And so by his very forbearance he committed the greatest mistake of his life.  If he had stayed then, she might have been persuaded to tell him all that was in her heart.  But—­the bitter irony of it!—­though she was possessed by a passionate longing to do so, in face of his quiet restraint she could not.  In fear of the physical effect upon her, he held her back.  And she was powerless to pass the barrier.  Without his supporting tenderness, she could not lay bare to him the misery and the pain which in no other way could be relieved.

She loosened her hold upon his hand, and as he gently withdrew it she felt as if her last chance of peace were taken away.  She turned her face into the pillow and lay still, and a moment later the soft closing of the door told her he had gone.

She listened to his quiet tread along the passage, and an overwhelming sense of desolation swept over her.  He had left her alone to cope with her trouble, and the burden of it was greater than she could bear.

She did not know that he returned a little later and listened for many seconds at the door, fearing that she might be spending her solitude in tears.  She never heard him there, or even then her tragedy might have been lifted from her.  She was lying quite still, with clenched hands, staring dry-eyed into space; for she had no tears to shed.

And he, deeming her sleeping, went softly away again, to sit on the terrace and await Aunt Philippa, who had retired to make her final preparations.

A long time passed before she made her appearance, and he was beginning to wonder with some uneasiness if she had decided to postpone her departure after all, when at length she joined him, ready dressed for the journey.  She sat down beside him, looking very handsome and dignified.

“I am glad of this opportunity of seeing you alone, my dear Trevor,” she began, “as, after long deliberation, I have at last decided to take you into my confidence upon a matter that has been greatly troubling me.”

Mordaunt laid aside the proof of an article with which he had been occupying himself, and replied with his customary courtesy, “I am always glad if I can be of use to you.”

“Thank you,” said Aunt Philippa.

She carried a bag upon her wrist, and she proceeded to open and search within it.  Finally she extracted, a piece of folded notepaper, and handed it to him.

“Will you read that first?” she said.  “It will make a difficult task easier.”

Mordaunt took the paper, saw that it was a letter, and proceeded to read it under her watching eyes.

There followed a long, quiet pause before he said, “I presume that this is not addressed to you.”

“There,” said Aunt Philippa, “you are quite correct.”

“Then—­” He folded it sharply, and made as if he would hand it back to her, but altered his purpose and closed his fingers upon it instead.  “Will you explain?” he said.