Together, they carried her into her own room, where at length she revived. “What happened?” she asked, weakly. “Did I fall?”
“Hush, dear,” said Margaret. “Lie still. I’m coming to sit with you after a while.”
She went out into the hall to speak to the Doctor, but he was not there. By instinct, she knew where to find him, and went into the front room.
He stood with his back to the door, looking down upon that marble face. Margaret was beside him, before he knew of her presence, and when he turned, for once off his guard, she read his secret.
“She never knew,” he said, briefly, as though in explanation. “I never dared to tell her. Sometimes I think the lines we draw are false ones—that God knows best.”
“Yes,” replied Margaret, unsteadily, “the lines are false, but it is always too late when we find it out.”
“Yet a part of the barrier was of His own making. She was infinitely above me. I should have been her slave; I was never meant to be her equal. Still, the thirsty heart will aspire to the waters beyond its reach.”
“She knows now,” said Margaret.
“Yes, she knows now, and she pardons me for my presumption. I can read it in her face as I stand here.”