From the day that Juliet relinquished her perpetual vigil, the improvement in Vera Fielding was almost uninterrupted. She recovered her strength very slowly, but her progress was marked by a happy certainty that none who saw her could question. She still leaned upon Juliet, but it was her husband alone who could call that deep content into her eyes which was gradually finding a permanent abiding-place in her heart. The nearness of death had done for them what no circumstance of life had ever accomplished. They had drawn very close together in its shadow, and as they gradually left it behind the tie still held them in a bond that had become sacred to them both. It was as if they had never really known each other till now.

All Vera's arrogance had vanished in her husband's presence, just as his curt imperiousness had given place to the winning dominance which he knew so well how to wield. "You'll do it for me," was one of his pet phrases, and he seldom uttered it in vain. She gave him the joyful sacrifice of love newly-awakened.

"I wonder if we shall go on like this when I'm well again," she said to him on an evening of rose-coloured dusk in early August when he was sitting by her side with her long thin hand in his.

"Like what?" said Edward Fielding.

She smiled at him from her pillow. "Well, spoiling each other in this way. Will you never be overbearing and dictatorial? Shall I never be furious and hateful to you again?"

"I hope not," he said. "In fact, I think not."

He spoke very gravely. She stirred, and in a moment her other hand came out to him also. He clasped it closely. Her eyes were shining softly in the dusk.

"You are—so good to me, Edward—my darling," she said.

His head was bent over her hands. "Don't!" he muttered huskily.

Her fingers closed on his. "Edward, will you tell me something?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he said.

"Yes, but I want you to. I'd rather hear it from you. The doctors don't think I shall ever be fit for much again, do they?"

She spoke steadily, with a certain insistence. He looked up at her sharply, with something of a glare in his eyes.

"You're not going to die—whatever they say!" he declared in a fierce undertone.

"No—no, of course not!" She spoke soothingly, still smiling at him, for that barely checked ferocity of his sent rapture through her soul. "Do you suppose I'd be such an idiot as to go and die just when I'm beginning to enjoy life? I'm not the puny heroine of a lachrymose novel. I hope I've got more sense. No, dear, what I really meant was—was—am I ever going to be strong enough—woman enough—to give you—what you want so much?"

"Vera—my dear!" He leaned swiftly to her, his arm pillowed her head. "Do you suppose—do you really suppose—I'd let you jeopardize your sweet life—after this—after this?"

He was holding her closely to him, and though a little spasm of breathlessness went through her she gave herself to him with a pulsing gladness that thrilled her whole being. It was the happiest moment she had ever known.

"Oh, Edward," she said, "do you—do you really feel like that?"

His cheek was against her forehead. He did not speak for a few seconds.
Then, with something of an effort, "Yes," he said. "It's like that with
me now, my dear. I've been through—a good deal—these last days. Now
I've got you back—please God, I'll keep you!"

She pressed her face against him. "Ah, but Edward, you know you've always wanted—"

"Oh, damn my wants!" he broke in impatiently. "I don't want anything but you now."

She raised her lips to kiss his neck. "That's the loveliest thing you ever said to me, darling," she said, with a throb in her voice. "I love being an invalid—with you to spoil me. But—if you'll promise—promise—promise—to love me quite as much—if I get well, I will get well—really well—for your sake."

Again she was panting. He felt it as he held her, and after a moment or two very tenderly he laid her back.

"God bless you, my dear!" he said. "You needn't be afraid. I've learnt my lesson, and I shan't forget it."

"The lesson of love!" she murmured, holding his hand against her thumping heart.

"Yes. Juliet began the teaching. A wonderful girl that. She seems to know everything. I wonder where she learnt it."

"She is wonderful," Vera agreed thoughtfully. "I sometimes think she has had a hard life. She says so little about herself."

"She has moved among a fairly rapid lot," observed the squire. "Lord
Saltash is intimate enough to call her by her Christian name."

"Does he ever talk about her?" asked Vera, interested.

"Not much," said the squire.

"You think he is fond of her at all?"

"I don't know. He doesn't see much of her. I haven't quite got his measure yet. He isn't the sort of man I thought he was anyway."

"Then it wasn't true about Lady Joanna Farringmore?" questioned Vera.

Fielding hesitated. "I don't know," he said again. "I have a suspicion that that report was not entirely unfounded. But however that may be, she isn't with him now."

"You don't think she is—on board the yacht?" suggested Vera.

"No, I don't. The yacht is being done up for a voyage. A beautiful boat from all accounts. He is very proud of her. I am to go over her with him one of these days, when she's ready—which will be soon."

Vera uttered a short sigh. "I wish we'd get a yacht, Edward," she said.

"Do you? Why?" He was looking at her attentively, a smile in his eyes.

She coloured faintly. "I don't know. It's just a fancy, I suppose—a sick fancy. But I believe I could get well much quicker if I went for a voyage like that."

"You'd be bored to death," said Fielding.

She looked at him through sudden tears. "Bored! With you!" she said.

He patted her cheek gently. "Wouldn't you be bored? Quite sure? Suppose we were to borrow that yacht, do you think you'd really like it?"

Her eyes shone through the tears. "Of course I should love it!" she said.
"Is there—is there any chance of such a thing?"

"Every chance," said Fielding. "Saltash most kindly placed her, with the captain and crew, at my disposal only last night."

"Oh, Edward! How tremendously kind!" She looked at him with an eagerness that seemed to transform her. "But—but would you like it too? Wouldn't you—wouldn't you feel it was an awful waste of time?"

"Waste of time! With you!" smiled Fielding.

She lifted his hand with a shy movement and put it to her lips. "Edward—darling, you get dearer every day," she murmured. "What makes you so good to me?"

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I happen to have found out—quite by accident—that I love you, my dear," he said.

She smiled at him. "What a happy accident! Then we are really going for that voyage together? What about—Juliet?"

"Don't you want Juliet?" he said.

"Yes, if she would come. But I have a feeling—I don't know why—that she will not be with us very long. I should be sorry to part with her for we owe her so much. But—somehow she doesn't quite fit, does she? She would be much more suitable as—Lady Saltash for instance."

Fielding laughed. "Saltash isn't the only fish in the sea," he remarked.

"You are thinking of—Mr. Green?" she questioned, with slight hesitation before the name. "You know, Edward—" she broke off.

"Well, my dear?" he said.

She turned to him impulsively. "I'm sorry I've not been nicer about that young man. I'm going to try and like him better, just to please you. But, Edward, you wouldn't want Juliet to marry—that sort of man? You don't, do you?"

Fielding had stiffened almost imperceptibly. "It doesn't much matter what I want," he said, after a moment. "It doesn't rest with me. Neither Dick nor Juliet are likely to consult my feelings in the matter."

"I don't want her to throw herself away—like that," said Vera.

"I don't think you need be afraid," he said. "Juliet knows very well what she is about. And Dick—well Dick's fool enough to sacrifice the heart out of his body for the sake of that half-witted boy."

"How odd of him!" Vera said. "What a pity Robin ever lived to grow up!"

"He's been the ruin of Dick's life," the squire said forcibly. "He's thrown away every chance he ever had on account of Robin. He doesn't fit—if you like. He's absolutely out of his sphere and knows it. But he'll never change it while that boy lives. That's the infernal part of it. Nothing will move him." He stopped himself suddenly. "I mustn't excite you, my dear, and this is a subject upon which I feel very strongly. I can't expect you to sympathize because—" he smiled whimsically—"well, mainly because you don't understand. We had better talk of something else."

Vera was looking at him with a slight frown between her eyes. "I didn't mean to be—unsympathetic," she said, a faint quiver in her voice.

"Of course not! Of course not!" Hastily he sought to make amends. "I don't know how we got on the subject. You must forgive me, my dear. I believe I hear Juliet in the conservatory. We won't discuss this before her."

He would have risen, but she detained him. "Edward, just a moment! I want to ask you something."

"Well?" Reluctantly he paused.

"I—only want to know," she spoke with some effort, "what there is about—Mr. Green that—that makes you so fond of him."

"Oh, that!" He stood hesitating. But there were certainly footsteps in the conservatory; he heard them with relief. "I'll tell you some other time, my dear," he said gently. "Here comes Juliet to turn me out!"

He turned to the window as she entered and greeted her with a smile. Vera was still clinging to his hand.

"May I come in?" said Juliet, stopping on the threshold.

"Yes, of course, come in!" Vera said. "We have been talking about you,
Juliet. Will you come for a voyage with us in Lord Saltash's yacht?"

Juliet came slowly forward. Her face was pale. She was holding a letter in her hand. She looked from one to the other for a second or two in silence.

"Are you sure," she said, in her low quiet voice, "that you wouldn't rather go alone?"

"Not unless you would rather not come," said the squire.

"Thank you," she said. "May I—think about it?"

The squire was looking at her attentively. "What is the matter?" he said suddenly.

She met his look steadily, though he felt it to be with an effort. Then quietly she turned to Vera.

"I have just had a letter," she said, "from a friend who is in trouble.
Do you think you can spare me—for a little while?"

Vera stretched a hand to her. "My dear Juliet, I am so sorry. Of course you shall go. What is it? What has happened?"

Juliet came to her, took and held the hand. "You are very kind," she said. "But I don't want you to be troubled too. There is no need. You are sure you will be all right without me?"

"You will come back to me?" Vera said.

"I will certainly come back," Juliet made steadfast answer, "even if I can't stay. But now that you are able to sit up, you will need me less. You will take care of her, Mr. Fielding?" looking up at him.

He nodded. "You may be sure of that—the utmost care. When must you go?"

He was still looking at her closely; his eyes deeply searching.

Juliet hesitated. "Do you think—to-night?" she said.

"Certainly. Then you will want a car. Have you told Lord Saltash?" He turned to the door.

"No, I have only just heard. I believe he has gone to town." Juliet gently laid down the hand she was holding. "I will come back," she said again, and followed him.

He drew the door closed behind them. They faced each other in the dimness of the hall. The squire's mouth was twitching uncontrollably. "Now, Juliet!" His voice had a ring of sternness; he put his hand on her shoulder, gripping unconsciously. "For heaven's sake—" he said—"out with it! It isn't—Dick?"

"No—Robin!" she said.

"Ah!" He drew a deep breath and straightened himself, his other hand over his eyes. Then in a moment he was looking at her again. His grip relaxed. "Forgive me!" he said. "Did I hurt you?"

She gave him a faint smile. "It doesn't matter. You understand, don't you? I must go—to Dick."

He nodded. "Yes—yes! Is the boy—dead?"

"No. It was a fall over the cliff. It happened last night. They didn't find him for hours. He is going fast. Jack brought me this." She glanced down at the letter in her hand.

He made a half-gesture to take it, checking himself sharply. "I beg your pardon, Juliet, I hardly know what I'm doing. It's from Dick, is it?"

Very quietly she gave it to him. "You may read it. You have a right to know," she said.

He gave her an odd look. "May I? Are you sure?"

"Read it!" she said.

He opened it. His fingers were trembling. She stood at his shoulder and read it with him. The words were few, containing the bald statement, but no summons.

The squire read them, breathing heavily. Suddenly he thrust his arm round
Juliet and held her fast.

"Juliet! You'll be good to my boy—good to Dick?"

Her eyes met his. "That is why I am going to him," she said. She took the note and folded it, standing within the circle of his arm.

"I'd go to him myself—if I could," Fielding went on unevenly. "He'll feel this—damnably. He was simply devoted to that unfortunate boy."

"I know," said Juliet.

Again he put his hand to his eyes. "I've been a beast about Robin. Ask him to forgive me, Juliet! Tell him I'm awfully sorry, that I'll come as soon as I can get away. And if there's anything he wants—anything under the sun—he's to have it. See? Make him understand!"

"He will understand," Juliet said quietly.

He looked at her again. "Don't let him fret, Juliet!" he said urgently. "You'll comfort him, won't you? I know I'm always rating him, but he's such a good chap. You—you love him, don't you?"

"Yes," she said.

"God bless you for that!" he said earnestly. "I can't tell you what he is to me—can't explain. But—but—"

"I—understand," she said.

"What?" He stared at her for a moment. "What—do you understand?"

"I know what he is to you," she said gently. "I have known—for a long time. Never mind how! Nobody told me. It just came to me one day."

"Ah!" Impulsively he broke in. "You see everything. I'm afraid of you, Juliet. But look here! You won't—you won't—make him suffer—for my sins?"

Her hand pressed his arm. "What am I?" she said. "Have I any right to judge anyone? Besides—oh, besides—do you think I could possibly go to him if I did not feel that nothing on earth matters now—except our love?"

She spoke with deep emotion. She was quivering from head to foot. He bent very low to kiss the hand upon his arm.

"And you will have your reward," he said huskily. "Don't forget—it's the only thing in life that really counts! There's nothing else—nothing else."

Juliet stood quite still looking down at the bent grey head. "I wonder," she said slowly, "I wonder—if Dick—in his heart—thinks the same!"