As I have said, I had learnt to love Paul Edgecumbe, and although I realized his madness as much as he did, I wanted to lift the weight of care from his life.

'If what you told me some months ago is true, there is no room for despair,' I urged.

'You told me you had found a great secret,' I replied; 'that you had become sure of Almighty God. If that is true, there is no room for hopelessness; despair's out of the question.'

He sat quietly for a few seconds, and then leapt to his feet. 'You are right,' he said; 'there is no chance in the world, there is no such thing as luck. I can't explain it a bit, but there isn't. God never makes a mistake. After all, I could not help falling in love with her, and my love has a meaning. Of course she is not for me,--I am not worthy of her; but I can defend her, I can see that no harm happens to her. Yes, I see, I see. Good night, Luscombe, I--I want to be alone now'; and without another word he passed back into his own room.

The next day was Saturday, and we spent the morning roaming through the countryside around Bolivick, and climbing a rugged tor which lay some distance at the back of the house.

As we neared the house after our long morning's walk, Lorna Bolivick broke out abruptly: 'I am disappointed in your friend, Captain Luscombe.'

'I don't know. I think I admire him--in fact I am sure I do. He possesses a strange charm, and, in a way, he's just splendid. But why does he dislike me?'

'Can't you see? He avoids me. When for a few minutes we are together, he never speaks.'

'Oh, but he does! He acts so strangely, too.'

'You must make allowances for him,' I said. 'You must remember his history. He told you last night that you were the first lady he ever remembered speaking to. It seemed an extravagant statement, but in a way it is true. What his past has been I don't know, but since I knew him his life has never been influenced by women. Think what that means to a man! Besides, he is sensitive and shy. I can quite understand his being uneasy in your presence.'

'Am I such an ogress, then?' And she looked into my face with a laugh. 'Besides, why should he be sensitive about me?'

'Might not his peculiar mental condition make him afraid of offending you?' I asked. 'Of course it is not for me to say, but I can quite understand his being very anxious to impress you favourably. And because he thinks he is awkward, and uninteresting, he is afraid to be natural, and to act as he would like to act.'