"Well, I thought I saw a chance of it," he resumed, "and I went to get some information, that I fancied might help me, from Plunkett and Plunkett--" "Is it fitting that you should give these details to me?" she haughtily interposed. "I wish you to understand that I am doing my best. Plunkett and Plunkett could not give me the information: but they directed me to some people where I might obtain it. To enable me to see one of these people, I had to stay in town all night; and that was the reason of my not getting home." Lucy had taken a spray of jessamine from her waistband, and stood pulling it to pieces, listening with an air of indifference. "I do not really know more than I did before I went to town, as to whether or not the Maze can be left empty," he went on. "But I have a good hope of it. I think I may be able to accomplish it, though perhaps not quite immediately. It may take time." "As you please, of course," answered Lucy coldly. "It is nothing to me." Karl Andinnian had one of the sweetest tempers in the world, and circumstances had taught him patience and endurance. But he felt grieved to his very heart at her cutting indifference, and for once his spirit rebelled against it. "Lucy, how dare you treat me so? What have I done to deserve it from you? You must know and see what a life of tempest and apprehension mine is. There are moments when I feel that I could welcome death, rather than continue to live it." She was not ungenerous. And, as he so spoke, it struck her that, whatever her wrongs, she had been petty and ungracious to him now. And perhaps--Heaven knew--he was really striving to rid himself of Mrs. Grey as earnestly as she could wish it. Her countenance softened. "I am as a man tied down in a net from which there is no extrication," he resumed with increased emotion. "My days are so full of care that I envy the poor labourers at work by the road-side, and wish I was one of them--anything in the world, good or bad, but what that world calls me--Sir Karl Andinnian. And my wife, whom I have loved with my heart's best love, and whom I might have fondly hoped would pity my strait and comfort me--she turns against me. God forgive you for your harshness, Lucy." The reproaches wrung her heart terribly. In the moment's repentance, she believed she had judged him more hardly than he deserved. Her tone was gentle, her eyes had tears in them. "I have to bear on my side too, Karl. You forget that." No, he did not forget it. But the temporary anger was pre-eminent just then. A hot retort was on his lips; when the sight of her face, sad with its utter sorrow, struck on every generous chord he possessed, and changed his mood to pity. He crossed over and took her unresisting hands in his. "Forgive my words, Lucy: you tried me very much. We have both something to forgive each other." She could not speak; sobs were rising in her throat. Karl bent forward and kissed her passionately.