There was a sudden break in his voice. He wanted to tell her that he had hungered for a sight of her, and longed for a word to restore him to hope, courage, self-respect; that he had lost his bearings, and was drifting headlong upon hidden rocks and quicksands; but would not founder without throwing up some danger signal, and catching at any spar floating by or any rope flung to him. But he could find no words. The hoarse murmur of the broken surf and subdued roar of the ground-swell mingled with the heavy surging of blood in his ears, and dazed and stupefied him, as they walked in the nearly deserted gardens, their eyes on the ground. Presently Agatha looked up and saw that the surface laughter had died from his face, which was white and drawn, and almost stern in its gravity. "Now you look like your mother, Ivor," she said gently; and he retorted with sudden fierceness: "Heaven forbid she should look like me! She is a good woman, Agatha; it was a bad day for her when she brought me into the world. I've always been in the wrong box, somehow. To go straight I ought to have been born rich; I'm made like that. But it's all done and over now. And I want you to tell her--tell her--I'm sorry for her sake--I've gone under. That's all." "No, Ivor, not all. Let me tell her--for her sake, that you have risen again--as you can and must--for her sake." "You talk like a woman," he said impatiently. "And what do women know?" How could he tell her--not that he wished to--what had driven him there to be near her, if not actually with her, an hour before the time fixed, for succour and refuge from shipwreck more complete and terrible than that of which she knew--in part, at least--already? How could she enter ever so slightly into the passion and misery that were tearing him, into the struggle of all that was best in him enlisted on the side of all that was worst, of a weak and wavering will, drawn hither and thither by the fierce contention of honour and chivalry, gratitude and compunction--against despair and passion and a certain dire, half-conscious need of that tenderness, even protection, that weak woman often gives to strong man?