John looked up suddenly.

“Did you pray—–?” he began in a choked voice-then checked himself, and said quickly—­“Dear child, I do not think Lord Roxmouth could have ever done me any harm!”

“Ah, you don’t know him as I do!” and she sighed—­“He stops at nothing.  He will employ any base tool, any mean spy, to gain his own immediate purposes.  And—­and—­” she hesitated—­“you know I wrote to you about it—–­he saw us in the picture gallery—–­”

“Well!” said John, and his eyes kindled into a sudden light and fire—­“What if he did?”

“You were telling me how much you disliked seeing women smoke”—­she faltered—­“And—­and—­you spoke of Psyche,—­you remember—–­”

“I remember!” And John grew bolder and more resolute in spirit as he saw the soft rose flush on her cheeks and listened to the dulcet tremor of her voice—­“I shall never forget!”

“And he thought—­he thought—–­” here her words sank almost to a whisper—­“that I—­that you—–­”

He turned suddenly and looked down upon her where she lay.  Their eyes met,—­and in that one glance, love flashed a whole unwritten history.  Stooping over her, he caught her little hands in his own, and pressed them against his heart with strong and passionate tenderness.

“If he thought I loved you,”—­he said—­“he was right!  I loved you then—­I love you now!—­I shall love you for ever—­till death, and beyond it!  My darling, my darling!  You know I love you!”

A half sob, a little smile answered him,—­and then soft, broken words.

“Yes—­I know!—­I always knew!”

He folded his arms about her, and drew her into an embrace from which he wildly thought not Death itself should tear her.

“And you care?” he whispered.

“I care so much that I care for nothing else!” she said—­then, all suddenly she broke down and began to weep pitifully, clinging to him and murmuring the grief she had till now so bravely restrained—­“But it is all too late!” she sobbed—­“Oh my dearest, you love me,—­and I love you,—­ah!—­you will never know how much!—­but it is too late!—­ I can be of no use to you!—­I can never be of use!  I shall only be a trouble to you,—­a drag and a burden on your days!—­oh John!—­and a little while ago I might have been your joy instead of your sorrow!”

He held her to him more closely.

“Hush, hush!” he said softly, soothing her as he would have soothed a child,—­and with mingled tenderness and reverence, he kissed the sweet trembling lips, the wet eyes, the tear-stained cheeks—­“Hush, my little girl!  You are all my joy in this world—­can you not feel that you are?” And he kissed her again and yet again.  “And I am so unworthy of you!—­so old and worn and altogether unpleasing to a woman—­I am nothing!  Yet you love me!  How strange that seems!—­how wonderful!—­for I have done nothing to deserve your love.  And had you been spared your health and strength, I should never have spoken—­never!  I would not have clouded your sunny life with my selfish shadow.  No!  I should have let you go on your way and have kept silence to the end!  For in all your vital brightness and beauty I should never have dared to say I love you, Maryllia!”