“Do you think that there is anything which I will not do—­if you ask it?” Unorna asked very earnestly.

“I do not know,” the Wanderer answered, trying to seem to ignore the meaning conveyed by her tone.  “Some things are harder to do than others——­”

“Ask me the hardest!” she exclaimed.  “Ask me to tell you the whole truth——­”

“No,” he said firmly, in the hope of checking an outburst of passionate speech.  “What you have thought and done is no concern of mine.  If you have done anything that you are sorry for, without my knowledge, I do not wish to know of it.  I have seen you do many good and kind acts during the last month, and I would rather leave those memories untouched as far as possible.  You may have had an object in doing them which in itself was bad.  I do not care.  The deeds were good.  Take credit for them and let me give you credit for them.  That will do neither of us any harm.”

“I could tell you—­if you would let me—­”

“Do not tell me,” he interrupted.  “I repeat that I do not wish to know.  The one thing that I have seen is bad enough.  Let that be all.  Do you not see that?  Besides, I am myself the cause of it in a measure—­unwilling enough, Heaven knows!”

“The only cause,” said Unorna bitterly.

“Then I am in some way responsible.  I am not quite without blame—­we men never are in such cases.  If I reproach you, I must reproach myself as well—­”

“Reproach yourself!—­ah no!  What can you say against yourself?” she could not keep the love out of her voice, if she would; her bitterness had been for herself.

“I will not go into that,” he answered.  “I am to blame in one way or another.  Let us say no more about it.  Will you let the matter rest?”

“And let bygones be bygones, and be friends to each other, as we were this morning?” she asked, with a ray of hope.

The Wanderer was silent for a few seconds.  His difficulties were increasing.  A while ago he had told her, as an excuse for herself, that men and women did not always mean exactly what they said, and even now he did not set himself up in his own mind as an exception to the rule.  Very honourable and truthful men do not act upon any set of principles in regard to truth and honour.  Their instinctively brave actions and naturally noble truthfulness make those principles which are held up to the unworthy for imitation, by those whose business is the teaching of what is good.  The Wanderer’s only hesitation lay between answering the question or not answering it.

“Shall we be friends again?” Unorna asked a second time, in a low tone.  “Shall we go back to the beginning?”

“I do not see how that is possible,” he answered slowly.

Unorna was not like him, and did not understand such a nature as his as she understood Keyork Arabian.  She had believed that he would at least hold out some hope.

“You might have spared me that!” she said, turning her face away.  There were tears in her voice.