She started from her reclining position and fixed her eyes on his face. "Julian," she cried, in a sudden breathless way, "was it--was it?--No." She broke off and wrung her hands helplessly. "It has escaped me again. I _cannot_ remember. Oh, that I could! It tortures me so. Julian--" and she looked at him appealingly. "_You_ must help me--you must bring it back. I will not wed you till that mystery is solved. Something warns me against it." "My dearest," he said soothingly, "do not excite yourself in this fashion. It can make no difference to me that there should be mystery or tragedy in your past life. Have I not always loved you? Have we not chosen the same path in life, only now we shall tread it side by side, not one far in advance of the other? The infinite delight of that companionship shall not be marred by any memories of the past. If I am content to let it rest, surely you may be." She drew herself away. Her deep strange eyes looked coldly and yet mournfully back to his yearning gaze. "You were never a coward, Julian," she said. "What is it you fear now?" He threw himself on his knees by her side and buried his face in the soft white furs. She saw that he was trembling greatly. "I cannot tell," he said hoarsely. "Would to God that I could! But if you should change, if you should repent--Oh! to lose your love now would kill me!" She laid her hand on his bowed head. "Rest assured you shall not lose _that_," she said in her low thrilling voice. "No, Julian, that is not the danger--it threatens me, not you. There will be no change on my part, not so far as my love is concerned. Will that assurance satisfy you?" "You need not ask that, beloved? But why disturb our peace? If I am content--" "There must be no secret between your soul and mine," she said solemnly. "For what, think you, is your power granted, but that I may answer to it, that I may lead you on the road--and that you, for me, may throw open the portals?" "In the future," he said eagerly, "I am content to do your will. But not now--not to draw the veil from our buried miseries. Let them be as dead things--out of sight and mind." "You know," she said, "that nothing dies--not a life, or an act, or a thought. You may put the past out of sight, but it lives still--lives in its hidden crimes, its secret sins, its evil and its good--lives to haunt and shape our future, let that future dream as it will of forgetfulness." He rose from his knees, his face was still pale, but his eyes glowed like living fire. "When will you wed me, Estarah?" he asked, abruptly. The soft colour flushed her cheek. Her eyes drooped. "My heart is yours," she said. "My life lives but in the shadow of your own. Why should I withhold--this poor gift?" She placed her hand in his, and let him draw her to his heart. "I will wed you when you will," she said, "but only if you yield to my condition. It is an easy one, Julian. Why do you fear?"