Lingard did not answer. He stood motionless, his eyes fixed upon the ground. For an instant a wild hope dashed through Philip that at last he had made some impression. But as Arthur slowly raised his dim, worn eyes, and looked him in the face, it faded again, even before the young man spoke. "To satisfy you, I will tell you this much. I have consulted one person--a man whom you would allow was trustworthy and wise and good. From him I have hidden nothing whatever, and he agrees with me that I have no choice--that duty points unmistakably to the course I am pursuing." Again a flash of suggestion struck his hearer. "One person--a man," he repeated. "Arthur, is it some priest? Have they been converting or perverting you, my boy? Are you going over to Rome, fancying yourself called to be a Trappist, or a--those fellows at the Grande Chartreuse, you remember?" For the second time during the interview, Arthur smiled, and his smile was a trifle less ghastly this time. "No, again," he said. "You're quite on a wrong tack. I have not the slightest inclination that way. I--I wish I had. No, my adviser is no priest. But he's one of the best of men, all the same, and one of the wisest." "You won't tell me who he is?" "I cannot." "And"--Philip was reluctant to try his last hope, and felt conscious that he would do it clumsily--"Arthur," he burst out, "you will see her--Daisy--once more? She has a right to it. You are putting enough upon her without refusing this one request of hers." He stood up as he spoke. He himself had grown strangely pale, and seeing this, as he glanced at him, Lingard's own face became ashen. He shook his head. "Good God!" he said, "I think this might have been spared me. No, I will not see her again. The only thing I can do for her is to refuse this last request. Tell her so, Philip--tell her what I say. And now leave me. Don't shake hands with me. I don't wish it, and I daresay you don't. If--if we never meet again, you and I--and who knows?--if this is our goodbye, thank you, old fellow, thank you for all you have tried to do. Perhaps I know the cost of it to you better than you imagine. Good-bye, Phil!" Keir turned towards the door. But he looked back ere he reached it. Arthur was standing as he had been--motionless. "You're not thinking of killing yourself, are you?" he said quietly. Arthur looked at him. His eyes had a different expression now--or was it that something was gleaming softly in them that had not been there before? "No, no--I am not going to be false to my colours. I--I don't care to talk much about it, but--I am a Christian, Phil." "At least I can put that horrid idea out of the poor child's head, then," thought Keir to himself. Though to Arthur he did not reply, save by a bend of his head. * * * * * Time passed. And in his wings there was healing.