They went to the road bordering the sea, which just now they had to themselves.  On the way they said little; each was occupied with their thoughts.

Mavis was touched by Harold’s devotion; also, by his anxiety not to obtrude his infirmity upon her notice.  She looked at him, to see in his eyes unfathomable depths of sadness.  She repressed an inclination to shed tears.  She had never been so near foregoing her resolve to make him the instrument of her hatred of his family.  But the forces that decide these matters had other views.  Mavis was staring out to sea, in order to hide her emotion from Harold’s distress, when the sight of the haze where sea and sky met arrested her attention.  Something in her memory struggled for expression, to be assisted by the smell of seaweed which assailed her nostrils.

In the twinkling of an eye, Mavis, in imagination, was at Llansallas Bay, with passionate love and boundless trust in her heart for the lover at her side, to whom she had surrendered so much.  The merest recollection of how her love had been betrayed was enough to dissipate the consideration that she was beginning to feel for Harold.  Her heart turned to stone; determination possessed her.

“Still silent!” she exclaimed.

“I have to be.”

“Who said so?”

“The little sense that’s left me.”

“Sense is often nonsense.”

“It’s a bitter truth to me.”

“Particularly now?”

“Now and always.”

“May I know?”

“Why did you come into my life?” he asked, as if he had not heard her request.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Why have you?  Why have you?”

“You’re not the only one who can ask that question,” she murmured.

He looked at her for some moments in amazement before saying: 

“Say that again.”

“I shan’t.”

“If I were other than I am, I should compel you.”

“How could you?”

“With my lips.  As it is—–­”

“Yes—­tell me.”

“My infirmity stops me from saying and doing what I would.”

“Why let it?” asked Mavis in a low voice, while her eyes sought the ground.

“You—­you mean that?” he asked, in the manner of one who scarcely believed the evidence of his ears.

“I mean it.”

He did not speak for such a long time that Mavis began to wonder if he regretted his words.  When she stole a look at him, she saw that his eyes were staring straight before him, as if his mind were all but overwhelmed by the subject matter of its concern.

Mavis touched his arm.  He shivered slightly and glanced at her as if surprised, before he realised that she was beside him.

“Listen!” he said.  “You asked—­you shall know; whether you like or hate me for it.  I love you.  Women have never come into my life; they’ve always looked on me with pitying eyes.  I would rather it were so.  But you—­you—­you are beautiful, with a heart like your face, both rare and wonderful.  Perhaps I love you so much because you are young and healthy.  It hurts me.”