"But even if this was so, Harry, what of it? What harm has come of it?"
"Nothing as yet; nor was I greatly frightened at the time. That omen bodes unhappiness to him or her who sees it, and I was already unhappy."
"Because I was not here to comfort you, Harry. Well, that is remedied."
She shook her head, and did not return the reassuring pressure of his hand. "Listen!" she said. "This misery comes through the person whom he who has seen the vision shall next meet; and I thought I knew who I should meet on my way home—one from whom"—she sank her voice to a whisper—"I already expected misery."
"You mean—" began Richard, eagerly.
"No matter whom I mean. It was not he who met me; that was you."
The hand which he held in his was cold as ice; her face was pale; and her limbs trembled under her.
"This is folly, Harry dear. Am I likely to do you harm, to make you miserable?"
"I do not know," said she. "I sometimes think you are."
He put the long hair back from her forehead, and gazed into her eyes, which were now fast filling with tears. "I love you, Harry, with all my heart," sighed he—"you know I do. And, though you are sometimes cold, and at others seem as though you purposely avoided me, I think you love me—just a little—too. Better, at all events, than the man with whom you yourself have just confessed you expect nothing but misery."