Providence if he told the truth to
Shelagh.

Nothing, however, would move the man from his resolution. The one point
he would yield was to postpone the confession (if "confession" is a fair
word) until the last day, in order not to disturb Shelagh's pleasure in
the trip. She was to hear the story the night before we landed; and I
begged once more that I might be present to help plead his cause. But
Roger wanted no help. And he wanted Shelagh to decide for herself. He
would state the case plainly, for and against. Hearing him, the girl
would know what was for her own happiness.

"At worst I shall have these wonderful days with her to remember," he
said to me. "Nothing can rob me of them. And they are a thousand times
the best of my life so far."

I believed that, equally, nothing could rob him of Shelagh! But--I
wasn't quite sure. And the difference between just "believing" and being
"quite sure" is the difference between mental peace and mental storm. I
had gone through so much with Roger, and for him, that by this time I
loved the man as I might love a brother--a dear and somewhat trying
brother. As for Shelagh, I would have given one of my favourite fingers
or toes to buy her happiness. Consequently, the hour of revelation was a
bad hour for me.

I knew that, till it was over, I should be incapable of Brightening.
Lest I should be called upon in any such capacity, therefore, I went to
bed after dinner with an official headache.

"Now he must be telling her," I groaned to my pillow.

"Now he must have told!"

"Now she must be making up her mind!"

"Now it must be _made_ up. She'll be giving her answer. And if it's
'no,' he won't by a word or look plead his own cause. _Hang_ the fool!
And bless him!"

Then followed a blank interval when I couldn't at all guess what might
be happening. I no longer speculated on the chances. My brain became a
blank. And my pillow was a furnace.

I was striving in vain to read a book whose pages I scarcely saw, and
whose name I've forgotten, when a tap came at the door. Shelagh Leigh
burst in before I could answer.

"Oh, _Elizabeth_!" she gasped, and fell into my arms.

I held the girl tight for an instant, her beating heart against mine.
Then I inquired: "What does 'Oh, Elizabeth!' mean precisely?"

"It means, of course, that I'm going to marry poor, darling Roger as
soon as I possibly can, to comfort him all the rest of his life. And
that you'll be my 'Matron of Honour,'