"You are forgetful, Romaine."
"Of what?"
"Of your duty."
She turned pale and started back so suddenly that the mastiff, startled likewise, uttered a deep-mouthed growl.
"Of what do you accuse me?" she cried piteously. "O Hubert, my brother! what have I done?"
"What are you leaving undone?" he persisted rashly. "Ask your heart, and let it answer me—your best friend—answer me honestly."
She made a movement as though she were groping in the darkness, which young Effingham was too eager and excited to notice.
"I—I do not understand," she faltered.
"What month is this, Romaine? Is it not the month of May?"
"I think it is."