almost done—and told you what's in it, on my soul I believe you will bid me God speed out of this world."
Tell me, then, and let me judge," Terry said, with the calmness which can dominate the soul only in supreme moments. "Sit down by me, on this sofa, and I will listen quietly, I promise."
She had felt in danger of collapsing, but she showed no sign of weakness. When they sat facing each other on the sofa, she held out her hand to him, as if to make a bridge of sympathy between their spirits; but he would not take it. "I'm not worthy of that sign of your trust," he said. "You would perhaps be sorry and drop my hand as the story went on. I couldn't bear it. It would be a sword in my heart—and, though I deserve the sword, I don't want the thrust to come from you. I told you that in God's sight I was guilty of her murder and I am."
"Begin at the beginning of the story. That is not the way," Terry said, with the gentle firmness which calmed him.
Sir Ian reflected for a moment. "I think the beginning of the story is at Mrs. Forestier's lunch. She told us you were in England, and that Maud was planning to bring you to call, as a surprise to us both. Millicent looked as if it wouldn't be an entirely agreeable surprise to her; and, Terry, it was far from agreeable to me. I worshipped you in spite of myself. I'd fought against that worship for thirteen years
