There was silence for some minutes; then Constance spoke again, looking wistfully, and more sadly than she had yet done, on her companion:
"Do you know, Guy, I have been thinking that yours will not be a very long life? You are so strong that it seems foolish in me, but I can not help it."
The faintest glimmer of satisfaction, like the ghost of a smile, came upon Livingstone's miserable, haggard face: there had been nothing like it there for many hours; there was nothing like it again for many days.
"You may be right," he said, very calmly. "I trust in God you are."
"Yes," Constance went on; "but I was thinking more than that. I was hoping that perhaps, for my sake, if not for your own, you would try to grow better every day. Only think what it would be if, throughout all ages, we were never to meet after to-day." She drew him closer to her, and her voice almost failed her. "I don't believe you ever could be what is called a very religious character. I am so weak--strong-minded as you thought me--that I fear I have found an attraction in this fault of yours; but you could keep from great sins, I am sure. Try and be gentler to others first, and with every act of unselfish kindness you will have gained something. Any good clergyman will tell you the rest better than I. Remember how happy you will make me. I believe I shall see and know it all. It may be hard for you, dear, but it may not be for long."
The same strange, wistful look came into her eyes again, as if shadows of the dim future were passing before them.
Poor child! Pure as she was in principle and firm in truth, she would have made but a weak controversial theologian; but her simple words went straight to her hearer's heart, with a stronger power of conversion than could have been found in the discourses of all the surpliced Chrysostoms that ever anathematized a sinner or anatomized a creed.
Yet Guy did not answer so soon this time. When he did, he spoke firmly and resolutely: "Indeed, indeed, I will try."
Constance nestled down on his broad chest, wearily, but with a long-drawn breath of intense relief.
"I have said all my say," she whispered; "I have not tired you? Now I will rest, and you shall pet me and talk to me as you used to do."