If Lady de Lannoy hadn't loved
the sweet little thing already she would have loved her for that! The door was opened, and the butler announced:

'Luncheon is served, your Ladyship.' * * * * *

After a few days Harold went over to Varilands to stay for a while with
the Stonehouses. Mr. Stonehouse had arrived, and both men were rejoiced
to meet again. The elder never betrayed by word or sign that he
recognised the identity of the other person of the drama of whom he had
told him and who had come so accidentally into his life; and the younger
was grateful to him for it. Harold went almost every day to Lannoy, and
sometimes the Stonehouses went with him; at other times Stephen paid
flying visits to Varilands. She did not make any effort to detain
Harold; she would not for worlds have made a sign which might influence
him. She was full now of that diffidence which every woman has who
loves. She felt that she must wait; must wait even if the waiting lasted
to her grave. She felt, as every woman does who really loves, that she
had found her Master. And Harold, to whom something of the same diffidence was an old story,
got the idea that her reticence was a part of the same feeling whose
violent expression had sent him out into the wilderness. And with the
thought came the idea of his duty, implied in her father's dying trust:
'Give her time! . . . Let her choose!' For him the clock seemed to have
stopped for two whole years, and he was back at the time when the
guardianship of his boy life was beginning to yield to the larger and
more selfish guardianship of manhood. Stephen, noticing that he did not come near her as closely as she felt he
might, and not realising his true reason--for when did love ever realise
the true reason of the bashfulness of love?--felt a chillness which in
turn reacted on her own manner. And so these two ardent souls, who yearned for each other's love and the
full expression of it, seemed as if they might end after all in drifting
apart. Each thought that their secret was concealed. But both secrets
were already known to Mrs. Stonehouse, who knew nothing; and to Mr.
Stonehouse, who knew everything. Even Pearl had her own ideas, as was
once shown in a confidence when they were alone in Stephen's bedroom
after helping her to finish her dressing, just as Stephen herself had at
a similar age helped her Uncle Gilbert. After some coy leading up to the
subject of pretty dresses, the child putting her little mouth to the
other's ear whispered:

'May I be your bridesmaid, Stephen?' The woman was taken aback; but she
had to speak at once, for the child's eyes were on her:

'Of course you will, darling. But I--I may never be married.' 'You! You must! I know someone who will make you!' Stephen's heart
beat hard and rapidly. The child's talk, though sweet and dear, was more
than embarrassing. With, however, the desire to play with fire, which is
a part of the nature of women, she answered:

'You have some queer ideas, little one, in that pretty knowledge-box of
yours.' 'Oh! he never told me. But I know it all the same! And you know it too,
Stephen!' This was getting too close to be without danger; so she tried
to divert the thought from herself:

'My darling, you may guess about other people, though I don't say you
ought; but you must not guess about me!' 'All right!' then she held up her arms to be lifted on the other's knee
and said:

'I want to whisper to you!' Her voice and manner were so full of feeling
that somehow the other was moved. She bent her head, and Pearl taking
her neck in her little palms, said:

'I thought, oh! long ago, that I would marry him myself. But you knew
him first . . . And he only saved me . . . But you saved him!' . . . And
then she laid her head down on the throbbing bosom, and sobbed . . . And Stephen sobbed too. Before they left the room, Stephen said to her, very gravely, for the
issue might be one of great concern:

'Of course, Pearl dear, our secrets are all between ourselves!' Pearl
crossed her two forefingers and kissed them. But she said nothing; she
had sworn! Stephen went on:

'And, darling, you will remember too that one must never speak or even
think if they can help it about anyone's marrying anyone else till they
say so themselves! What is it, dear, that you are smiling at?' 'I know, Stephen! I musn't take off the bandage till the Doctor says
so!' Stephen smiled and kissed her. Hand in hand, Pearl chattering merrily,
they went down to the drawing-room. CHAPTER XXXVII--GOLDEN SILENCE


Each day that passed seemed to add to the trouble in the heart of these
young people; to widen the difficulty of expressing themselves. To
Stephen, who had accepted the new condition of things and whose whole
nature had bloomed again under the sunshine of hope, it was the less
intolerable. She had set herself to wait, as had countless thousands of
women before her; and as due proportion will, till the final cataclysm
abolishes earthly unions. But Harold felt the growth, both positive and
negative, as a new torture; and he began to feel that he would be unable
to go through with it. In his heart was the constant struggle of hope;
and in opposition to it the seeming realisation of every new fancy of
evil. That bitter hour, when the whole of creation was for him turned
upside down, was having its sad effect at last. Had it not been for that
horrid remembrance he would have come to believe enough in himself to put
his future to the test. He would have made an opportunity at which
Stephen and himself would have with the fires of their mutual love burned
away the encircling mist. There are times when a single minute of
commonsense would turn sorrow into joy; and yet that minute, our own
natures being the opposing forces, will be allowed to pass. Those who loved these young people were much concerned about them. Mrs.
Stonehouse took their trouble so much to heart that she spoke to her
husband about it, seriously advising that one or other of them should
make an effort to bring things in the right way for their happiness. The
woman was sure of the woman's feeling. It is from men, not women, that
women hide their love. By side-glances and unthinking moments women note
and learn. The man knew already, from his own lips, of the man's
passion. But his lips were sealed by his loyalty; and he said earnestly:

'My dear, we must not interfere. Not now, at any rate; we might cause
them great trouble. I am as sure as you are that they really love each
other. But they must win happiness by themselves and through themselves
alone. Otherwise it would never be to them what it ought to be; what it
might be; what it will be!' So these friends were silent, and the little tragedy developed. Harold's
patience began to give way under the constant strain of self-suppression. Stephen tried to hide her love and fear, under the mask of a gracious
calm. This the other took for indifference. At last there came an hour which was full of new, hopeless agony to
Stephen.