He laid his hand upon her as she sat. "What does that mean?" he said. "Isn't your love equal to the strain?" She shook her head dumbly. She could not meet his look. "What?" he said. "Is my love greater than yours then? I would trust his honour even to the gallows, if need be. Can't you say as much?" She answered him with her head bowed, her words barely audible. "It isn't a question of love. I--should always love him--whatever he did." "Ah!" The flicker of a smile crossed Bernard's face. "That is the woman's way. There's a good deal to be said for it, I daresay." "Yes--yes." Quiveringly she made answer. "But--if this thing were true--my love would have to be sacrificed, even--even though it would mean tearing out my very heart. I couldn't go on--with him. I couldn't--possibly." Her words trembled into silence, and the light died out of Bernard's eyes. "I see," he said slowly. "But, my dear, I can't understand how you--loving him as you do--can allow for a moment, even in your most secret heart, that such a thing as this could be true. That is where you begin to go wrong. That is what does the harm." She looked up at last, and the despair in her eyes went straight to his heart. "I have always felt there was--something," she said. "I can't tell you exactly how. But it has always been there. I tried hard not to love him--not to marry him. But it was no use. He mastered me with his love. But I always knew--I always knew--that there was something hidden which I might not see. I have caught sight of it a dozen times, but I have never really seen it." She suppressed a quick shudder. "I have been afraid of it, and--I have always looked the other way." "A mistake," Bernard said. "You should always face your bogies. They have a trick of swelling out of all proportion to their actual size if you don't." "Yes, I know. I know." Stella pressed his hand and withdrew her own. "You are very good," she said. "I couldn't have said this to any one but you. I can't speak to Everard. It isn't entirely my own weakness. He holds me off. He makes me feel that it would be a mistake to speak." "Will you let me?" Bernard suggested, taking out his pipe and frowning over it. She shook her head instantly. "No!--no! I am sure he wouldn't answer you, and--and it would hurt him to know that I had turned to any one else, even to you. It would only make things more difficult to bear." She stopped short with a nervous gesture. "He is coming now," she said. There was a sound of horse's hoofs at the gate, and in a moment Everard Monck came into view, riding his tall Waler which was smothered with dust and foam. He waved to his wife as he rode up the broad path. His dark face was alight with a grim triumph. A _saice_ ran forward to take his animal, and he slid to the ground and stamped his feet as if stiff. Then without haste he mounted the steps and came to them.