n
he came to bid her good-bye in the garden, and she feared to see his
face now. But she schooled herself to be strong, for herself and for
him.

He was near her on the path coming towards her. As she saw him she
uttered a little cry and stood up. An immense surprise came to her,
followed in a moment by an immense joy--the greatest joy, she thought,
that she had ever experienced. For she looked on a face in which she
saw for the first time a pale dawning of peace. There was sadness in it,
there was awe, but there was a light of calm, such as sometimes settles
upon the faces of men who have died quietly without agony or fear. And
she felt fully, as she saw it, the rapture of having refused cowardice
and grasped the hand of bravery. Directly afterwards there came to her a
sensation of wonder that at this moment of their lives she and Androvsky
should be capable of a feeling of joy, of peace. When the wonder passed
it was as if she had seen God and knew for ever the meaning of His
divine compensations.

Androvsky came to the doorway of the _fumoir_ without looking up,
stood still there--just where Count Anteoni had stood during his first
interview with Domini--and said:

"Domini, I have been to the priest. I have made my confession."

"Yes," she said. "Yes, Boris!"

He came into the _fumoir_ and sat down near her, but not close to her,
on one of the divans. Now the sad look in his face had deepened and the
peace seemed to be fading. She had thought of the dawn--that pale light
which is growing into day. Now she thought of the twilight which is
fading into night. And the terrible knowledge struck her, "I am the
troubler of his peace. Without me only could he ever regain fully the
peace which he has lost."

"Domini," he said, looking up at her, "you know the rest. You meant it
to be as it will be when we left Amara."

"Was there any other way? Was there any other possible life for us--for
you--for me?"

"For you!" he said, and there was a sound almost of despair in his
voice. "But what is to be your life? I have never protected you--you
have protected me. I have never been strong for you--you have been
strong for me. But to leave you--all alone, Domini, must I do that? Must
I think of you out in the world alone?"

For a moment she was tempted to break her silence, to tell him the
truth, that she would perhaps not be alone, that another life, sprung
from his and hers, was coming to be with her, was coming to share