And thinking of these things she sighed unconsciously.
"What is it, Shiela?" he asked.
"Nothing; I don't know—the old pain, I suppose."
"Pain?" he repeated anxiously.
"No; only apprehension. You know, don't you? Well, then, it is nothing; don't ask me." And, noting the quick change in his face—"No, no; it is not what you think. How quickly you are hurt! My apprehension is not about you; it concerns myself. And it is quite groundless. I know what I must do; I know!" she repeated bitterly. "And there will always be a straight path to the end; clear and straight, until I go out as nameless as I came in to all this.... Don't touch my hand, please.... I'm trying to think.... I can't, if we are in contact.... And you don't know who you are touching; and I can't tell you. Only two in all the world, if they are alive, could tell you. And they never will tell you—or tell me—why they left me here alone."
With a little shiver she released her hand, looking straight ahead of her for a few moments, then, unconsciously up into the blue overhead.
"I shall love you always," he said. "Right or wrong, always. Remember that, too, when you think of these things."
She turned as though slowly aroused from abstraction, then shook her head.
"It's very brave and boyish of you to be loyal—"
"You speak to me as though I were not years older than you!"