"Nothing matters to me in the whole world either--except you," he said
brokenly. "I think these last few--dreadful days--have shown us both how
much we need each other, and that the memory of them will keep us closer
together all our lives. If there's any question of forgiveness between
us, it's all on my side now, not yours, and I don't think I can--talk
about it now. But I'll never forget how you came to me to-night, and,
please God, some day I'll be more worthy of--of your love and--and your
_trust_ than I've shown myself now. Until I am--" He stopped, and,
lifting her arm, kissed the bruise which his own roughness had made
there. "What can I do--to make that better?" he managed to say.

"It didn't hurt--much--before--and it's all healed--now," she said,
smiling up at him; "didn't your mother ever 'kiss the place to make it
well' when you were a little boy, and didn't it always work like a charm?
It won't show at all, either, under my glove."

"Your glove?" he asked stupidly; and then, suddenly remembering what he
had entirely forgotten--"Oh--we were going to a ball together. You came
to tell me you would, after all. But surely you won't want to now--"

"Why not? We can take the motor--we won't be so very late--the others
went in the carryall, you know."

He drew a long breath, and looked away from her. "All right," he said at
last. "Go downstairs and get your cloak, if you left it there. I'll be
with you in a minute."

She obeyed, without a word, but waited so long that she grew alarmed, and
finally, unable to endure her anxiety any longer, she went back upstairs.
Austin's door was open into the hall, but it was dark in his room, and,