“Oh, thank you.  I did not know what it was that was such a nuisance.”

“This is too much glare.  Let me turn your sofa a little way round from it.”

And as he did so, and she raised herself, he shook out her cushions, and substituted a cool chintz covered one for the hot crimson damask on which her head had been resting.  “Thank you!  How do you know so well?” she said with a long breath of satisfaction.

“By long trial,” he said, very quietly seating himself beside her couch, with a stillness of manner that strangely hushed all her throbbings; and the very pleasure of lying really still was such that she did not at once break it.  The lull of these few moments was inexpressibly sweet, but the pang that had crossed her so many times in the last two days and nights could not but return.  She moved restlessly, and he leant towards her with a soft-toned inquiry what it was she wanted.

“Don’t,” she said, raising herself.  “No, don’t!  I have thought more over what you said,” she continued, as if repeating the sentence she had conned over to herself.  “You have been most generous, most noble; but—­but,” with an effort of memory, “it would be wrong in me to accept such—­oh! such a sacrifice; and when I tell you all, you will think it a duty to turn from me,” she added, pressing her hands to her temples.  “And mind, you are not committed—­you are free.”

“Tell me,” he said, bending towards her.

“I know you cannot overlook it!  My faith—­it is all confusion,” she said in a low awe-struck voice.  “I do believe—­I do wish to believe; but my grasp seems gone.  I cannot rest or trust for thinking of the questions that have been raised!  There,” she added in a strange interrogative tone.

“It is a cruel thing to represent doubt as the sign of intellect,” Alick said sadly; “but you will shake off the tormentors when the power of thinking and reasoning is come back.”

“Oh, if I could think so!  The misery of darkness here—­there—­ everywhere—­the old implicit reliance gone, and all observance seeming like hypocrisy and unreality.  There is no thinking, no enduring the intolerable maze.”

“Do not try to think now.  You cannot bear it.  We will try to face what difficulties remain when you are stronger.”

She turned her eyes full on him.  “You do not turn away!  You know you are free.”

“Turn from the sincerity that I prize?”

“You don’t?  I thought your views were exactly what would make you hate and loathe such bewilderment, and call it wilful;” there was something piteous in the way her eye sought his face.

“It was not wilful,” he said; “it came of honest truth-seeking.  And, Rachel, I think the one thing is now gone that kept that honesty from finding its way.”

“Self-sufficiency!” she said with a groan; but with a sudden turn she exclaimed, “You don’t trust to my surrendering my judgment.  I don’t think I am that kind of woman.”