"Would you mind walking a little way with me, Vera?" he said, gently and
very gravely.

She drew down her veil, and went with him in silence. They had walked
half-way down Wilton Crescent before he spoke to her again; then he
turned towards her, and looked at her earnestly and sadly.

"Why did you go back again into the church, Vera?"

"I wanted to think quietly a little," she murmured. There was another
pause.

"So _that_ is what parted us!" he exclaimed, with a sudden bitterness, at
length.

She looked up, startled and pale.

"What do you mean?" she stammered.

"Oh, child! I see it all now. How blind I have been. Ah, why did you not
trust me, love? Why did you fear to tell me your secret? Do you not think
that I, who would have laid down my life for you to make you happy, do
you not suppose I would have striven to make your path smooth for you?"

She could not answer him; the kind words, the tender voice, were too much
for her. Her tears fell fast and silently.

"Tell me," he said, turning to her almost roughly, "tell me the truth.
Has he ill-treated you, this brother of mine, who stole you from me, and
then has left you desolate?"