There was another pause. Her remark was revealing—yet he dared not hope too far. He felt so near to her, so intimate in that revelation that he feared to deceive himself. Oh, he was for her, now! His heart clamored for possession, yet he could not declare himself. They were upon different spiritual altitudes. Women, before, had come at his whistle. Now he was awkward, timid, excited with expectancy, his heart going hard. "There is a reason why I was glad to see that change, Mr. Granthope," she continued. He waited for her words eagerly. She looked away, her eyes following the sails in mid-channel. "I’m thinking of leaving town." The announcement fell upon him like a blow. "You are going away!" he exclaimed, his voice betraying him. "Not for a week or two, perhaps." "A week!" The words stung him. "Don’t go—yet!" he exclaimed faintly. "I don’t want to go—yet. My aunt in the East has invited me to visit her for six months." She spoke calmly, but did not look at him. "I’ll have to hurry, won’t I?" he said with a desperate, whimsical inflection. "Yes. You’ll have to hurry." For a while he was too agitated to speak. If there had needed anything more to convince him of his state of mind, this sufficed. He was aware, by the sense of shock, how much he cared. "Before I go, I’d like to ask a favor of you, Mr. Granthope." It almost comforted him. "What is it—of course, I’ll do anything." "Will you see if you can find out something about that little boy who lived with Madam Grant?" There it was again! This blow turned his mind black. She was gazing at him earnestly—he could hardly bear her look, so placid, so sincere. "You mean—clairvoyantly?" he stammered. "Yes. I think we might do it, together." He rose to walk up and down the top of the bank for a few minutes. Once he stopped and gazed at her fiercely, under tensely set brows. Finally he returned hopelessly. "I’m sorry, but I can’t do that." "Why not?" He hesitated. "I know I couldn’t get anything." "But you did before?" He longed desperately to confess everything, but he could not speak. He felt her recede from him; their delightful intimacy was broken. She did not insist further, and self-contempt kept him silent, till he broke out, "Oh, it’s you who must help _me_!" "I’ve done all I can for you. You must find out the rest for yourself." "I don’t dare to think how much you have to find out about me." "Tell me!" "I haven’t the courage." She let her hand fall lightly upon his for an instant. "Well, that only proves, doesn’t it, that, so long as there’s anything insurmountable in the way of directness and simplicity, you haven’t gone all the way. I’ll wait." "I’m so afraid of losing your sympathy and your respect." "But you can’t stop still!" "I’m afraid of losing _you_!" He saw the tears come into her eyes. "Ah, there’s only one way you can lose me," she said deliberately. "How?" He was eager.