Naomi sat motionless and speechless. She lacked the strength to rise. Her hands were pressed upon her heart. She thought its beating would suffocate her. He came quietly across the room to her, not seeming to notice her agitation. "I should not have disturbed you at this hour if I had not been sure that you were awake," he said. Reaching her, he bent and touched her white cheek. "Why, child, how cold you are!" he said. She started violently back, and then, as a sudden memory assailed her, she caught his hand and held it for an instant. "It is nothing," she said with an effort. "You--you startled me." "You are nervous tonight," said Sir Roland. She shrank under his look. "You see, I did not expect you," she murmured. "Evidently not." Sir Roland stood gravely considering her. "I came back," he said, after a moment, "because it occurred to me that you might be lonely after all, in spite of your assurance to the contrary. I did not ask you to accompany me, Naomi. I did not think you would care to do so. But I regretted it later, and I have come back to remedy the omission. Will you come with me to Scotland?" His tone was quiet and somewhat formal, but there was in it a kindliness that sent the blood pulsing through her veins in a wave of relief even greater than her astonishment at his words. He did not know, then. That was her one all-possessing thought. He could not know, or he had not spoken to her thus. She sat slowly forward, drawing her hair about her shoulders like a cloak. She felt for the moment an overpowering weakness, and she could not look up. "I will come, of course," she said at last, her voice very low, "if you wish it." Sir Roland did not respond at once. Then, as his silence was beginning to disquiet her again, he laid a steady hand upon the shadowing hair. "My dear," he said gently, "have you no wishes upon the subject?" Again she started at his touch, and again, as if to rectify the start, drew ever so slightly nearer to him. It was many, many days since she had heard that tone from him. "My wishes are yours," she told him faintly. His hand was caressing her softly, very softly. Again he was silent for a while, and into her heart there began to creep a new feeling that made her gradually forget the immensity of her relief. She sat motionless, save that her head drooped a little lower, ever a little lower. "Naomi," he said, at last, "I have been thinking a good deal lately. We seem to have been wandering round and round in a circle. I have been wondering if we could not by any means find a way out?" She made a sharp, involuntary movement. What was this that he was saying to her? "I don't quite understand," she murmured. His hand pressed a little upon her, and she knew that he was bending down. "You are not happy," he said, with grave conviction. She could not contradict him. "It is my own fault," she managed to say, without lifting her head.