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 of showing him that his mind, when looked at from within, was no longer familiar ground. He felt, that is to say, what he had never consciously felt before; he was revealed to himself as other than he was wont to think him; he was afloat upon a sea of unknown and tumultuous possibilities. He paced once up and down the room, and then flung himself impetuously into the chair by Katharine’s side. He had never felt anything like this before; he put himself entirely into her hands; he cast off all responsibility. He very nearly exclaimed aloud:

“You've stirred up all these odious and violent emotions, and now you must do the best you can with them.”

Her near presence, however, had a calming and reassuring effect upon his agitation, and he was conscious only of an implicit trust that, somehow, he was safe with her, that she would see him through, find out what it was that he wanted, and procure it for him.

“I wish to do whatever you tell me to do,” he said. “I put myself entirely in your hands, Katharine.”

“You must try to tell me what you feel,” she said.

“My dear, I feel a thousand things every second. I don’t know, I’m sure, what I feel. That afternoon on the heath—it was then—then—” He broke off; he did not tell her what had happened then. “Your ghastly good sense, as usual, has convinced me—for the moment—but what the truth is, Heaven only knows!” he exclaimed.

“Isn’t it the truth that you are, or might be, in love with Cassandra?” she said gently.

William bowed his head. After a moment’s silence he murmured:

“I believe you're right, Katharine.”

She sighed, involuntarily. She had been hoping all this time, with an intensity that increased second by second against the current of her words, that it would not in the end come to this. After a moment of surprising anguish, she summoned her courage to tell him how she