'My thoughts— and life. And I cannot tell them without saying so much—that I would not say, and, maybe, ought not.—Only, when you begin to start questions—and subjects,—then,—' Hazel paused to gather her forces. 'Then I think it is right you should know everything about me, first.' The last word came out very low, and even the instinct of truth could hardly have carried her further just then. 'Go on, and tell me,' said Dane gently. 'The words are as sweet to me as a chime of bells; but, just yet, not so intelligible.' She stood very still for a minute, her head bent down. Then softly disengaged herself. 'I cannot talk to you so,' she said. 'Sit down, please, in the bergère, and let me sit here; and I will tell—what I can.' "Here" meant a low foot cushion near the bergère, where the young lady placed herself, but a little drawn back and turned away, where only the firelight could look in her face. 'Stop!'—said Dane, arresting this part of the arrangements. 'You at my feet!'— 'Yes, if I like it,' said Hazel. 'When you have to gainsay people in great things, you should always let them have their way in small.' She got up and crossed over to the fire, replacing a brand that had fallen down; came back to her cushion and sat there a minute with her hands folded. 'A year ago,—' she said, 'when you drove home with me from Moscheloo,—you had no new views, Mr. Rollo. None in practice. In a sense, you and I were on the same ground.' 'Well?'—said he, a little anxiously. 'Then in the winter,—I partly guessed first from Dr. Maryland's words what you told me,—in effect, yourself. And at first I liked it,—I thought I was glad.' 'At first'—echoed Rollo. 'At first,' Hazel repeated. 'It suited me, to have you take the highest stand you could, and Mrs. Coles stirred up enough antagonism to keep me from knowing that I was anything but glad.' 'Why should you be anything but glad?' said Dane, in tones which did not reveal the surprise which was growing upon him. 'I did not know that I was—until you came. Mr. Falkirk kept up the antagonism, and I had not much time to think. But when you came—' She hesitated a little, then went steadily on. It was so like Hazel, to do what she had to do, if it took her through fire and water!—'I had left you standing in one place,' she said, 'and you had moved quite away to another. And I knew—that standing there—you would never have seen me.' 'That is a conclusion you have no right to,' said Dane calmly. 'No matter—it is true. You eyes would have been set for other things, and your appreciation would have been all changed and different. I knew it then, that night. You talked of things I but half understood, and your face was all shining with a light that did not fall on me. And partly it mortified me,—I was used to having at least some vantage ground; and partly it brought back the old loneliness, which had—perhaps—just a little bit gone away. Then you left me a lesson.'