A flood of colour swept over Gertrude's face, but the room was shaded, and she hoped Reggie would not see. What must he think of the story he had only heard yesterday! She had wished that he might know about it. Now she felt as if he were the only one in the world, from whom she would gladly have hidden it. "Sit down," she said; "all the others are out, except mother." "I've seen her," he said quietly. There was a pause. There seemed nothing to say, absolutely nothing! Nothing that could be said, at least. At last Reggie broke the silence. "What have you done to trace her?" he asked. Perhaps it was the easiest question he could have asked. Gertrude could answer that, and she told him all that had been done. "I wish there was something I could do," he said, when she paused. "Is it your holidays?" she asked indifferently. "I'm afraid there's nothing much going on in Old Keston just now. You'll find it very dull." "That won't matter to me. I have to go back on Monday." "Oh! Have you had a nice time the first part? I thought you were going to have a fortnight in September." As Gertrude could think of nothing to say, Reggie's holiday seemed a very safe subject. He laughed a little. "This is the first part; I came up by last night's mail, I haven't even been home yet. I came off directly I heard about Maud and all your trouble. I was so awfully sorry, and letters are not the least bit of use for saying what you feel." "It's very good of you," said Gertrude gratefully. "Shall you come home again in September?" "Oh! there won't be any September," said Reggie cheerfully. There was another pause and then Gertrude said in a very low voice, "Reggie, have you heard _all_ the stories that they tell?" "I expect so," answered Reggie soberly; "but, Gertrude, I would have given up all my holiday, except one hour, if I could just say one word to comfort you." She looked up at him suddenly, startled. "Reggie," she said, "do you mean that you gave up all your holiday just to get four days to come up and comfort me? Me! after all you have heard!" "I don't even _think_ about those stories," said Reggie, half scornfully, half indignantly. "Don't you?" said Gertrude wistfully. "Oh, Reggie, it is a comfort just to see you sitting there; it is indeed! Except at home here--and they've been so good to me--you are the first that has said one kind word to me about it all. I knew you would when you heard. Only I don't feel as if I ought to be looking for comfort or happiness for myself till she is found; you'll understand that, won't you?" "Yes, I understand. But that's your side of it, Gertrude. There's another side, and that's my side. I want you to listen to what I've come all the way from Scotland to say. I've said it to myself for years. Last night, when the train was rushing down through England, I was saying it to myself over and over again. Now I'm going to say it to you.