She fell suddenly silent, slowly twisting the ring on her finger.  “He knew why,” she said at last in a very low voice.  “In fact—­in fact he asked me for that reason.”

“And the reason still exists?”

She bent her head.  “Yes.”

“A reason you are ashamed of?” pursued the doctor.

She did not answer, and he drew his great brows together in deep thought.

“You don’t propose to take me any further into your confidence?” he asked at last.

She made a quick, impulsive movement.  “You—­you—­I think you know.”

“Will you let me tell you what I know?” he said.

She shrank perceptibly.  “If—­if you won’t make it too hard for me.”

“I can’t answer for that,” he returned.  “It depends entirely upon yourself.  My knowledge does not amount to anything very staggering in itself.  It is only this—­that I know a certain person who would cheerfully sacrifice all he has to make you happy, and that you have no more cause to fear persecution from that person than from the man in the moon.”

He paused; but Muriel did not speak.  She was still absently turning her engagement ring round and round.

“To verify this,” he said, “I will tell you something which I am sure you don’t know—­which in fact puzzled me, too, considerably, for some time.  He has already sacrificed more than most men would care to venture in a doubtful cause.  It was no part of his plan to follow you to England.  He set his face against it so strongly that he very nearly ended his mortal career for good and all in so doing.  As it was, he suffered for his lunacy pretty heavily.  You know what happened.  He was forced to come in the end, and he paid the forfeit for his delay.”

Again he paused, for Muriel had sprung upright with such tragedy in her eyes that he knew he had said enough.  The next moment she was on her feet, quivering all over as one grievously wounded.

“Oh, do you know what you are saying?” she said, and in her voice there throbbed the cry of a woman’s wrung heart.  “Surely—­surely he never did that—­for me!”

He did not seem to notice her agitation.  “It was a fairly big price to pay for a piece of foolish sentiment, eh?” he said.  “Let us hope he will know better next time.”

He looked up at her with a faintly cynical smile, but she was standing with her face averted.  He saw only that her chin was quivering like a hurt child’s.

“Come,” he said at length.  “I didn’t tell you this to distress you, you know.  Only to set your mind at rest, so that you might sleep easy.”

She mastered herself with an effort, and turned towards him.  “I know; yes, I know.  You—­you have been very kind.  Good-night, doctor.”

He rose and went with her to the door.  “You are not going to lie awake over this?”

She shook her head.  “Good-night,” she said again.

He watched her down the passage, and then returned to his writing.  He smiled to himself as he sat down, but this time wholly without cynicism.