She spoke agitatedly, and her cheeks flushed a sudden feverish red.

Sylvie made haste to try and soothe her.

“My darling girl, I would not say anything to vex you for the world!  You must not excite yourself—­”

“I am not excited,” said Angela, putting her arms round her friend and drawing her fair head down till it was half hidden against her own bosom—­“No—­but I must speak—­bear with me for a minute, dear!  We all have our dreams, we women, and I have had mine!  I dreamt there was such a beautiful thing in the world as a great, unselfish love,—­I fancied that a woman, if gifted with a little power and ability above the rest of her sex, could make the man she loved proud of her—­not jealous!—­I thought that a lover delighted in the attainments of his beloved—­I thought there was nothing too high, too great, too glorious to attempt for the sake of proving oneself worthy to be loved!  And now—­I have found out the truth, Sylvie!—­a bitter truth, but no doubt good for me to know,—­that men will kill what they once caressed out of a mere grudge of the passing breath called Fame!  Thus, Love is not what I dreamed it; and I, who was so foolishly glad to think that I was loved, have wakened up to know that I am hated!—­hated to the very extremity of hate, for a poor gift of brair and hand which I wish—­I wish I had never had!”

Sylvie raised her head and gently put aside the weak trembling little hands that embraced her.

“Angela, Angela!  You must not scorn the gifts of the gods!  No, No!—­ you will not let me say anything—­you forbid me to express my thoughts fully, and I know you are not well enough to hear me yet—­ but one day you will know!—­you will hear,—­you will even be thankful for all the sorrow you have passed through,—­and meanwhile, dear, dearest Angela, do not be ungrateful!”

She said the word boldly yet hesitatingly, bending over the couch tenderly, her eyes full of light, and a smile on her lips.  And taking up a knot of daffodils she swept their cool blossoms softly across Angela’s burning forehead, murmuring—­

“Do not be ungrateful!”

“Ungrateful—!” echoed Angela,—­and she moved restlessly.

“Yes, darling!  Do not say you wish you never had received the great gifts God has given you.  Do not judge of things by Sorrow’s measurement only.  I repeat—­you are loved—­though not perhaps where you most relied on love.  Your father loves you—­your uncle loves you—­Manuel loves you . . .”

Angela interrupted her with a protesting gesture.

“Yes—­I know,” she murmured, “but—­”

“But you think all this love is worthless, as compared with a love that was no love at all?” said Sylvie.  “There!  We will not speak about it any more just now,—­you are not strong, and you see things in their darkest light.  Shall I talk to you about Aubrey?”

“Ah!  That is a subject you are never tired of!” said Angela with a faint smile.  “Nor am I.”