“That is not like you, dear friend!” he said, his rich voice trembling with the pity he felt for her.  “That is not like your brave spirit!  You look only at one aspect of grief—­you see the darkness of the cloud, but not its brighter side.  If I were to say that he whom you loved so greatly has perhaps been taken to save him from even a worse fate, you would be angry with me.  You loved him—­ yes; and whatever he did or attempted to do, even to your injury, you would have loved him still had he lived!  That is the angel half of woman’s nature.  You would have given him your fame had he asked you for it,—­you would have pardoned him a thousand times over had he sought your pardon,—­you would have worked for him like a slave and been content to die with your genius unrecognized if that would have pleased him.  Yes I know!  But God saw your heart—­and his—­and with God alone rests the balance of justice.  You must not set yourself in opposition to the law; you,—­such a harmonious note in work and life,—­must not become a discord!”

She did not speak.  Her hand lay passively in his, and he went on.

“Death is not the end of life.  It is only the beginning of a new school of experience.  Your very grief,—­your present inaction, may for all we know, be injuring the soul of the man whose loss you mourn!”

She sighed.

“Do you think that possible—?”

“I do think it very possible,” he answered.  “Natural sorrow is not forbidden to us,—­but a persistent dwelling on cureless grief is a trespass against the law.  Moreover you have been endowed with a great talent,—­it is not your own—­it is lent to you to use for others, and you have no right to waste it.  The world has taken your work with joy, with gratitude, with thanksgiving; will you say that you do not care for the world?—­that you will do nothing more for it?—­Because one love—­one life, has been taken from you, will you discard all love, all life?  Dear friend, that will not be reasonable,—­not right, nor just, nor brave!”

A wistful longing filled her eyes.

“I wish Manuel were here!” she said plaintively.  “He would understand!”

“Manuel is with Cardinal Bonpre in London,” replied Cyrillon.  “I heard from Aubrey yesterday that they are going about together among the poor, doing good everywhere.  Would you like to join them?  Your friend Sylvie would be glad to have you stay with her, I am sure.”

She gave a hopeless gesture.

“I am not strong enough to go—­” she began.

“You will be strong enough when you determine to be,” said Cyrillon.  “Your frightened soul is making a coward of your body!”

She started and drew her hand away from his gentle clasp.

“You are harsh!” she said, looking at him straightly.  “I am not frightened—­I never was a coward!”

Something of the old steady light came back to her eyes, and Cyrillon inwardly rejoiced to see it.