She had scarcely heard him through wonderment that he could so change at such a moment. Her happiness began to falter and darken like departing sunbeams. She remained for a space uncertain of herself, knowing neither what was needed nor what was best; then she spoke with resolute deprecation: "Why discuss with me your past life? Have I not known you always?" These were not the words of girlhood. She spoke from the emotions of womanhood, beginning to-night in the plighting of her troth. "You have trusted me too much, Isabel." Repulsed a second time, she now fixed her large eyes upon him with surprise. The next moment she had crossed lightly once more the widening chasm. "Rowan," she said more gravely and with slight reproach, "I have not waited so long and then not known the man whom I have chosen." "Ah," he cried, with a gesture of distress. Thus they sat: she silent with new thoughts; he speechless with his old ones. Again she was the first to speak. More deeply moved by the sight of his increasing excitement, she took one of his hands into both of hers, pressing it with a delicate tenderness. "What is it that troubles you, Rowan? Tell me! It is my duty to listen. I have the right to know." He shrank from what he had never heard in her voice before--disappointment in him. And it was neither girlhood nor womanhood which had spoken now: it was comradeship which is possible to girlhood and to womanhood through wifehood alone: she was taking their future for granted. He caught her hand and lifted it again and again to his lips; then he turned away from her. Thus shut out from him again, she sat looking out into the night. But in a woman's complete love of a man there is something deeper than girlhood or womanhood or wifehood: it is the maternal--that dependence on his strength when he is well and strong, that passion of protection and defence when he is frail or stricken. Into her mood and feeling toward him even the maternal had forced its way. She would have found some expression for it but he anticipated her. "I am thinking of you, of my duty to you, of your happiness." She realized at last some terrible hidden import in all that he had been trying to confess. A shrouded mysterious Shape of Evil was suddenly disclosed as already standing on the threshold of the House of Life which they were about to enter together. The night being warm, she had not used her shawl. Now she threw it over her head and gathered the weblike folds tightly under her throat as though she were growing cold. The next instant, with a swift movement, she tore it from her head and pushed herself as far as possible away from him out into the moonlight; and she sat there looking at him, wild with distrust and fear. He caught sight of her face. "Oh, I am doing wrong," he cried miserably. "I must not tell you this!"