She paused a moment, and her eyes wandered away out to the little garden, with its last fading summer beauty yielding already to autumn. And so she did not see the expression in his fine face when he ventured to look at her. She did not know that because of his hopeless love, and withal his quiet courage and quiet pain, at that moment he looked even more splendidly a man than perhaps he had ever done before. Had life been kinder, he would have crossed the space between them in one step, and folded her in such an embrace as would have lost her slim form entirely in his enfolding bigness. He would have given her a love, and a lover, such as falls to the lot of but few women. And she stood there, with her head half turned away; with sad eyes and drooping lips that went to his heart; her mind full of her dead friend, and scarcely a glance for him. “She said I was not to blame you for anything, and she told me to give you her dear, dear love.” He winced visibly, but stood his ground. “Thank you,” he said, in a very low voice. Then, with a sudden, longing triumphing over all: “I prefer to take the blame upon myself, but even then I hope some day you will find it possible to forgive me.” “I shall never forget how much Lorraine loved you,” was all the poor hope she gave him. “Will that make it possible for us to remain friends?” “Yes; I hope so.” She gave him her hand with an old-fashioned solemnity. “For Lorraine’s sake,” she said very simply, and then left him. He turned with a stifled groan, and, leaning his elbows on the mantelpiece, buried his face in his hands. Yet in that painful hour, out of all the tragic mistakes of her life, Lorraine might have gleaned this gladness. In that hour he was nearer than he had ever been before to the man she had striven to make him; for, mercifully for all mankind, there is a “power outside ourselves,” which out of wrong, and weakness, and pain can bring forth good. The sad trio returned to London the following day, and Hal wondered forlornly if Dudley would leave his office early to come and meet her. When she stepped out on the platform he and Ethel were standing together, looking for her. Then they saw her, and Ethel came forward first, holding out both hands, with a subdued light in her face, that made Hal pause and wonder. “How did you know? It was nice of you to come,” she said, with another question in her eyes. “Dudley told me, dear. I have been thinking of you so much.” Then Dudley stepped up to them, and in his face, too, was this subdued gladness. Hal looked from one to the other. “Have you?…” she began, and paused uncertainly. “Yes, dear”; and Ethel blushed charmingly. “I am going to be your sister, so I thought you would let me begin at once, and come to meet you, and try to comfort you a little.” “Oh,” said Hal, drawing a deep breath; “and I thought I was never going to be glad about anything again.” CHAPTER XLVI