"I tell you I love him ten thousand times more than you do. Look at me, I am utterly lost and abased with my grief and humiliation. Am I not an object of pity? Geoffrey is dead, I tell you; I know it, I feel it. Love him as you do! And you stand there without so much as a single tear for his dear memory." Vera flushed. The words stung her keenly. How cold and callous Marion must think her! And yet Marion would have been equally cold and self-contained had she known. And it was impossible to give her a single hint. "My heart and soul are wrapped up in Geoffrey," she said. "If anything happens to him I shall have nothing to live for. But I am not going to give way yet. There is still hope. And I shall hope to the end." Marion sat up suddenly and dried her tears. "You are a reproach to me," she said with a watery smile. "Not one word of reproof has passed your lips, and yet you are a reproof to me. And to think that you should have learned my secret! I could die of shame." Vera kissed the other tenderly. "Why?" she asked. "Surely there is no shame in a pure and disinterested affection." "From your point of view, no," said Marion. "But if you could place yourself in my position you would not regard it in the same light. I have cared for Geoffrey ever since I came here; all along I have loved him. I knew that he was pledged to you, and knew that he could never be anything to me and still I loved him. Who shall comprehend the waywardness of a woman's heart? And now he is dead." Once more the tears rose to Marion's eyes; she rocked herself to and fro as if suffering from bitter anguish. "I do not believe that Geoffrey is dead," said Vera. "Something tells me that he will be spared. But why go on like this? Anybody would imagine that you had something to do with it from the expression of your face." Marion looked up suddenly. "Something to do with it?" she echoed dully, mechanically. "I wasn't speaking literally, of course." Vera went on. "But your curious expression----" "What is curious about my expression?" "It is so strange. It is not like grief, so much as remorse." Marion broke into a queer laugh, a laugh she strangled. As she passed her handkerchief across her face she seemed to wipe out that strange expression. "I hope remorse and I will remain strangers for many a long day," she said more composedly. "It is so difficult to judge from faces. And I must try to be brave like yourself. I have never given way before." "I believe you are the bravest of us all, Marion." "And I that I am the greatest coward. I have even been so weak as to allow the secret of my life to escape me. Vera, I want you to make me a most sacred promise." "A dozen if you like, dear." "Then I want you to promise that Geoffrey shall never know of your discovery. At no time are you to tell him. Promise." Marion looked up eagerly and met Vera's eyes. They were clear and true and honest; they were filled with frankness and pity.