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—he was such a poor sick brute then—and I swore he’d never be treated cruelly again. And now I’ve been more cruel than any one—forcing the game old chap to attempt something he couldn’t do. He tried his best—he wouldn’t give in”—he stopped, and then went on—“I stayed behind, and we buried him—just there where he was. I couldn’t bear throwing the earth over him. It . . . it hurt me.”

Suddenly Ann leaned forward and put her arm round him.

“I wish I could help you,” she said.

“You have helped me,” he muttered huskily. “Just to speak about it has been a comfort. I couldn’t have talked about him to any one but you. You’re . . . kind. And you liked the old horse too . . .”

For a few moments both were still, and then he put aside her hands.

“I oughtn’t to have come here tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know . . . I . . .” He hesitated, and then he said: “Why are you so good to me?”

“I love you,” she answered simply.

He gathered her into his arms, and held her close—his head on her breast.

“Heaven . . . to be here . . . at last,” his voice was just a whisper.

“Why have you left me . . . so long?”

“Oh! I’ve been muddled—wrong-headed. I didn’t want to marry. And now—I can’t.”

He released her, and sat back.

“Why not? Is it because of the case?”

“Oh, damn the case! That makes no difference—it never has—except that I’ve been jealous.”

“You hadn’t any cause. And now that shadow’s