you say would be to any other man a joy unspeakable--the beginning of a
new life to him; but to me----" And he turned away with a shudder.

It was she who was the comforter in the presence of an impossible love.
Taking his hand gently, she said in a quiet voice: "I do not know what
you mean; but you must not accuse yourself for me. I have made a
confession--it was right to do that for you were going away. Now you
will go away knowing I am still your friend, that I shall think of you
sometimes: though I shall pray never to see you any more until we are
old people, and may meet and laugh at the old stupid folly."

"It shall not end thus!" he cried. "Let the past be past, Coquette, and
the future ours. Let us seek a new country for ourselves. Let me take
you away, and make for you a new world. Why should we two be for ever
miserable? Coquette----"

"I am afraid of you now," she said, drawing back in fear. "What are you?
Ah, I do see another face!" And, staggering, she fell insensible on the
deck as the minister approached.

That night Lord Earlshope left the yacht, and this was his parting
message, written on a slip of paper: "I was mad last night. I do not
know what I said. Forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself."

A winter's illness followed the strain of these emotional scenes, but
with the spring Coquette resumed her morning moorland walks, and drank
in new life from the warm, sweet breezes. One morning, she came face to
face with Lord Earlshope. With only a second's pause she stepped forward
and offered him her hand.