“Ah, let me implore of you. I fancied that you knew all--all my story. I forgot that it happened so long ago that people in this neighbourhood had ceased to speak of it years before you came here.” “Your story? I will believe nothing but what is good of you.” “My story--my life's story is that I have promised to love another man.” He gave a gasp. His head fell forward for a moment. Then he clasped his hands behind him and looked at her in all tenderness and without a suggestion of reproach. “I had a suspicion of it yesterday,” he said. “The man who is more fortunate than I is Richard Westwood.” “No, not Richard Westwood, but Claude Westwood,” she replied, in a low tone, and with her eyes fixed upon the ground. A puzzled look was on his face. “Claude Westwood--Claude Westwood?” he said. “But there is no Claude Westwood. Was not Claude Westwood the African explorer killed years ago--it must be nearly ten years ago--when trying to reach the Upper Zambesi?” “Claude Westwood is the man to whom I have given my promise,” said she in an unshaken voice--the voice of one whose faith remains unshaken. “He is not dead. He is alive and our love lives. Ah, my dear friend”--she put out both her hands frankly to Sir Percival and he took them, tenderly and reverently--“my dear friend, you may think me a fool; you may think that I am wasting my life in waiting for an event that is as impossible as the bringing of the dead back to life; but God has brought the dead back to life, and I trust in God to bring the man whom I love back to my love. At any rate, whatever you may think, I cannot help myself; it is my life, this waiting, though it is weary--weary.” She had turned away from him and was looking with wide, wistful eyes across the long sweep of country that lay between the road and the Abbey woods. He had not let go her hands. He held them as he said: “My poor Agnes! my poor Agnes. I had some hope--yes, a little--when I first saw you. I had never thought of loving a woman before, but then... ah, what is the good of recalling what my thoughts were--my hopes? I am strong enough to face my fate. I am strong enough to hope with all my heart that happiness may come to you--that--that--he may come to you--the man who is blessed with such a love as has blessed few men. You know that I am sincere, Agnes?” “I am sure of it,” she said, and now it was her hand that tightened on his. “Ah, my dear, dear friend, I know how good you are--how true! If I were in trouble it is to you I would go for help, knowing that you would never fail me.” “I will never fail you,” he said. “There is a bond between us. You will come to me should you ever be in trouble.” “I give you my promise,” she said. Her eyes were overflowing with tears as she put her face up to his. He kissed her on the forehead very gently, and without speaking a good-bye turned slowly away to the little gate.