She was just a child once more--and she trusted him.
"Very well, then," he said, "just let me think--for a moment." She understood enough not to raise her head.

Lessingham was gazing out through the chaotic shadows of the distant banks of clouds from which the moon was rising.

Already the pain had begun, and yet with it was that queer sense of exaltation which comes with sacrifice.
"We have been very nearly foolish," he told her, with grave kindliness.
"It is well, perhaps, that we were in time.

Those windows which lead into your library,--through which I first came to you, by-the-by,--" he added, with a strange, reminiscent little sigh, "are they open ?" "Yes!" she whispered.
"Come, then," he invited.

"Before I leave there is something I want to make clear to you." They made their way rather like two conspirators along the little terraced walk.