"You didn't surely mean--you can't have meant that it is you--_you_ who have to bear things?" he added in a hurried, choky whisper. For the first time he saw panic in her eyes. She was staring into his as though fascinated. He could almost _see_ the hasty clutch of her will upon her tongue, to prevent her making any admission. "Nobody," she said, almost inaudibly, "has more to bear than they deserve--more than they can carry; but every one has something--something, don't you think?" He mercilessly held her gaze. "If I were to tell you what I think of you," he began; and she made a little motion with her hand. "No, don't. Please don't. Because it really does comfort me to feel that I am only a grain of sand upon the shore of time, and that soon I shall be swept away. Only one thing matters, and that is, to have done one's best while one was here. Sometimes it seems hard, but one has to go on, one has to keep on trying. Don't you agree--oh, you must agree--that everybody has something to bear?" "I think," he muttered savagely, "that you have always been made to bear too much. All the burdens of the whole family have rested on your little, tender shoulders. It is time that you were freed----" "No," she cried quickly, sharply, "that is the one thing I can never be! I have tied myself, and no human power can release me now." Even as Gerald's blood leapt with the throb of triumph, he realised how careful he must be not to let her see the admission she had just made. The thing which he might safely say sprang into his mind as by inspiration. "There is such a thing as spiritual freedom, Virgie," he softly murmured. "Don't forget that liberty is a thing nobody can really take from you." She turned a radiant face to him, and broke into a smile. "Oh, Gerald, how lovely! How fine of you to say that! Yes, it is so. You are right. I shall remember that always, and that it was you who said it." "Because I am your friend," he continued steadily, knowing himself upon the right road. "Remember always that I am your friend, and that I have a right to your spiritual freedom. If ever you should be in trouble or difficulty, you will think of our friendship, won't you? Think of this perfect day, and how we have been together in pure friendship and mutual confidence. You trust me, don't you, Virgie?" "I should think so." She gave her hand, impulsively, and as he held it--soft, warm, and ungloved--he wondered how much more of this he could stand. She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something, and dared not. At last: "You don't want words, do you, Gerald? You understand?" she faltered. "Yes." The word was gulped. He lifted her hand, kissed it, laid it upon her knee, and rose hurriedly. Baines had been gone nearly two hours. "Something has delayed the car," he remarked, coming back to her, watch in hand. "I wonder what we had better do? It is getting late--you will want some dinner."