always been theirs between
dinner and bedtime had come, she came into his room quietly and sat in
her accustomed chair.

She had been fighting all day to gain strength for this hour, and her
will was bravely set to speak what must be spoken. But she must firmly
choke back all the sweetness of the memories which sprang to her with
kind eyes, as the familiar little room that had not changed opened its
arms to her, alas! an ironical symbol of unchangeableness. One touch of
tenderness too vivid and she would break down.

And here was Theophil rising from his desk and coming to her with true
love in his eyes, as he had done so many, many happy nights.

Was it, after all, a dream--that terrible picture of two lighted figures
that was for ever in her eyes? No, there was a voice that went day and
night with the dream, a voice of terrible tenderness that kept crying:
"Meantime I bless thee ... "--"I bless thy lamp to oil, thy cup to
wine ..." Ah, no, it was real, real. The trial was not to pass from her
in a dream.

Theophil had knelt down at her side and taken her hand gently and would
have kissed her, but that her eyes were so full of pain as she turned
them to meet his. Besides, strange words to hear! she was asking him not
to kiss her.

"Theophil dear, don't kiss me yet. I have something to say, and if you
kiss me I shall have no strength to say it."

"Jenny!"

"Dear," she began with a voice that seemed to bleed at every word, "I
want to be so kind. I don't want to hurt you with a single word. You'll
believe that, won't you?"

Theophil pressed her hand for assent, but already in a flash the whole
revelation was upon him. Jenny knew he loved Isabel. This awful pain
that was all over her was the lightning from which they had willed
to save her.

"Theophil," Jenny had gone on, and there seemed a death in every word,
"I know that you love Isabel."

"O Jenny!"

"I saw you together, dear, in the vestry last night. It was an accident.
You didn't hear me."

"O my Jenny! I would rather have died than this."

"Yes, I think you would, dear. But you must not be too sad. Life is
terrible,--like this. I understand it now. I know it was not you, or
Isabel, or me. It was just fate--and we must try and help each other.
Don't think I have been only sorry for myself. Don't think that of me.
But I think you should have trusted me, dear."

"We longed to tell you," said Theophil, with his head bowed in distress
in Jenny's lap