“And I accept it,” said Helene. “Does it seem to you very poor-spirited to be content with what you offer me? Perhaps it is, but--I can’t do without you. All my strength seems to forsake me when you are away. The day you left Nice, when we met you on your way to the station, I was praying--oh, so earnestly!--that the good God would change your mind, and make you decide to stay. It would have been a miracle, you say? But why not? I knew I could not hold out against my parents and Ivan Petrovitch if you were gone. But you went away, and I seemed to have no power to resist. I allowed papa to tell Ivan Petrovitch that I would marry him, and I prayed that I might die soon, before the day could come. Do you wonder, then, that I am content now? But listen to me, please.” She laid her hand on his shoulder as he walked beside her. “I am glad you have told me all your feelings, because it relieves me from one of my fears, at least. I am content, but I am not satisfied. I shall not be satisfied until you can tell me from your heart that you love me best.” “But really, you know,” protested Usk, “it’s simply that I can’t help knowing that if I had to live the time over again since last August I should do exactly the same--as regards Félicia, I mean.” “I know--and I want you to be able to say, ‘If I had known Helene then, I should have loved her best.’ It sounds impossible, does it not? and you are honest; you will not say it does not. But let me try. Do not steel your heart against me, that is all I ask. You promise, then?” as Usk took her hand and pressed his lips to it. “And you will say nothing of this to any one? It is our secret, yours and mine.” “I feel as if every one ought to know how wretchedly, miserably ashamed I feel beside you,” he muttered. “So? I would have liked you to feel proud--and just a little pleased,” and Helene smiled at him with trembling lips. Usk looked at her as if he hardly realised the meaning of her words, then his strained expression relaxed, and he smiled too. “This part of the path is rather steep. I think I ought to hold you on the pony,” he said, and did so. “There’s one thing I want to ask you,” said Helene presently. “To the half of my kingdom, such as it is! Only let me hear it.” “You have a Christian name, haven’t you? I want to have a name for you that other people don’t use--not to have to call you after a place, like a king in Shakespeare. Do you think Cordelia called her husband ‘France’?” “My Christian name is Edmund,” said Usk gravely. “Oh, and Edmund in ‘King Lear’ is so horrible! I couldn’t call you that.” “I’m sorry. It’s a family name, you see. But as you’re such a Shakespearean scholar, have you ever read ‘Henry V.’?” “I don’t think so. No; I’m sure I haven’t. But I will, as soon as I get home.” “Oh no; you needn’t,” hastily. “There’s a fellow in that called Nym--a delightful person--and Nym was short for Edmund, you know. That’s a name you can have quite to yourself, if you like it.”