute simplicity. She had never liked him better than at that moment. His boyishness had utterly disarmed her, and not till later did she realize how completely he had masked his soul therewith. She parted with him with a full heart, and had a strictly private little cry on his account ere she returned to Avery. Poor lad! Poor lad! And when he wasn't smiling, he did look so ill! The same thought struck Crowther a few hours later as Piers sat with him in his room, and devoted himself with considerable adroitness to making his fire burn through as quickly as possible, the while he briefly informed him that his wife was considered practically out of danger and had no further use for him for the present. Crowther's heart sank at the news though he gave no sign of dismay. "What do you think of doing, sonny?" he asked, after a moment. "I? Why, what is there for me to do?" Piers glanced round momentarily. "I wonder what you'd do, Crowther," he said, with a smile that was scarcely gay. Crowther came to his side, and stood there massively, while he filled his pipe. "Piers," he said, "I presume she knows all there is to know of that bad business?" Piers rammed the poker a little deeper into the fire and said nothing. But Crowther had broken through the barricade of silence at last, and would not be denied. "Does she know, Piers?" he insisted. "Did you ever tell her how the thing came to pass? Does she know that the quarrel was forced upon you--that you took heavy odds--that you did not of your own free will avoid the consequences? Does she know that you loved her before you knew who she was?" He paused, but Piers remained stubbornly silent, still prodding at the red coals. He bent a little, taking him by the shoulder. "Piers, answer me!" Again Piers' eyes glanced upwards. His face was hard. "Oh, get away, Crowther!" he growled. "What's the good?" And then in his winning way he gripped Crowther's hand hard. "No, I never told her anything," he said. "And I made it impossible for her to ask. I couldn't urge extenuating circumstances because there weren't any. Moreover, it wouldn't have made a ha'porth's difference if I had. So shunt the subject like a good fellow! She must take me at my worst--at my worst, do you hear?--or not at all." "But, my dear lad, you owe it to her," began Crowther gravely. Piers cut him short with a recklessness that scarcely veiled the pain in his soul. "No, I don't! I don't owe her anything. She doesn't think any worse of me than I am. She knows me jolly well,--better than you do, most worthy padre-elect. If she ever forgives me, it won't be because she thinks I've been punished enough, but just because she is my mate,--and she loves me." His voice sank upon the words. "And you are going to wait for that?" said Crowther.