"You give too much weight to the impressions of the moment. That world is farther removed from yours than the farthest star; you must forget this glimpse of it." "Oh, I fear you do not know me; I do not know myself." He made no reply, and, on their coming near to the house, Maud paused. "Mother's sending you a note this evening," she said, as she held out her hand, "to ask you to come on Thursday instead of to-morrow. She will be from home to-morrow night." "Shall you also be from home?" "I? No." "Then may I not come and see you?--Not if it would be troublesome." "It would not, at all." "It is good of you. I will come." CHAPTER XXVII THE WILL TO LIVE Waymark made his way to Paddington at the usual time on the following evening, and found Maud alone. There was agitation in her manner as she welcomed him, and she resumed her seat as if the attitude of rest was needful to her. In reply to his inquiries about her health, she assured him she was well, and that she felt no painful results from the previous evening. Waymark also showed an unusual embarrassment. He stood for some moments by the table, turning over the leaves of a book. "I didn't know you had Rossetti," he said, without looking up. "You never mentioned him." "I seem to have had no opportunity." "No. I too have many things that I have wanted to speak to you about, but opportunity was wanting. I have sometimes been on the point of asking you to let me write to you again." He glanced inquiringly at her. Her eyes fell, and she tried to speak, but failed. Waymark went to a seat at a little distance from her. "You do not look as well as when I met you in the summer," he said. "I have feared you might be studying too hard. I hope you threw away your books whilst you were at the sea-side." "I did, but it was because I found little pleasure in them. It was not rest that took the place of reading." "Are your difficulties of a kind you could speak of to me?" he asked, with some hesitation. She kept her eyes lowered, and her fingers writhed nervously on the arm of the chair. "My only fear would be lest you should think my troubles unreal. Indeed it is so hard to make them appear anything more than morbid fancies. They are traceable, no doubt, to my earliest years. To explain them fully, I should have to tell you circumstances of my life which could have little interest for you." "Tell me--do," Waymark replied earnestly. "Will you let me?" she said, with a timid pleasure in her voice. "I believe you could understand me. I have a feeling that you must have experienced something of these troubles yourself, and have overcome them. Perhaps you could help me to understand myself." "If I thought I could, it would give me great happiness."