ow, as then, she felt no disposition to weep or lament; the fountains
of her heart were frozen, and she was numb with pain. "Yes; I suppose
so. The best time for the Red Sea. You must avoid the heat... You
will enjoy the voyage, Piers."

Her frozen calm was more piteous than tears. Piers groaned, and buried
his face in his hands.

"Oh, Vanna, Vanna! my poor, poor darling! What must you think of me? I
have failed you after all my vows; and yet, God knows, it is _because_ I
love you, because my love is stronger than myself, that I must go! You
will never understand, but can't you believe me? Can't you trust me
still?"

"I know you love me, Piers. Will you write to me when you are away?"

"Will I write? Do you need to ask? I shall live for your letters.
There will be nothing else to look for but their arrival, and being able
to write back, and tell you all my thoughts. I'll make a diary for you,
dearest; write something every day, so that each mail shall bring you a
small volume. We have always maintained that distance could make no
difference to our love, but it does this much, darling--it silences
angry words! I have made you miserable with my repinings many times
these last years; but whatever I might feel, I could never endure to
send a hard word travelling to you across the world. It may be happier
for you, darling--more peaceful."

She smiled--a wan, strained smile.

"I won't try to keep you, Piers, if you want to go, but--I can't
pretend! Letters can never make up. I have been happy--happier than I
even thought I could be; but Jean was right, Robert was right--it has
not been fair to you. I should not have consented, but I loved you so;
I was so tempted. Even now I am not sorry. No; I am _not_ sorry! Even
if I never see you again, I have had these years--six years of happiness
and love, and you are still young, you have your life ahead--"

He stopped her with his lips on hers.

"You don't meant it, you don't believe it. Don't hurt me, my heart! Be
generous; be patient; and I'll come back more your own than ever. It's
because I love you--because I love you--."

That was the strain which he dinned into her ears--the one fundamental
fact on which all arguments hung; but Vanna's sore heart could find in
it no solid comfort. A love which finds separation easier than loving
intercourse is incomprehensible to a woman's mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MARKING TIME.

Robert and Jean w