one thing to another, picking our way, but never knowing quite what to
do, because we don't know what's ahead? I believe we never do learn how
to live," she added, half-smiling, yet a little pensive too; "but I am so
very ignorant, and--"

She stopped, for suddenly it flashed upon her: here she was baring her
childish heart--he would think it childish, she was sure he would--
everything she thought, to a man she had never known till to-day. No,
no, she was wrong; she had known him, but it was only as Philip, the boy
who had saved her life. And the Philip of her memory was only a picture,
not a being; something to think about, not something to speak with, to
whom she might show her heart. She flushed hotly and turned her shoulder
on him. Her eyes followed a lizard creeping up the stones. As long
as she lived she remembered that lizard, its colour changing in the sun.
She remembered the hot stones, and how warm the flag-staff was when she
stretched out her hand to it mechanically. But the swift, noiseless
lizard running in and out of the stones, it was ever afterwards like a
coat-of-arms upon the shield of her life.

Philip came close to her. At first he spoke over her shoulder, then he
faced her. His words forced her eyes up to his, and he held them.

"Yes, yes, we learn how to live," he said. "It's only when we travel
alone that we don't see before us. I will teach you how to live--we will
learn the way together! Guida! Guida!"--he reached out his hands to
wards her--"don't start so! Listen to me. I feel for you what I have
felt for no other being in all my life. It came upon me yesterday when
I saw you in the window at the Vier Prison. I didn't understand it. All
night I walked the deck thinking of you. To-day as soon as I saw your
face, as soon as I touched your hand, I knew what it was, and--"