ath-cold hand in mine.

"It is no matter," I whispered; "I do not care for your mother!
Her words are nothing! I will not leave you--not till you tell me
everything."

"Everything!" He echoed the word, and looked at me helplessly.
"Everything! Tell you everything!"

Suddenly there was a change. The numbed, helpless look left his face,
and his features were relaxed. He was himself again; a strong, brave
man, only shaken by the storm.

"Adrea, forgive me! Did you think that I was going mad? I have had
a terrible shock, and I have been up all night listening to a story
which brings great suffering and misery upon me!"

His eyes had suddenly a far-away look in them, so sad that I felt
the tears rush into mine. I pressed his hand to let him know that I
understood; but I kept my face turned from him. Ah! love is a strange
thing, indeed! If I had not cared, Paul, I could have sympathised with
you so nicely, and made so many pretty speeches. But I love you, and
it made me feel very strange and solemn. I had nothing to say; my
heart was too full. Did you understand, I wonder? Will you ever
understand? Paul, my love! my love! It is so sweet to say that over
and over to myself in this dark chamber, where there is no one to hear
me, or to see me looking so foolish. You make me feel so different,
Paul! That is because you yourself are so different from all the men I
know; from all the men I have ever seen.

We stood there, quite silent, for some moments. Then he drew a quick,
stifled breath, and caught hold of my hands. "I cannot breathe in this
place," he said, looking half fearfully around; "the very air seems
tainted with that horrible story, and its ghosts are lurking in every
corner!"

"Let me draw the curtains," I whispered. "The sunlight will banish
them. You are dazed."

He held my hand tightly, and drew me towards the window. "Never mind
the curtains! We will go out; out over the moor."

He was feverishly impatient to be gone, but I held him back. "Your
clothes!" I reminded him. "And you have no hat!"

He looked down doubtfully at his disordered evening dress, and then
released my hands. "Wait for me, here," he begged. "Promise that you
will not go away; that nothing shall make you go."

I promised.

"See! I shall lock the door," he continued, as he reached the
threshold. "No one can come in and disturb you!"

"Please to have some tea and a bath!" I begged. "I do not mind
waiting. You will be ill, if you d