'Does peace return?' cried the girl, fixing her agonised eyes upon her companion's face; 'and if it does, is it a true peace? This is no dead storm, like a storm of winds and waves. It is a storm of human souls. The passion, the cruelty, the restlessness, the awful, awful, unquenchable thirst, are alive. Oh! I have seen them again and again. It is like the look in the eyes of the wild creatures, _misery and pain--misery and pain_.' Her voice dropped. Into her face came a look of horror as if some vision long driven back were forcing itself upon her. 'How did it come?' she whispered. 'Where does it go? It must be somewhere, even when there is peace. Is it below us, ready, like the wild beasts, to spring at our throats, or does it go away? When we open our eyes _there_, shall we see it, _misery and pain--misery and pain_?' 'Grace, for pity's sake, for _my_ sake,' said Tom hoarsely, 'try to forget. For you the horror is over.' 'For me, but for the others, for the world! Did He make it? Did He give it gentle and good things to triumph over? And what will He do with it by-and-by? Is it to go on for ever and ever and ever?' 'Don't think of it; don't think of it, Grace.' 'I can't help myself,' she sobbed. 'It _is_--now, at this very moment while we are speaking--the misery, and the cruelty, and the restlessness, and the despair. Hark!' starting up. 'Do you hear?' 'I hear the wild beasts howling, nothing else. Abiman and Purtab are keeping the camp-fires alight. Everything is safe. Oh! my dear! don't look so! you frighten me!' She tried to smile! 'I am so sorry,' she said gently. 'I _will_ try--yes--I _will_ try to put it all away. But I think you must let me go, Tom. You are looking for the Grace you once knew. You will not find her; she has gone. The horror has touched her, and she can never--never--be the same again.' 'Grace, you will break my heart. As you are, love, as you are, with the sorrow in your eyes and the anguish in your soul, you are more, ten thousand times more, to me than even then in all your dainty pride and sweetness. I loved you, God knows I loved you--now--' he threw himself down on his knees by her side, 'now--I adore you.' 'My poor boy! My poor boy!' she murmured, touching his face tenderly, with her long white fingers. 'Grace,' he whispered. 'Do you care for me a little?' 'I care for you more than a little, Tom. I love you. I have loved you from the first day we met.' 'Loved me! Oh! Grace; oh! my darling! is it true?' 'Hush, dear!' she said softly. 'You must keep quiet. If we speak too loud we shall awake Kit. Poor little Kit! He has suffered so much. And this sleep is restoring him.' Her voice was so quiet that it sent a chill to his heart. There was no passion in it, no trouble, not even the agitation, the sweet tremulous consciousness of a woman happy in loving.