'Nothing! I feel quite happy now. I did not want you to marry her. I could
not bear it. It would be like having a step-mother--worse, for she would
not have me here at all; she would drive me away.'

Hubert shook his head.

'You don't know Julia as well as I do. However, it is no use discussing
what is not going to be. You have been very nice to-day. If you would be
always nice, as you are to-day, I should soon get well.'

Her pale profile seemed very sharp in the fading twilight, and her delicate
arms and thin bosom were full of the charm and fascination of deciduous
things. She turned her face and looked at Hubert. 'You have made me very
happy. I am content.'

He was afraid to look back at her, lest she should, in her subtle, wilful
manner, read the thought that was passing in his soul. Even now she seemed
to read it. She seemed conscious of his pity for her. So little would give
her happiness, and that little was impossible. His heart was irreparably
another's. But though Emily's eyes seemed to know all, they seemed to say,
'What matter? I regret nothing, only let things remain as they are.' And
then her voice said--

'I think I could sleep a little; happiness has brought me sleep. Don't go
away. I shall not be asleep long.' She looked at him, and dozed, and then
fell asleep. Hubert waited till her breathing grew deeper; then he laid the
hand he held in his by her side, and stole on tiptoe from the room.

The strain of the interview had become too intense; the house was