resist. He hurt her, and she welcomed the
pain.

"Moya, I would tell you this moment if I thought it would be for your
good and mine. It wouldn't--so why should I? It is something that you
would never, never forgive!"

"You mean the secret of the man's hold upon you?"

"Yes," he said, after a pause.

"You are wrong," said Moya, quickly. "It shows how little you know me! I
could forgive anything--anything--that is past and over. Anything but
your refusal to trust me ... when as you say yourself ... I have twice
over...."

She was shaking in her saddle, in a fit of suppressed sobbing the more
violent for its very silence. In the deep gloaming it might have been an
ague that had seized her; but some tears fell upon his hand holding
hers; and next moment that arm was round her waist. Luckily the horses
were tired out. And so for a little her head lay on his shoulder as
though there were no space between, the while he whispered in her ear
with all the eloquence he possessed, and all the passion she desired.

In this she must trust him, else indeed let her never trust him with her
life! But she would--she would? Surely one secret withheld was not to
part them for all time! And she loved the place after all, he could see
that she loved it, nor did she deny it when he paused; she would love
the life, he saw that too, and again there was no denial. They had been
so happy yesterday! They could be so happy all their lives! But for that
it was not necessary that they should tell each other everything. It was
not as if he was going to question her right to have and to keep secrets
of her own. She was welcome to as many as ever she liked. He happened
to know, for example (as a matter of fact, it was notorious), that he
was not the first man whom she had fancied she cared about. But did he
ask questions about the others? Well, then, she should remember that in
his favour. And yet--and yet--she had stood nobly by him in spite of all
her feelings! And yes, she had earned the right to know more--to know
all--when he remembered that he was risking his liberty and her
happiness, and that she had countenanced the risk in her own despite!
Ah, if only he were sure of her and her forgiveness; if only he were
sure!

"You talk as though you had committed some crime yourself," said Moya;
"well, I don't care if you have, so long as you tell me all about it.
There is nothing I wouldn't forgive--nothing upon earth--except such
secrets from