Muriel rested her clasped hands upon the gate, and spoke in a voice unconsciously hushed.

“I never realised how much I liked this place before,” she said.  “Isn’t it odd?  I have been actually happy here—­and I didn’t know it.”

“You are not happy to-night,” said Grange.

She did not attempt to contradict him.  “I think I am rather tired,” she said.

“I don’t think that is quite all,” he returned, with quiet conviction.

She moved, turning slightly towards him; but she said nothing, though he obviously waited for some response.

For awhile he was discouraged, and silence fell again upon them.  Then at length he braced himself for an effort.  For all his shyness he was not without a certain strength.

“Miss Roscoe,” he said, “do you remember how you once promised that you would always regard me as a friend?”

She turned fully towards him then, and he saw her face dimly in the starlight.  He thought she looked very pale.

“I do,” she said simply.

In a second his diffidence fell away from him.  He realised that the ground on which he stood was firm.  He bent towards her.

“I want you to keep that promise of yours in its fullest sense to-night, Muriel,” he said, and his soft voice had in it almost a caressing note.  “I want you—­if you will—­to tell me what is the matter.”

Muriel stood before him with her face upturned.  He could not read her expression, but he knew by her attitude that she had no thought of repelling him.

“What is it?” he urged gently.  “Won’t you tell me?”

“Don’t you know?” she asked him slowly.

“I only know that what we heard this afternoon upset you,” he answered.  “And I don’t understand it.  I am asking you to explain.”

“You will only think me very foolish and absurd.”

There was a deep quiver in the words, and he knew that she was trembling.  Very kindly he laid his hand upon her shoulder.

“Can’t you trust me better than that?” he asked.

She did not answer him.  Her breathing became suddenly sharp and irregular, and he realised that she was battling for self-control.

“I don’t know if I can make you understand,” she said at last.  “But I will try.”

“Yes, try!” he said gently.  “You won’t find it so very difficult.”

She turned back to the gate, and leaned wearily upon it.

“You are very kind.  You always have been.  I couldn’t tell any one else—­not even Daisy.  You see, she is—­his friend.  But you are different.  I don’t think you like him, do you?”

Grange hesitated a little.  “I won’t go so far as to say that,” he said finally.  “We get on all right.  I was never very intimate with the fellow.  I think he is a bit callous.”

“Callous!” Muriel gave a sudden hard shudder.  “He is much worse than callous.  He is hideously, almost devilishly cruel.  But—­but—­he isn’t only that.  Blake, do you think he is quite human?  He is so horribly, so unnaturally strong.”