It is not a fair-weather land. People come here in the
summer, and call the place flat and uninteresting. One can scarcely
wonder at it."

"It is a sad-looking country," she said. "It was its sadness which
brought me out this afternoon; _similia similibus curantur_, you know;
but in my case it has failed."

"And why should you be sad?" he asked softly. "Won't you give me a
little of your confidence?"

She smiled bitterly, and shook her head.

"No, you could never know. Ask me no questions; only leave me alone.
Talk to me of other things, if you will. My thoughts are bad companions
to-night. I do not want to be left alone with them. Do you know any of
Swinburne's 'Salt Marshes'?"

"A little."

"Say it to me. I want to escape from my thoughts."

He obeyed her, standing up by her side and watching the wild music of
the poetry kindle her imagination and work into her heart. He understood
the situation now. She was oppressed by some great trouble, and he must
help her to forget it. And so, when he had come to the last line, he
talked to her softly of it, pointing out the strange lights on the sea,
and the shadows lying across the desolate country. Soon he drifted into
verse again, striving, so far as he could, to avoid the poetry of
pessimism and despair, so beautiful and yet so noxious, and strike a
more joyous and hopeful note. Soon he found himself at "Maud," and here
he was fluent, but here she stopped him, warned perhaps by the light
which was creeping into his eyes.

"Let us go home now," she said. "You have been very kind to me. I shall
never forget it."

He gave her his hand, and they scrambled down on to the path. They
retraced their steps toward the house almost in silence. He was only
fearful of losing one particle of the advantage which he had gained. The
fear of not seeing her again, however, gave him courage.

"May I ask a favor?" he begged humbly.

She nodded.

"Make it a small one, please. I am almost afraid of having to refuse
it."

"Will you come down into the drawing room to-night?"

She shook her head.

"I cannot. I have a long letter to write."

His face fell.

"For just a short time, then."

She hesitated.

"Yes, if you wish it."

"We are friends now, are we not?" anxiously.

She flashed a brilliant look upon him, which made the color steal into
his cheeks, and his heart beat fast.

"Yes," she said softly, "if you will."

CHAPTER XXII

LORD LUMLEY'S CONFESSION