They were not asleep, but they should have been. And in separate corners. Conscience was explaining this to her and she was really trying to find relief in sleep. Conscience was less intrusive with him, except in regard to the papers. And when it had nagged him enough he ceased wondering how he was going to get them and merely admitted that he would do it. And this self-knowledge disturbed him so that he could scarcely endure to think of the matter and of what must happen to their friendship in the end. Sorrow, dismay, tenderness possessed him by turns. She seemed like a slumbering child there on his shoulder, softly fragrant, trustful, pathetic. And he was pledged to a thing that might tear the veil from her eyes--horrify her, crush her confidence in man. "I can bribe a couple of old women," he thought miserably--"but it's almost as bad as though I did it myself. Good Heavens!--was a man ever before placed in such a predicament?" And when he couldn't stand his horrid reflections any longer he said, "Karen?" again. So humbly, so unhappily that the girl opened her blue eyes very wide and listened with all her might. "Karen," he said, "in a comparatively short time you won't listen to me at all--you won't tolerate me. And before that time is upon us, I--I want to say a--few--words to you ... about how deeply I value our friendship.... And about my very real respect and admiration for you.... You won't let me say it, soon. You won't care to hear it. You will scorn the very mention of my name--hate me, possibly--no, probably.... And so now--before I have irrevocably angered you--before I have incurred your--dislike--I want to say--if I may--that I--never was as unhappy in all my life." Lying very still against his shoulder she thought: "He does not really mean to do it." "Karen," he went on, "if you don't find it in your heart to spare me this--duty--how can I spare myself?" She thought: "He _does_ mean to do it." "And yet--and yet----" "He won't do it!" she thought. "There never has been a coward in my race!" he said more calmly. "He _does_ mean to do it!" she thought. "He is a barbarian, a Hun, a Visigoth, a savage! He is a brute, all through. And I--I don't know what I am becoming--resting here--listening to such--such infamy from him! I don't know what is going to become of me--I don't--I _don't!_" She caught her breath like a hurt child, hot tears welled up; she turned and buried her face against his arm, overwhelmed by her own toleration of herself and the man she was learning so quickly to endure, to fear, and to care for with all the capacity of a heart and mind that had never before submitted one atom of either mind or heart to any man.