THE KNAVE OF DIAMONDS

By ETHEL M. DELL

Author of "The Way Of An Eagle"

1912

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO MY FRIEND AND SISTER IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OFHER SYMPATHY AND HELP

O Charity, all patiently Abiding wrack and scaith!O Faith that meets ten thousand cheats Yet drops no jot of faith!Devil and brute Thou dost transmute To higher, lordlier show, Who art in sooth that lovely Truth The careless angels know!

_To the True Romance_. 

RUDYARD KIPLING

CONTENTS

PART I

CHAPTER

 I. --THE MISSING HEART

 II. --THE QUEEN'S JESTER

 III. --THE CHARIOT OF THE GODS

 IV. --CAKE MORNING

 V. --THE FIRST ENCOUNTER

 VI. --AT THE MEET

 VII. --THE FALL

 VIII. --THE RIDE HOME

 IX. --THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE

 X. --THE HAND OF A FRIEND

 XI. --THE STING OF A SCORPION

 XII. --BROTHERS

 XIII. --THE JESTER'S INFERNO

 XIV. --A BIG THING

 XV. --THE CHAMPION

 XVI. --THE MASQUERADE

 XVII. --THE SLAVE OF GOODNESS

XVIII. --THE DESCENT FROM OLYMPUS

 XIX. --VENGEANCE

 XX. --THE VISION

 XXI. --AT THE MERCY OF A DEMON

 XXII. --THE CITY OF REFUGE

PART II

 I. --THE JESTER'S RETURN

 II. --THE KERNEL OF THE DIFFICULTY

 III. --THE FIRST ORDEAL

 IV. --THE FATAL STREAK

 V. --THE TOKEN

 VI. --THE BURIAL OF A HATCHET

 VII. --A QUESTION OF TRUST

 VIII. --A SUDDEN BLOW

 IX. --THE BOON

 X. --A DAY IN PARADISE

 XI. --THE RETURN TO EARTH

 XII. --IN THE FACE OF THE GODS

 XIII. --AN APPEAL AND ITS ANSWER

 XIV. --THE IRRESISTIBLE

 XV. --ON THE EDGE OF THE PIT

 XVI. --DELIVERANCE

PART III

 I. --THE POWER DIVINE

 II. --THE WORKER OF MIRACLES

 III. --THE WOMAN'S PART

 IV. --THE MESSAGE

 V. --THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND

 VI. --A VOICE THAT CALLED

 VII. --THE UNINVITED GUEST

 VIII. --THE HEART OF A SAVAGE

 IX. --THE DIVINE SPARK

 X. --THE QUEEN'S PARDON

 XI. --SOMETHING GREAT

 XII. --A FRIENDLY UNDERSTANDING

 XIII. --THE FINAL DEFEAT

 XIV. --AT THE GATE OF DEATH

 XV. --THE KING'S DECREE

 XVI. --THE STRAIGHT GAME

 XVII. --THE TRANSFORMING MAGIC

XVIII. --THE LAST ORDEAL

 XIX. --OUT OF THE FURNACE

 XX. --THE PROMOTION OF THE QUEEN'S JESTER

 XXI. --THE POWER THAT CASTS OUT DEVILS

PART I

CHAPTER I

THE MISSING HEART

There came a sudden blare of music from the great ballroom below, and thewoman who stood alone at an open window on the first floor shrugged hershoulders and shivered a little. The night air blew in brisk and coldupon her uncovered neck, but except for that slight, involuntary shivershe scarcely seemed aware of it. The room behind her was brilliantlylighted but empty. Some tables had been set for cards, but the cards wereuntouched. Either the attractions of the ballroom had remainedomnipotent, or no one had penetrated to this refuge of the bored--no onesave this tall and stately woman robed in shimmering, iridescent green, who stood with her face to the night, breathing the chill air as one whohad been on the verge of suffocation. It was evidently she who had flungup the window. Her gloved hands leaned upon the woodwork on each side ofit. There was a certain constraint in her whole attitude, a tension thatwas subtly evident in every graceful line. Her head was slightly bent asthough she intently watched or listened for something. 

Yet nothing could have been audible where she stood above the hubbub ofmusic, laughter, and stamping feet that rose from below. It filled thenight with uproar. Nor was there anything but emptiness in the narrowside-street into which she looked. 

The door of the room was ajar and gradually swinging wider in thedraught. Very soon it would be wide enough for anyone passing in thepassage outside to spy the slim figure that stood so motionless beforethe open window. It was almost wide enough now. Surely it was wideenough, for suddenly it ceased to move. The draught continued to eddyround the room, stirring the soft brown hair about the woman's temples, but the door stood still as at the behest of an unseen hand. 

For fully half a minute nothing happened; then as suddenly and silentlyas a picture flashed from a magic lantern slide, a man's head came intoview. A man's eyes, dusky, fierce, with something of a stare in them, looked the motionless figure keenly up and down. 

There followed another interval as though the intruder were debatingwith himself upon some plan of action, then, boldly but quite quietly, hepushed the door back and entered. 

He was a slight, trim man, clean-shaven, with high cheek-bones that madea long jaw seem the leaner by contrast. His sleek black hair was partedin the middle above his swarthy face, giving an unmistakably foreigntouch to his appearance. His tread was light and wary as a cat's. 

His eyes swept the room comprehensively as he advanced, coming backto the woman at the window as though magnetically drawn to her. Butshe remained quite unaware of him, and he, no whit disconcerted, calmly seated himself at one of the tables behind her and took up apack of cards. 

The dance-music in the room below was uproariously gay. Some of thedancers were singing. Now and then a man's voice bellowed through theclamour like the blare of a bull. 

Whenever this happened, the man at the table smiled to himself a faint, thin-lipped smile, and the woman at the window shivered again. 

Suddenly, during a lull, he spoke. He was counting out the cards intoheaps with lightning rapidity, turning up one here and there, and he didnot raise his eyes from his occupation. 

"I say, you know, " he said in a drawl that was slightly nasal, "you willhave to tell me how old you are. Is that an obstacle?"

She wheeled round at the first deliberate syllable. The electriclight flared upon her pale, proud face. She stood in dead silence, looking at him. 

"You mustn't mind, " he said persuasively, still without lifting his eyes. "I swear I'll never tell. Come now!"

Very quietly she turned and closed the window; then with a certainstateliness she advanced to the table at which he sat, and stoppedbefore it. 

"I think you are making a mistake, " she said, in a voice that had a hintof girlish sweetness about it despite its formality. 

He looked up then with a jerk, and the next instant was on his feet. 

"Gad! I'm tremendously sorry! What must you take me for? I took you forMrs. Damer. I beg you will forgive me. "

She smiled a little, and some of the severity went out of her face. For amoment that too seemed girlish. 

"It is of no consequence. I saw it was a mistake. "

"An idiotic mistake!" he declared with emphasis. "And you are not a bitlike Mrs. Damer either. Are you waiting for someone? Would you like me toclear out?"

"Certainly not. I am going myself. "

"Oh, but don't!" he begged her very seriously. "I shall take it horriblyto heart if you do. And really, I don't deserve such a snub as that. "

Again she faintly smiled. "I am not feeling malicious, but you areexpecting your partner. And I--"

"No, I am not, " he asserted. "My partner has basely deserted me foranother fellow. I came in here merely because I was wandering aboutseeking distraction. Please don't go--unless I bore you--in which caseyou have only to dismiss me. "

She turned her eyes questioningly upon the cards before him. "What areyou doing with them? Is it a game?"

"Won't you sit down?" he said, "and I will tell you. "

She seated herself facing him. "Well?"

He considered the cards for a little, his brows bent. Then, "It is amagician's game, " he said. "Let me read your fortune. "

She hesitated. 

Instantly he looked up. "You are not afraid?"

She met his look, a certain wistfulness in her grey eyes. "Oh, no, notafraid--only sceptical. "

"Only sceptical!" he echoed. "That is a worldwide complaint. But anyonewith imagination can always pretend. You are not good at pretending?"

"Not particularly. "

His eyes challenged hers. "Perhaps you have never needed an anaesthetic?"he said coolly. 

She looked slightly startled. "What do you mean?"

He leaned deliberately forward across the table. "You know what ananaesthetic does, don't you? It cheats the senses of pain. And a littlehumbug does the same for the mind. Of course you don't believe anything. I don't myself. But you can't stand for ever and contemplate an abyss ofutter ignorance. You must weave a little romance about it for the sake ofyour self-respect. "

She looked straight into the challenging eyes. The wistfulness was stillin her own. "Then you are offering to weave a little romance for me?" shesaid, with a faint involuntary sigh. 

He made her a brief bow. "If you will permit me to do so. "

"To relieve your boredom?" she suggested with a smile. 

"And yours, " he smiled back, taking up the cards. 

She did not contradict him. She only lowered her eyes to the deft handsthat were disposing the cards in mystic array upon the table. 

There followed a few moments of silence; then in his careless, unmusicaldrawl the man spoke. 

"Do you mind telling me your first name? It is essential to the game, ofcourse, or I shouldn't presume to ask. "

"My name is Anne, " she said. 

The noise below had lessened considerably, and this fact seemed to causeher some relief. The tension had gone out of her bearing. She sat withher chin upon her hand. 

Not a beautiful woman by any means, she yet possessed that indescribablecharm which attracts almost in spite of itself. There was about herevery movement a queenly grace that made her remarkable, and yet she wasplainly not one to court attention. Her face in repose had a look ofunutterable weariness. 

"How old are you please?" said the magician. 

"Twenty-five. "

He glanced up at her. 

"Yes, twenty-five, " she repeated. "I am twenty-five to-day. "

He looked at her fixedly for a few seconds, then in silence returned tohis cards. 

She continued to watch him without much interest. The dance-music wasquickening to the _finale_. The hubbub of voices had died away. Evidentlya good many people had ceased to dance. 

Suddenly her companion spoke. "Do you like diamonds?"

She smiled at the question. "Yes, I like them. I haven't a passionfor them. "

"No, " he said, without raising his eyes. "You haven't a passion foranything at present. You will have soon. "

"I think it very unlikely, " she said. 

"Of course you do. " He was manoeuvring the cards rapidly with one hand. "Your eyes have not been opened yet. I see an exciting time before you. You are going to have an illness first. That comes in the near future. "

"I have never been ill in my life, " she said. 

"No? It will be an experience for you, then--not a very painful one, Ihope. Are you getting nervous?"

"Not in the least. "

"Ah! That's as well, because here comes the King of Diamonds. He hastaken a decided fancy to you, and if you have any heart at all, whichI can't discover, you ought to end by being the Queen. No, here comesthe Knave--confound his impudence!--and, by Jove, yes, followed by themissing heart. I am glad you have got one anyway, even if the King isnot in it. It looks as if you will have some trouble with that Knave, so beware of him. " He glanced up at her for a moment. "Beware of him!"he repeated deliberately. "He is a dangerous scamp. The King is theman for you. "

She received his caution with that faint smile of hers that softened herface but never seemed to reach her eyes. 

He continued his contemplation of the cards in silence for some seconds. "Yes, " he said finally, "I see an exciting future before you. I hope youwill look out for me when you come into your own. I should value yourmajesty's favour immensely. "

"I will give you a place at court as the Queen's jester, " she said. 

He glanced up again sharply, met her smile, and bowed with much ceremony. "Your majesty's most humble servant!" he declared, "I enter upon myfunctions from this day forward. You will see my cap and bells in theforefront of the throng when you ride to your coronation. "

"You are sure there will be a coronation?" she asked. 

"It is quite evident, " he replied with conviction. 

"Even though I chance to be married already?"

He raised his brows. "That so?" he drawled. "Well, it rather complicatesmatters, doesn't it? Still--" He looked again at the cards. "It seemspretty certain. If it weren't for that hobgoblin of a Knave I should sayit was quite so. He comes between the King and the heart, you see. Ishouldn't be too intimate with him if I were you. "

She rose, still smiling. "I shall certainly keep him at a respectfuldistance, " she said. "Good-bye. "

"Oh, are you going? Let me escort you! Really, I've nothing else to do. "He swept the cards together and sprang to his feet. "Where may I takeyou? Would you like some refreshment?"

She accepted his proffered arm though she instantly negatived hisproposal. "Shall we go down to the vestibule? No doubt you have a partnerfor the next dance. "

"Have you?" he questioned keenly. 

"That is beside the point, " she remarked. 

"Not at all. It is the centre and crux of the situation. Do say you aredisengaged for the next!" His manner became almost boyishly eager. Hehad shed his drawl like a garment. "Say it!" he insisted. 

She stood in the doorway as one halting between two opinions. "But if Iam not disengaged?" she said. 

He laughed. "There is a remedy for that, I fancy. And the Queen can dono wrong. Don't be a slave to the great god Convention! He's such ahideous bore. "

His bold dark eyes smiled freely into hers. It was evident that he wastedlittle time before the shrine of the deity he condemned. But for alltheir mastery, they held a certain persuasive charm as well. Shehesitated a moment longer--and was lost. 

"Well, where shall we go?"

"I know of an excellent sitting-out place if your majesty will deign toaccompany me, " he said, "a corner where one can see without beingseen--always an advantage, you will allow. "

"You seem to know this place rather well, " she observed, as she sufferedhim to lead her away in triumph. 

He smiled shrewdly. "A wise general always studies his ground, " he said. 

CHAPTER II

THE QUEEN'S JESTER

The chosen corner certainly had the advantage of privacy. It was analcove at the end of one of the long narrow passages in which the ancienthostelry abounded, and the only light it boasted filtered through asquare aperture in the wall which once had held a window. Through thisaperture the curious could spy into the hall below, which just then wasthronged with dancers who were crowding out of the ballroom and driftingtowards the refreshment-room, the entrance to which was also visible. 

An ancient settee had been placed in this coign of vantage, and upon thisthey established themselves by mutual consent. 

The man was laughing a little below his breath. "I feel like arefugee, " he said. 

His companion leaned her arms upon the narrow row sill and gazeddownwards. "A refugee from boredom?" she suggested. "We are all that, more or less. "

"I dispute that, " he said at once. "It is only the bores who areever bored. "

"And I dispute that, " she replied, without turning, "of necessity, inself-defence. "

He leaned forward to catch the light upon her profile. "You are bored?"

She smiled faintly in the gloom. "That is why I have engaged the servicesof a jester. "

"By Jove, " he said, "I'm glad you pitched on me. "

She made a slight movement of impatience. "Isn't it rather futile to saythat sort of thing?"

"Why?" he asked. 

"Because you know quite well it was not a matter of choice. "

"Rather a matter of _manque de mieux_?" he suggested coolly. 

She turned from her contemplation of the crowd below. "I am not going tocontradict you, " she said, "I never foster _amour propre_ in a man. It isalways a plant of hardy growth. "

"'Hardy' is not the word, " he declared. "Say 'rank, ' and you will benearer the mark. I fully endorse your opinion. We are a race ofconceited, egotistical jackanapeses, and we all think we are going tolick creation till a pretty woman comes along and makes us dance to herpiping like a row of painted marionettes. But is the pretty woman anythe happier, do you think, for tumbling us thus ruthlessly off ourpedestals? I sometimes wonder if the sight of the sawdust doesn't makeher wish she hadn't. "

The drawl in his voice was very apparent as he uttered the last sentence. His chin was propped upon his hands. He was obviously studying her with adeliberate criticism that observed and considered every detail. 

But his scrutiny held without embarrassing her. She met it with noconscious effort. 

"I can't bear cynicism, " she told him frankly. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "Cynics--real cynics--never can. "

"But I am not a cynic. "

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes, quite sure. "

"And yet you tell me that you never take the trouble to flatter theinferior male. That's conflicting evidence, you know. Are you aman-hater, by the way?"

She shivered as if at a sudden draught. "I'm not prepared to answer thatquestion off-hand. " she said. 

"Very prudent of you!" he commented. "Do you know I owe you an apology?"

"I shouldn't have said so. "

"No? Well, let me confess. I'm rather good at confessing. I didn'tbelieve you just now when you said you were twenty-five. Now I do. Thatsingle streak of prudence was proof absolute and convincing. "

"I usually tell the truth, " she said somewhat stiffly. 

"Yes, it takes a genius to lie properly. I am not so good at it myself asI should like to be. But a woman of twenty-five ought not to look like aprincess of eighteen--a tired princess moreover, who ought to have beensent to bed long ago. "

Her laugh had in it a note of bitterness. "You certainly are not the sortof genius you aspire to be, " she said, "any more than I am a princess ofeighteen. "

"But you will be a queen at thirty, " he said. "Hullo! Here is someonecoming! Don't speak, and p'r'aps they won't discover us. They can'tstay long. "

He rose swiftly with the words and blocked the little spy-hole withhis body. Certainly footsteps were approaching, but they ceased beforethey reached the alcove at the end of the passage. There was anothersettee midway. 

"Oh, this is quite comfortable, " said a woman's voice. "Here I am, MajorShirley! It's dark, isn't it, but rather a relief after the glaredownstairs. What a crush it is! I am beginning to think the Hunt Ballrather a farce, for it is next to impossible to dance. "

"People don't know how to dance nowadays, " grumbled Major Shirley inresponse. "I can't stand these American antics. That young Nap Errolfairly sickens me. "

"Oh, but he is a splendid dancer, " protested his partner tolerantly. 

"Oh course you say so, " growled the Major. "All women like that horridlittle whipper-snapper. I can't see what in thunder they find to attractthem. I call him a downright cad myself, and I'm inclined to think him ablackguard as well. He wouldn't be tolerated if it weren't for hisdollars, and they all belong to his brother, I'm told. "

"Ah! He is a charming man. Such a pity he is a cripple!"

"He would probably be as insufferable as Nap if he weren't, " rejoined theMajor gloomily. "I can't think what the County are coming to. They willaccept anybody nowadays, it seems to me. I even met that little bounderat the Rifle Club the other day. Heaven knows how he got in. Dollarsagain, I suppose, confound his audacity!"

His partner made a slight movement of uneasiness. "I wonder where heis. I haven't seen him for some time. I hope he isn't anywherewithin earshot. "

"Not he! He is stowed away in some corner well out of the way with hislatest conquest. He won't turn up again this evening. He never does whenonce he goes to earth--the wily young fox. "

"Who is his latest conquest, I wonder?" mused the woman. "I thought itwas Mrs. Damer. But I have just seen her dancing with young Waring. "

"Mrs. Damer! Why, that was the day before yesterday!" The Major laughedunpleasantly. "'Anyone for a change, but no one for long, ' is his motto. The fellow is an infernal bounder through and through. He will get asound hiding one of these days, and serve him jolly well right, say I!"

"My dear Major, how you hate him! Anyone would think he had tried toflirt with Violet. "

"He'd better, " growled the Major. 

There came a slight sound from the darkness of the alcove, as thoughsomeone faintly chuckled. 

"What's that?" asked the woman's voice nervously. 

"Nothing--nothing!" said the Major testily. "Somebody laughing in thehall. I wonder where my wife is. I shall clear out soon. I'm tired ofthis show. Haven't had a decent dance all the evening. Shouldn't thinkyou have either. They ought to build a Town Hall in this place, and dothe thing properly. "

"There is some talk of it, you know. Now that there is a millionaire inthe neighbourhood it really might be done. The Carfaxes would help too, Iam sure. Sir Giles is very open-handed. "

"Drunken beast!" commented the Major. "A pretty spectacle he has beenmaking of himself to-night. He is sitting in a corner of therefreshment-room now absolutely incapable. He reached the noisy stagevery early in the evening. I am not sure that he even came sober. "

"No! Isn't it too pitiful for words? That young wife of his! I can'tthink how she endures it. It must be positive martyrdom. "

"Lady Carfax is a fool!" said the Major crossly. "I can't stand thesemartyrs. If she leads a dog's life it's her own fault. She's a fool toput up with it. "

"Perhaps she can't help herself, " pleaded the woman. 

"Stuff and nonsense! No woman need be the slave of a drunken sot likethat. It's a downright offence to me to be in the same room with thefellow. He always reeks of drink. And she has, or professes to have, acertain amount of refinement. Not much, I dare say. She was nothing buthis bailiff's daughter, you know, and people of that class don'tgenerally suffer from an exaggerated sense of duty. She probably sticksto the man because she wants to keep in with the County. I don't like thewoman, never did. Her airs and graces always rub me up wrong way. Whycouldn't Sir Giles have married in his own set? He probably wouldn't beso fond of the whiskey bottle now if he had. "

"I must say I like Lady Carfax, " broke in the woman with decision. "Whatever her origin, that queenliness of hers is not assumed. I believeher to be intensely reserved, and, perhaps for that very reason, I have agenuine admiration for her. "

"My dear Mrs. Randal, you'd find points to admire in a wax candle, "grunted the Major. "She always makes me think of one; pale and pure andsaintly--I can't stand the type. Let's go downstairs and find Violet. "

"Oh, not saintly, I think, " protested Mrs. Randal charitably. "Saintlypeople are so uninteresting. "

The Major laughed. He was already on his feet. 

"Probably not--probably not. But a show of saintliness is more thanenough to frighten me away. A woman who can't understand a wink Iinvariably strike forthwith off my visiting-list. "

"How cruel of you!" laughed Mrs. Randal. They were already moving awaydown the corridor. Her voice receded as they went. "But I can'tunderstand any man daring to wink at Lady Carfax; I can't, indeed. "

"That's just what I complain about, " grumbled Major Shirley. "Thosewax-candle sort of women never see a joke. What fools they are to leavethe place in darkness like this! Can you see where you are going?"

"Yes, we are just at the head of the stairs. It is rather foolish as yousay. People might hurt themselves. "

"Of course they might. Infernally dangerous. I shall complain. "

The voices fell away into distance; the band in the ballroom struckup again, and the woman on the settee in the alcove sat up andprepared to rise. 

"Suppose we go down now, " she said. 

Her companion moved away from the little window as one coming out of areverie. "Our gallant Major Shirley seems somewhat disgruntled tonight, "he said. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, I know him. " Her words fell with icy precision. 

"So do I. " The man's tone was one of sheer amusement. "I had the pleasureof meeting him at the Rifle Club the other day. Someone introduced us. Itwas great fun. If there were a little more light, I would show you whathe looked like. For some reason he wasn't pleased. Do you really want togo downstairs though? It is much nicer here. "

She had risen. They were facing one another in the twilight. "Yes, " shesaid, and though still quiet her voice was not altogether even. "I wantto go, please. "

"Mayn't I tell you something first?" he said. 

She stood silent, evidently waiting for his communication. 

"It's not of paramount importance, " he said. "But I think you may as wellknow it for your present edification and future guidance. Madam, I amthat wicked, wanton, wily fox, that whipper-snapper, that unmitigatedbounder--Nap Errol!"

He made the announcement with supreme complacence. It was evident that hefelt not the faintest anxiety as to how she would receive it. There waseven a certain careless hauteur about him as though the qualities hethus frankly enumerated were to him a source of pride. 

She heard him with no sign of astonishment. "I knew it, " she saidquietly. "I have known you by sight for some time. "

"And you were not afraid to speak to such a dangerous scoundrel?" hesaid. 

"You don't strike me as being very formidable, " she answered. "Moreover, if you remember, it was you who spoke first. "

"To be sure, " he said. "It was all of a piece with my habitual confoundedaudacity. Shall I tell you something more? I wonder whether I dare. "

"Wait!" she said imperatively. "It is my turn to tell you something, though it is more than possible that you know it already. Mr. Errol, Iam--Lady Carfax!"

He bowed low. "I did know, " he said, in a tone from which all hint ofbanter had departed. "But I thank you none the less for telling me. Imuch doubted if you would. And that brings me to my second--or is it mythird?--confession. I did not take you for Mrs. Damer in the card-room alittle while ago. I took you for no one but yourself. No man of ordinaryintelligence could do otherwise. But I had been wanting to make youracquaintance all the evening, and no one would be kind enough to presentme. So I took the first opportunity that occurred, trusting to the end tojustify the means. "

"But why have you told me?" she said. 

"Because I think you are a woman who appreciates the truth. "

"I am, " she said. "But I do not often hear it as I have heard itto-night"

He put out his hand to her impulsively. "Say, Lady Carfax, let me go andkick that old scandal-monger into the middle of next week!"

Involuntarily almost she gave her hand in return. "No, you mustn't, " shesaid, laughing faintly. "The fault was ours. You know the ancient adageabout listeners. We deserved it all. "

"Don't talk about deserts!" he exclaimed, with unexpected vehemence. "Hedoesn't deserve to have a whole bone left in his body for speaking of youso. Neither do I for suffering it in my presence!"

She freed her hand gently. "You could not have done otherwise. Believeme, I am not altogether sorry that you were with me when it happened. Itis just as well that you should know the truth, and I could not have toldit you myself. Come, shall we go down?"

"Wait a minute!" he said. "Let me know how I stand with you first. Haveyou decided to pass over that lie of mine, or are you going to cut menext time we meet?"

"I shall not cut you, " she said. 

"You are going to acknowledge me then with the coldest of nods, which iseven more damnable, " he returned, with gloomy conviction. 

She hesitated for an instant. Then, "Mr. Errol, " she said gently, "willyou believe me when I say that, however I treat you in the future, thatlie of yours will in no way influence me? You have helped me much morethan you realise by your trifling to-night. I am not sure that you meantto do so. But I am grateful to you all the same. "

"Then we are friends?" said Nap, quickly. 

"Yes, we are friends; but it is very unlikely that we shall meet again. Icannot invite you to call. "

"And you won't call either on my mother?" he asked. 

"I am afraid not. "

He was silent a moment. Then, "So let it be!" he said. "But I fancy weshall meet again notwithstanding. So _au revoir_, Lady Carfax! Can youfind your own way down?"

She understood in an instant the motive that prompted the question, andthe impulse to express her appreciation of it would not be denied. Sheextended her hand with an assumption of royal graciousness that did notcloak her gratitude. "Good-bye, Sir Jester!" she said. 

He took her fingers gallantly upon his sleeve and touched them with hislips. "Farewell to your most gracious majesty!" he responded. 

CHAPTER III

THE CHARIOT OF THE GODS

The Hunt Ball was over, and Mrs. Damer, wife of the M. F. H. , wasstanding on the steps of the Carfax Arms, bidding the last members ofthe Hunt farewell. 

Nap Errol was assisting her. He often did assist Mrs. Damer with thatcareless, half-insolent gallantry of his that no woman ever dreamed ofresenting. Like his namesake of an earlier date he held his own whereverhe went by sheer, stupendous egotism. 

The crowd had thinned considerably, the band had begun to pack up. In therefreshment-room waiters were hurrying to and fro. 

"Isn't it horrid?" laughed Mrs. Damer, shrugging her shoulders andshivering. "One feels so demoralised at this end of the night. Nap, Iwish you would find my husband. I've said good-night to everybody, and Iwant to go home to bed. "

"Lady Carfax hasn't gone yet, " observed Nap. "I saw her standing in thedoorway of the ladies' cloak-room just now. "

"Lady Carfax! Are you sure? I thought they went long ago. Is theircarriage waiting then?"

"Yes. It is still there. "

Mrs. Damer hastened into the ladies' cloak-room, still half-incredulous. 

At her entrance Anne Carfax, clad in a white wrap that made her face lookghastly, turned from the dying fire. 

"My dear Lady Carfax!" exclaimed Mrs. Damer. "I quite thought you leftages ago. What is it? Is anything the matter?"

The pale lips smiled. "No, nothing, thank you. I am only waiting formy husband. "

"Ah! Then we are in the same plight. I am waiting for mine. " Mrs. Damerhastened to veil her solicitude, which was evidently unwelcome. Shecaught up her cloak and began to fumble with it. The attendant had gone. 

"Let me!" said Anne, in her quiet voice, and took it from her. 

Her fingers touched Mrs. Damer's neck, and Mrs. Damer shivered audibly. "Thank you, thank you! You are as cold as ice. Are you well wrapped up?"

"Yes, quite. I am never very warm, you know. It is not my nature. Is Mr. Damer ready? I hope you will not delay your departure on my account. SirGiles will not be long, I think. "

"We will send Nap Errol to find him, " said Mrs. Damer. 

"Oh, no, thank you. That is quite unnecessary. Please do not troubleabout me. A few minutes more or less make little difference. "

The words came with the patience of deadly weariness. She was stillfaintly smiling as she wound a scarf about Mrs. Damer's head. 

"I am quite ready, you see, " she said. "I shall leave the momenthe appears. "

"My dear Lady Carfax, you have the patience of a saint. I am afraidPhil does not find me so long-suffering. " Mrs. Damer bustled back intothe hall. "Are you there, Nap? Do see if you can find Sir Giles. PoorLady Carfax is half-dead with cold and fit to drop with fatigue. Go andtell him so. "

"Please do nothing of the sort, " said Lady Carfax behind her. "No doubthe will come when he is ready. "

Nap Errol looked from one to the other with swift comprehension in hisglance. "Let me put you into your carriage first, Mrs. Damer, " he said, offering his arm. "Your husband is busy for the moment--some triflingmatter. He begs you will not wait for him. I will drive him back in mymotor. I have to pass your way, you know. "

Mrs. Damer shook hands hurriedly with Lady Carfax and went with him. There was something imperative about Nap just then. They passed outtogether on to the baize-covered pavement, and Anne Carfax breathed afaint sigh of relief. 

A few seconds later the Damer carriage was clattering down the street, and Nap Errol was once more by her side. 

"Look here, " he said. "Let me take you home in my motor first. No onewill know. "

She looked at him, her lips quivering a little as though they still triedto smile. "Thank you very much, " she said. "But--I think not. "

"No one will ever know, " he reiterated. "I will just set you down at yourown door and go away. Come, Lady Carfax!" His dark eyes gazed straightinto her own, determined, dominating. The high cheek-bones and long, leanjaw looked as though fashioned in iron. 

"Come!" he said again. 

She made a slight forward movement as if to yield, and then drew backagain. "Really, I had better wait and go with my husband, " she said. 

"You had better not!" he said with emphasis. "I have just seen him. He isin the smoke-room. I won't tell you what he is like. You probably know. But if you are a wise woman you will leave him for Damer to look after, and come with me. "

That decided her. She threw the hood of her cloak over her head andturned in silence to the door. 

Errol paused to pull on an overcoat and then followed her on to thesteps. A large covered motor had just glided up. He handed her into it. "By Jove, you are cold!" he said. 

She made no rejoinder. 

He stepped in beside her, after a word with the chauffeur, andshut the door. 

Almost instantly they were in motion, and in another moment were shootingforward swiftly down the long, ill-lighted street. 

Anne Carfax sank back in her corner and lay motionless. The glare of thelittle electric lamp upon her face showed it white and tired. Her eyeswere closed. 

The man beside her sat bolt upright, his eyes fixed unblinkingly upon thewindow in front, his jaw set grimly. He held the gloves he had worn allthe evening between his hands, and his fingers worked at themunceasingly. He was rending the soft kid to ribbons. 

They left the desolate street behind and came into total darkness. 

Suddenly, but very quietly, Anne spoke. "This is very kind of you, Mr. Errol. "

He turned towards her. She had opened her eyes to address him, but thelids drooped heavily. 

"The kindness is on your side, Lady Carfax, " he said deliberately. "Ifyou manage to inspire it in others, the virtue is still your own. "

She smiled and closed her eyes again. It was evident that she did notdesire to talk. 

He looked away from her, glanced at his torn gloves, and tossed themimpatiently from him. 

For ten minutes neither spoke. The car ran smoothly on through the nightlike an inspired chariot of the gods. There was no sound of wheels. Theyseemed to be borne on wings. 

For ten minutes the man sat staring stonily before him, rigid as astatue, while the woman lay passive by his side. 

But at the end of that ten minutes the speed began to slacken. They camesoftly to earth and stopped. 

Errol opened the door and alighted. "Have you a key?" he said, as he gaveher his hand. 

She stood above him, looking downwards half-dreamily as one emerging froma deep slumber. 

"Do you know, " she said, beginning to smile, "I thought that you were theKnave of Diamonds?"

"You've been asleep, " he said rather curtly. 

She gave a slight shudder as the night air brought her back, and in amoment, like the soft dropping of a veil, her reserve descended upon her. 

"I am afraid I have, " she said, "Please excuse me. Are we already at theManor? Yes, I have the key. "

She took his hand and stepped down beside him. 

"Good night, Mr. Errol, " she said. "And thank you. "

He did not offer to accompany her to the door. A light was burningwithin, and he merely stood till he heard the key turn in the lock, thenstepped back into the motor and slammed it shut without response of anysort to her last words. 

Anne Carfax was left wondering if her dream had been a cause of offense. 

CHAPTER IV

CAKE MORNING

"Oh, bother! It's cake morning. " Dot Waring turned from the Rectorybreakfast-table with a flourish of impatience. "And I do so want to hearall about it, " she said. "You might have come down earlier, Ralph. "

"My good sister, " said the rector's son, helping himself largely to breadand honey, "consider yourself lucky that I have come down at all afterdancing half the night with Mrs. Damer, who is no light weight. "

"You didn't, Ralph! I am quite sure you didn't! I'm not going to believeanything so absurd. " Nevertheless she paused on her way to the door forfurther details. 

"All right. I didn't, " said Ralph complacently. "And Sir Giles didn't getdrunk as a lord and tumble about the ballroom, and yell comic--awfullycomic--songs, till someone hauled him off to the refreshment-room andfilled him up with whiskey till he could sing no more!"

"Oh, Ralph! Not really! How utterly beastly! Was Lady Carfax there?"

"She was at first, but she cleared out. I don't know where she went to. "

"Oh, poor Lady Carfax! How horrid for her! Ralph, I--I could kickthat man!"

"So could I, " said Ralph heartily, "if someone would kindly hold him forme. He is a drunken blackguard, and if he doesn't end in an asylum, Ishall never express a medical opinion again. "

"P'r'aps he'll die of apoplexy first, " said Dot vindictively. 

"Whatever he dies of, " said Ralph, "I shall attend his funeral with thegreatest pleasure. Hadn't you better go and make that cake? I shall wantit by tea-time. "

"You are a pig!" the girl declared, pushing the sunny hair back from hergay young face. "Isn't Bertie late this morning? Perhaps he isn't coming. Dad won't be able to take him anyhow, for old Squinny is bad again andsent for him in a hurry. "

"That wretched old humbug! That means more beef-tea, not approachingdissolution. Old Squinny will never dissolve in the ordinary way. "

"Well, I must go. " Dot reached the door and began to swing it to andfro, gathering impetus for departure. "By the way, was Bertie there?"she asked. 

"Bertie who?"

"Bertie Errol, of course. Who else?"

"There are plenty of Berties in the world, " remarked Ralph, helpinghimself again to bread and honey. "No, Bertram Errol was not present. ButNapoleon Errol was. It was he who so kindly shunted Mrs. Damer on to me. _Nota bene_! Give Napoleon Errol a wide berth in future. He has the craftof a conjurer and the subtlety of a serpent. I believe he is a RedIndian, myself. "

"Oh, Ralph, he isn't! He is as white as you are. "

"He isn't white at all, " Ralph declared, "outside or in. Outside he isthe colour of a mangold-wurzel, and inside he is as black as ink. Youwill never get that cake made if you don't go. "

"Oh, bother!" Dot swung open the door for the last time, turned todepart, and then exclaimed in a very different tone, "Why, Bertie, sohere you are! We were just talking of you. "

A straight, well-made youth, with a brown face that laughedgood-temperedly, was advancing through the hall. 

"Hullo!" he said, halting at the doorway. "Awfully nice of you! What wereyou saying, I wonder? Hullo, Ralph! Only just down, you lazy beggar?Ought to be ashamed of yourself. "

He stood, slapping his riding-boots with a switch, looking at Dot withthe direct eyes of good-fellowship. His eyes were clear and honest asa child's. 

"Dad's away, " said Dot. "He was sent for early this morning. "

"Is he though? That means a holiday. What shall we do?"

"I don't know what you will do, " said Dot. "I am going to bake cakes. "

"I'll come and bake cakes too, " said Bertie promptly. "I'm rather a swellat that. I can make fudge too, real American fudge, the most aristocraticthing on the market. It's a secret, of course, but I'll let you into it, if you'll promise not to tell. "

"How do you know I can keep a secret?" laughed Dot, leading the way tothe kitchen. 

"You would keep a promise, " he said with conviction. 

"If I made one, " she threw back. 

"I would trust you without, " he declared. 

"Very rash of you! I wonder if you are as trustworthy as that. "

"My word is my bond--always, " said Bertie. 

She turned and looked at him critically. "Yes, I think it is, " sheadmitted. "You are quite the honestest boy I ever met. They ought to havecalled you George Washington. "

"You may if you like, " said Bertie. 

She laughed--her own inexpressibly gay laugh. "All right, George! Itsuits you perfectly. I always did think Bertie was a silly name. Whydidn't you go to the Hunt Ball last night?"

Bertie's merry face sobered. "My brother wasn't so well yesterday. I wasreading to him half the night. He couldn't sleep, and Tawny Hudson is nogood for that sort of thing. "

The merriment went out of Dot's face too. It grew softer, older, morewomanly. "You are very good to your brother, " she said. 

He frowned abruptly. "Good to him! Great Scot! Why, he's miles too goodfor any of us. Don't ever class him with Nap or me! We're just ordinarysinners. But he--he's a king. "

A queer little gleam that was not all mirth made Dot's eyes growbrighter. "I like you for saying that, " she said. 

"Why, of course I say it!" he protested. "It's true! He's the finest chapin the world, all true gold and not a grain of dross. That's how it is weall knock under to him. Even Nap does that, though he doesn't care atinker's curse for anyone else on this muddy little planet. "

"You are awfully fond of him, aren't you?" said Dot sympathetically. 

"Fond of Lucas! I'd die for him!" the boy declared with feeling. "He'sfather and brother and friend to me. There isn't anything I wouldn't dofor him. Did you ever hear how he came to be a cripple?"

"Never, " said Dot. 

"He was knocked down by an electric car, " Bertie said, rushing throughthe story with headlong ardour, "trying to save his best girl's dog frombeing run over. He did save it, but he was frightfully hurt--paralysedfor months. It's years ago now. I was only a little shaver at the time. But I shall never forget it. He always was good to me, and I thought hewas done for. "

"And the girl?" asked Dot rather breathlessly. 

"Married an English nobleman, " he rejoined, with a brevity that spokevolumes. "I say, what about those cakes? Hadn't we better begin?"

Dot turned her attention to the fire. "I should like to meet yourbrother, " she remarked. "I've never spoken to a real flesh-and-blood heroin my life. "

"Nothing easier, " said Bertie promptly. "Come over and have tea. Comethis afternoon, you and Ralph. "

But Dot hesitated in evident doubt. "I don't know what Dad wouldsay, " she said. 

"Oh, rats! He wouldn't mind. And my mother would be delighted. Come earlyand I'll show you the hunters. Nap has just bought a beauty. She's ablood mare, black as ink. "

"Like Nap, " said Dot absently; then in haste, "No, I didn't mean that. Iwasn't thinking. "

Bertie was looking at her shrewdly. "What do you know about Nap?" hesaid. 

She coloured deeply. "Nothing, nothing whatever. I only know himby sight. "

"And you don't like him?"

"I--I think he looks rather wicked, " she stammered. 

Bertie grunted. "Do you think I look wicked too?"

"Of course I don't. No one could. "

He laughed. "That's all right. You can think what you like of Nap. Everybody does. But even he is not all bad, you know. "

"I'm sure he isn't. But--but--" Desperately Dot turned from the fire andfaced him. "I've got to say it, Bertie, " she said rather piteously. "Please don't be offended. You know I--I'm young. I don't know manypeople. And--and--though I would like to know your eldest brotherimmensely, I think I won't come to Baronmead if Nap is there. My fatherdoesn't want me to meet him--unless I am obliged. "

She uttered the last words in evident distress. Bertie's face had grownquite serious, even stern. He was looking at her with a directness whichfor the first time in their acquaintance she found disconcerting. 

He did not speak for several seconds. At length, "How old are you?" hesaid abruptly. 

"Eighteen, " she murmured. 

He continued to look at her speculatively. "Well, " he said at length, speaking with something of a twang, "I guess your father knows what he'sabout, but it beats me to understand why he has me here to study. I guessI'd better shunt. "

"Oh, please don't!" she said quickly. "It isn't you at all. It'sonly Nap. "

"Damn Nap!" said Bertie, with some fervour. "Oh, does that shock you? Iforgot you were a parson's daughter. Well, it may be your father isright after all. Anyway, I shan't quarrel with him so long as he doesn'ttaboo me too. "

"He won't do that, " said Dot, with confidence. "He likes you. "

Bertie's good-looking face began to smile again. "Well, I'm not ablackguard anyway, " he said. "And I never shall be if you keep on beingkind to me. That's understood, is it? Then shake!"

They shook, and Dot realised with relief that the difficult subject wasdismissed. 

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER

It was a week after the Hunt Ball that Anne Carfax, sitting alone at teain her drawing-room before a blazing fire, was surprised by the suddenopening of the door, and the announcement of old Dimsdale the butler, "Mr. Nap Errol to see your ladyship!"

She rose to meet him, her surprise in her face, and he, entering withthat light, half-stealthy tread of his, responded to it before his handtouched hers. 

"I know my presence is unexpected, and my welcome precarious, but as noneof my friends have been able to give me any news of you, I determined tochance my reception and come myself to inquire for your welfare. "

"You are very good, " said Anne, but she spoke with a certain statelinessnotwithstanding. There was no pleasure in her eyes. 

Nap, however, was sublimely self-assured. "I am beginning to think I mustbe, " he said, "since you say so. For I know you to be strictly truthful. "

Anne made no response. She did not even smile. 

"I am in luck to find you alone, " proceeded Nap, surveying her with bolddark eyes that were nothing daunted by her lack of cordiality. 

"My husband will be in soon, " she answered quietly. 

"I shall be delighted to make his acquaintance, " said Nap imperturbably. "Has he been hunting?"

"Yes. " Anne's tone was distant. She seemed to be unaware of the fact thather visitor was still on his feet. 

But Nap knew no embarrassment. He stood on the hearth with his back tothe fire. "You ought to hunt, " he said. "Why don't you?"

"I do--occasionally, " Anne said. 

"What's the good of that? You ought to regularly. There's nothing likeit. Say, Lady Carfax, why don't you?" He smiled upon her disarmingly. "Are you wondering if I take one lump or two? I take neither, and nomilk, please. "

Against her will she faintly smiled. 

"I thought that was it, " said Nap. "Why didn't you ask me? Are thesescones in the fender? May I offer you one?"

He dropped upon his knees to pick up the dish, and in that attitudehumbly proffered it to her. 

She found it impossible to remain ungracious. She could only seat herselfat the tea-table and abandon the attempt. 

"Sit down and help yourself, " she said. 

He pulled a large hassock to him and sat facing her. "Now we can besociable, " he said. "Really, you know, you ought to hunt more often. Ihave never seen you in the field once. What on earth do you do withyourself?"

"Many things, " said Anne. 

"What things?" he persisted. 

"I help my husband to the best of my ability with the estate and try tokeep an eye on the poorest tenants. And then I practise the piano a gooddeal. I haven't time for much besides. "

"I say, do you play?" said Nap, keenly interested. "I do myself, alittle, not the piano--the violin. Lucas likes it, or I suppose I shouldhave given it up long ago. But I generally have to manage without anaccompaniment. There is no one can accompany at our place. It's a bitthin, you know, playing by yourself. "

Anne's face reflected his interest. "Tell me more about it, " she said. "What sort of music do you care for?"

"Oh, anything, from Christmas carols to sonatas. I never play to pleasemyself, and Lucas has very varied tastes. "

"He is your elder brother?" questioned Anne. 

"Yes, and one of the best. " Nap spoke with unwonted feeling. "He ishopelessly crippled, poor chap, and suffers infernally. I often wonderwhy he puts up with it. I should have shot myself long ago, had I beenin his place. "

"Perhaps he is a good man, " Anne said. 

He shot her a keen glance. "What do you mean by a good man?"

"I mean a man who does his duty without shirking. "

"Is that your ideal?" he said, "There are plenty of men that do that, andyet their lives are anything but blameless. "

"Quite possibly, " she agreed. "But if a man does his duty, he has notlived in vain. It can be no man's duty to destroy himself. "

"And how would you define 'duty'?" said Nap. 

She let her eyes meet his for a moment. "I can only define it formyself, " she said. 

"Will you do so for my benefit?" he asked. 

A faint colour rose to her face. She looked past him into the fire. Therewas a deep sadness about her lips as she made reply. 

"I have not been given much to do. I have to content myself with 'thework that's nearest. '"

Nap was watching her closely. "And if I did the same, " he questioned in adrawl that was unmistakably supercilious, "should I be a good man?"

"I don't know what your capabilities are, " she said. 

"I have vast capabilities for evil, " he told her, with a cynical twist ofhis thin-lipped mouth. 

She met his look again. "I am sorry, " she said. 

"Are you really? But why? Doesn't the devil attract you? Honestlynow!" He leaned forward, staring straight at her, challenging her. "Itell you frankly, " he said, "I am not what you would call a good man. But--the truth, mind!--would you like me any better if I were?"

She smiled a little. There was undoubted fascination in the upturned facewith its fiery eyes and savage jaw. Perhaps the lips were cruel, but theywere not coarse. They were keenly sensitive. 

She did not answer him immediately, and during the pause his eyes neverflinched from hers. They were alive, glowing with insistence. 

"Yes, " she said at length. "Quite honestly, I do prefer good men. "

"That wasn't exactly what I asked, " said Nap, thrusting out his chin. 

"I think you are capable of drawing your own conclusions, " sheanswered gently. 

His look fell away from her. He began to munch scone with acontemplative air. 

Anne gave him some tea, and he set it on the hearthrug between hisfeet. The silence became lengthy. She was conscious of something inthe atmosphere that made her vaguely uneasy. Was it a cat he resembled, crouching there in front of her? No, there was nothing domestic abouthim though she had a feeling that he could purr when he was pleased. Yes, there was undoubtedly something feline about him, a supple grace, a noiselessness, a guile, that made her aware of the necessity forcaution in her dealings with him. This was a man of manysubtleties--she knew it instinctively--a man of tigerish temperament, harmless as a kitten in sunshine, merciless as a fiend in storm. Yes, he was certainly like a tiger, forcible even in repose. She had neverbefore encountered so dominant a personality. It affected herstrangely, half-attracting, half-repelling, arousing in her a sense ofantagonism that yet was not aversion. 

"I wish you would say all that out loud, " said Nap. "You have suchinteresting thoughts, it is really selfish of you not to express them. "

"Surely not, " she said, "if you know what they are. "

He gave her an odd look as he lifted his tea-cup. 

"The Queen's jester is a privileged person, " he said. "When the door ofher pleasaunce is closed to him he climbs up and looks over the wall. "

"Not always a discreet proceeding, I fear, " Anne remarked. 

"Discretion, Lady Carfax, is but another term for decrepitude. I havedetected no symptoms of the disease at present. " He drained his tea withan arrogant gesture and handed the cup for more. "Which is the exactreason why I have no intention of remaining on the top of the wall, " hesaid. "I will have a stronger dose this time, please. "

An unsteady hand began to fumble at the door, and Anne glanced up with astart. The blood rose to her face. "I think it is my husband, " she said, in a low voice. 

Nap did not turn his head or answer. He sat motionless, still staring ather, till the door began to open. Then, with a sudden, lithe movement, herose and kicked the hassock to one side. 

A big man in riding-dress tramped heavily into the room, and stopped inthe centre, peering before him under scowling brows. Not the kindest ofcritics could have called Sir Giles Carfax handsome, though every featurein his face was well formed. The blotchy complexion of the man and hiseyes of glaring malice marred him all too completely. He looked aboutfifty, to judge by his iron-grey hair and moustache, but he might havebeen less. He had immensely powerful shoulders that stooped a little. 

He continued to stand in the middle of the room and glare at the visitortill Anne quietly bridged the gulf. 

"This is Mr. Nap Errol, Giles. Mr. Errol--my husband. "

She made the introduction without a tremor, but she kept her eyesdowncast as if she did not wish to see them meet. Perhaps she divinedthat a gleam of supercilious humour flickered in Nap's eyes as he madeeasy response. 

"I have been waiting for the pleasure of meeting you, " he drawled. "I dropped in on the chance, and Lady Carfax assured me youwouldn't be long. "

Sir Giles scowled more heavily than before. He shot a malignant glanceat his wife. 

"Who in thunder made her so clever?" he growled. "And what did you wantto see me for? Have I ever met you before?"

His voice was thick, the words somewhat difficult to distinguish. 

Nap's smile was unmistakably sardonic. "Many times, " he said. "You nearlyrode over me on the last occasion. Doubtless the episode has escaped yourmemory, but it made a more lasting impression upon mine. "

Sir Giles glared offensively, as if he deemed himself insulted. "Iremember, " he said. "Your animal came down with you. You pushed in frontof me. But it was your own fault. You Americans never observe the rulesof sport. I'm always glad to see you come a cropper. "

"I am sure of it, " said Nap politely. "It must gratify you immensely. "

Sir Giles uttered a brief, snarling laugh, and advanced abruptly to thehearth. He towered above the slim American, but the latter did not appearto shirk comparison with him. With his hands in his pockets henonchalantly opposed his insolence to the other man's half-tipsy tyranny. 

And Anne Carfax sat silent behind the tea-table and endured the encounterwith a mask-like patience that betrayed no faintest hint of what shecarried in her heart. 

"Well, what do you want to see me for?" Sir Giles demanded, with aferocious kick at the coals. 

Nap was quite ready with his answer. "I am really here on my brother'sbehalf. There is a scheme afoot, as no doubt you know, for the buildingof a Town Hall. My brother considers that the lord of the Manor"--hebowed with thinly-veiled irony--"should have first say in the matter. ButI am at liberty to assure you that should you be in favour of the schemehe is ready to offer you his hearty support. "

Sir Giles heard him out with lowering brows. It did not improve histemper to see Anne's eyes flash sudden interrogation at Nap's serenelysmiling countenance, though he did not suspect the meaning of her glance. 

"I am not in favour of the scheme, " he said shortly, as Nap ended. 

Nap slightly raised his brows. "No? I understood otherwise. "

The blood mounted to Sir Giles's forehead. "Either you were misinformedor your intelligence is at fault, " he said, with that in his voice thatwas so nearly an open insult that, for a second, even Nap lookeddangerous. 

Then quite quietly, without raising her eyes, Anne intervened. "I thinkyou ought to explain to Mr. Errol, Giles, that you have only recentlychanged your mind. "

Sir Giles rounded on her malignantly. "What the devil has that to do withit, or with you, for that matter? Do you think I don't know my own mind?Do you think--"

"I know exactly what Lady Carfax thinks, " cut in Nap, moving deliberatelyso that he stood directly between Sir Giles and the tea-table. His backwas turned to Anne, and he kept it so. "And in the main, I agree withher, though my sentiments are a little stronger than hers. I'll tell youexactly what they are some day. I think you would be interested, or atleast not bored. But with regard to this Town Hall suggestion, what'swrong with it, anyway? Couldn't you come over and talk it out with mybrother? He isn't well enough just now to come to you. "

The coolness of this speech took effect. Sir Giles glared for a fewmoments till the speaker's steady regard became too much for him. Then, with a lurching movement, he turned away. 

"No, I won't visit your brother! Why the deuce should I? Do you think Ibelong to the rag, tag, and bobtail, that'll mix with the very scum ofsociety so long as there's money about? Do you think I'd lower myself toassociate with fellows like you?"

"I guess you'd find it difficult, " drawled Nap. 

He still stood with his back to the tea-table. He seemed to haveforgotten the woman who sat so rigid behind him. His fingers drummed acareless tattoo upon the table-edge. He was unquestionably master of thesituation, and that without much apparent effort. 

And Sir Giles knew it, knew himself to be worsted, and that in hiswife's presence. He glanced at her through eyes narrowed to evil slits. Her very impassivity goaded him. It seemed in some fashion to expresscontempt. With violence he strode to the bell and pealed it vigorously. 

On the instant Nap turned. "So long, Lady Carfax!"

She looked up at him. Her lips said nothing, but for that instant hereyes entreated, and his eyes made swift response. 

He was smiling with baffling good humour as he turned round to Sir Giles. 

"Good-bye, sir! Delighted to have met you. I'll give your message to mybrother. It'll amuse him. "

He departed without a backward glance as the servant opened the door, elaborately deaf to Sir Giles's half-strangled reply that he might go tothe devil and take his brother with him. 

He left dead silence in the room behind him, but the moment that theclang of the front door told of his final exit the storm burst. 

Sir Giles, livid, stammering with rage, strode up and down and cursed thedeparted visitor in lurid language, cursed the errand that had broughthim, and rated his wife for admitting him. 

"I will not know these impertinent, opulent Americans!" was the burden ofhis maledictions. "As for that damned, insolent bounder, I will neverhave him in the house again. Understand that! I know him. I've heardShirley talk of him. The man's a blackguard. And if I ever catch himalone in your company after this, I'll thrash him--do you hear?--I'llthrash him! So now you know what to expect!"

It was at this point that Anne rose, passed quietly, with the bearing ofa queen, down the long room, and without a single word or glance went outand closed the door very softly behind her. 

CHAPTER VI

AT THE MEET

On one occasion, and one only, in the whole year were the gates ofthe Manor thrown open to all comers, opulent Americans andimpecunious Britons alike. And this was when, in accordance with acustom that had been observed from time immemorial, the foxhounds metupon the Manor lawn. 

It was then that Sir Giles, who cursed this obligatory hospitality forweeks beforehand, emerged with a smile as fixed as his scowl, shook handswith the select few whom he deigned to number among his acquaintances andpointedly ignored the many who did not enjoy this privilege. 

With old Dimsdale the butler rather than with his master rested thehonours of the house, and old Dimsdale did his part nobly; so nobly thatMajor Shirley was heard to remark more than once that it was a pity heand Sir Giles couldn't change places. It was the great day of Dimsdale'syear, and his was the proud task to see that none of the guests wereneglected. 

Anne usually rode to hounds on this occasion. Tall and stately, clad inthe conventional black riding-habit that only added grace to her severityof outline, she moved among her husband's guests. And even those of themwho, like Major Shirley, resented that queenliness which was an inbornpart of her very nature, were fain to admit that she filled her positionas lady of the Manor with striking success. Though she had withdrawnherself more and more of late from the society of the neighbourhood, sheacted the part of hostess with unfailing graciousness. On foot she movedamong the throng, greeting everyone she knew. 

Little Dot Waring, standing in the background with her brother on acertain misty morning in January marked her progress with looks of lovingadmiration. Lady Carfax's mount, a powerful grey with nervous ears andgleaming eyes, was being held in unwilling subjection close to them. 

"Be ready to mount her when she comes this way, Ralph, " Dot whispered, asthe tall figure drew nearer. 

But the honour of mounting Lady Carfax was not for Ralph. A man ona black mare--a slight man with high cheek-bones and an insolentbearing--was threading his way towards them through the crowd. The mare, like the grey, was restive, and her rider swore at her whimsies as hecame. 

Meeting Dot's frank regard, he checked himself and raised his hat with acourtesy half-instinctive. 

Dot stared, coloured, and very slightly bowed. 

Ralph sniggered. "Let yourself in for it that time, my child! Here comesBertie to effect a formal introduction. "

"Bertie won't introduce him, " she said quickly. 

Bertie, looking very handsome and stalwart, was already close to them. Heleaned down from the saddle to shake hands. 

"Are you following on foot? I wish I was. Never thought of it tillthis moment. "

"I would much rather follow on horseback, " Dot declared, looking as ifshe did not believe him. 

He laughed. "I'll take you in front of me if you'll come. "

"No. I shouldn't like that, " said Dot very decidedly. 

"How can you possibly know till you try?"

Dot looked up at him with the sunshine in her clear eyes. "How do youknow that you would prefer to follow the hounds on foot? I don't supposeyou ever have. "

"How do I know?" laughed Bertie. "Because I should be in your company, ofcourse. Isn't that reason enough?"

"Idiot!" said Dot tersely. 

"Minx!" said Bertie. 

She flushed, looked angry for a moment, and then in spite of herselfdimpled into a smile. "Bertie, you're a beast! Say that again if youdare!"

"I daren't, " said Bertie. 

"No, I thought not. Now apologise!"

"Oh, not now! Not in public!" he pleaded. "I'll drop in this evening andyou can shrive me before I go to bed. "

"I shan't be at home, " said Dot, with her head in the air. 

"Oh, yes, you will. Anyway, I'm bound to catch you if I wait longenough. " Bertie spoke with cheery assurance. "Hullo! What do you want?"

His expression altered as his glance fell upon his brother, who had justcome to his side. He looked inclined to scowl. 

But Nap was not apparently desiring an introduction to the rector'sdaughter. "Hold the mare a minute, will you?" he said. 

Bertie complied and he swung himself to the ground. 

Lady Carfax was coming towards them and he went to meet her. 

Her grey eyes smiled a friendly welcome. "I was just wondering if youwere here. "

He bowed low. "I am honoured indeed to be in your thoughts for asingle instant. "

"I hope I do not forget my friends so easily, " she said. "Oh, here aresome more of them! Excuse me for a moment. "

She went straight to Dot, shook hands with her and her brother, and stoodchatting for a few seconds. 

Nap remained close behind her, and after a little she turned toInclude him in the group. "Have you ever met this Mr. Errol. Dot? Mr. Errol--Miss Waring!"

Dot bowed again with a scarlet countenance, but the next instant afriendly inspiration delivered her from the moment's awkwardness. 

"And you don't know Bertie Errol, do you, Lady Carfax?" she said eagerly. "Let me introduce him. He studies with Dad, you know. "

"When he isn't hunting, or paper-chasing, or--baking cakes, " said Bertie. "He's such a nice boy, Lady Carfax. He can do almost anything. I'm sureyou'll like him!"

Dot laughed and protested. "He isn't a bit nice, and he isn't clevereither, though he thinks he is. I don't believe he learns anything withDad. They study natural history most of the time. "

"Harmless, anyway!" commented Nap, with a sneer. 

"Yes, quite harmless, " assented Bertie, looking straight at him. 

"And very interesting, no doubt, " said Lady Carfax, turning towardsher mount. 

Ralph moved to assist her, but Nap pushed before him. "My job, I think, "he drawled, with that in his face which made the English youth drawsullenly back. 

"Cad!" whispered Dot fiercely. 

And Bertie from his perch above her laughed through clenched teeth. 

In a few minutes more the hunt was off. The whole crowd streamed brisklyaway, hounds leading, horses, motors, carriages, and the usual swarm ofpedestrians, following in promiscuous array. 

The sun shone through a mist. The weather was perfect for hunting, butlooked as if it might end in rain. 

Sir Giles rode with the master. He seemed in better spirits than usual. His customary scowl had lifted. 

His wife rode nearer the end of the procession with Nap Errol next toher. His brother was immediately behind them, a very decided frown on hisboyish face, a frown of which in some occult fashion Nap must have beenaware, for as they reached a stretch of turf and the crowd widened out, he turned in the saddle. 

"Get on ahead, Bertie! I can't stand you riding at my heels. "

Bertie looked at him as if he had a retort ready, but he did not utterit. With tightened lips he rode past and shot ahead. 

Nap smiled a little. "That young puppy is the best of the Errol bunch, "he said. "But he hasn't been licked enough. It's not my fault. It's mybrother's. "

"He looks a nice boy, " Anne said. 

Nap's smile became supercilious. "He is a nice boy, Lady Carfax. But niceboys don't always make nice men, you know. They turn into prigssometimes. "

Anne diverted the subject with an instinctive feeling that it was oneupon which they might not agree. 

"There is a considerable difference between you?" she asked. 

"Eight years, " said Nap. "I am thirty, Lucas five years older. Mostpeople take me for the eldest of the lot. "

"I wonder why?" said Anne. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "It is not really surprising, is it? Lucas hasbeen on the shelf for the past ten years and I"--he glanced at hershrewdly--"have not!"

"Oh!" said Anne, and asked no more. 

For the first time the definite question arose in her mind as to whetherin admitting this man to her friendship she had made a mistake. He had adisquieting effect upon her, she was forced to acknowledge. 

Yet as they drifted apart in the throng she knew with unalterableconviction that the matter did not rest with her. From the outset thechoice had not been hers. 

He had entered the gates of her lonely citadel on the night of the HuntBall, and though she was by no means sure that she liked him there, shefully realised that it was too late now to try to bar him out. 

CHAPTER VII

THE FALL

They found a fox after some delay in a copse on the side of a hill, andthe run that followed scattered even Anne's sedateness to the winds. Something of youth, something of girlishness, yet dwelt within her andbounded to the surface in response to the wild excitement of the chase. 

The grey went like the wind. He and the black mare that Nap Errol rodeled the field, a distinction that Anne had never sought before, and whichshe did not greatly appreciate on this occasion. For when they killed ina chalky hollow, after half-an-hour's furious galloping across countrywith scarcely a check, she dragged her animal round with a white, setface and forced him from the scene. 

Nap followed her after a little and found her fumbling at a gateinto a wood. 

"I've secured the brush for you, " he began. Then, seeing her face, "Whatis it? You look sick. "

"I feel sick, " Anne said shakily. 

He opened the gate for her, and followed her through. They foundthemselves alone, separated from the rest of the hunt by a thickbelt of trees. 

"Do you mean to say you have never seen a kill before?" he said. 

"Never at close quarters, " murmured Anne, with a shudder. 

He rode for a little in silence. At length, "I'm sorry you didn't likebeing in at the death, " he said. "I thought you would be pleased. "

"Pleased!" she said, and shuddered again. 

"Personally, " said Nap, "I enjoy a kill. "

Anne's face expressed horror. 

"Yes, " he said recklessly, "I am like that. I hunt to kill. It is mynature. " A red gleam shone suddenly in his fiery eyes. He looked at heraggressively. "What do you hunt for anyway?" he demanded. 

"I don't think I shall hunt any more, " she said. 

"Oh, nonsense, Lady Carfax! That's being ultrasqueamish, " he protested. "You mustn't, you know. It's bad for you. "

"I can't help it, " she said. "I never realised before how cruel it is. "

"Of course it's cruel, " said Nap. "But then so is everything, so is life. Yet you've got to live. We were created to prey on each other. "

"No, no!" she said quickly, for his words hurt her inexplicably. "I takethe higher view. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Nap, in the tone of one refusing a discussion. 

She turned to him impulsively. "Surely you do too!" she said, and therewas even a note of pleading in her voice. 

Nap's brows met suddenly. He turned his eyes away. "I am nothing but ananimal, " he told her rather brutally. "There is nothing spiritual aboutme. I live for what I can get. When I get the chance I gorge. If I have asoul at all, it is so rudimentary as to be unworthy of mention. "

In the silence that followed he looked at her again with grimcomprehension. "P'r'aps you don't care for animals, " he suggestedcynically. "To change the subject, do you know we are leaving thehunt behind?"

She reined in somewhat reluctantly. "I suppose we had better go back. "

"If your majesty decrees, " said Nap. 

He pulled the mare round and stood motionless, waiting for her to pass. He sat arrogantly at his ease. She could not fail to note that hishorsemanship was magnificent. The mare stood royally as though she borea king. The man's very insignificance of bulk seemed to make him themore superb. 

"Will you deign to lead the way?" he said. 

And Anne passed him with a vague sense of uneasiness that almostamounted to foreboding. For it seemed to her as if for those few momentshe had imposed his will upon hers, had without effort overthrown allbarriers of conventional reserve, and had made her acknowledge in himthe mastery of man. 

Rejoining the hunt, she made her first deliberate attempt to avoid him, an attempt that was so far successful that for the next hour she sawnothing of him beyond casual glimpses. She did not join her husband, forhe resented her proximity in the hunting-field. 

They drew blank in a wood above the first kill, but finally found afterconsiderable delay along a stubbly stretch of ground bordering Baronmead, a large estate that the eldest Errol had just bought. The fox headedstraight for the Baronmead woods and after him streamed the huntpell-mell along a stony valley. 

It was not Anne's intention to be in at a second death that day, and shedeliberately checked the grey's enthusiasm when he would have borne herheadlong through the scampering crowd. To his indignation, instead ofpursuing the chase in the valley, she headed him up the hill. Heprotested with vehemence, threatening to rebel outright, but Anne wasdetermined, and eventually she had her way. Up the hill they went. 

It was a scramble to reach the top, for the ground was steep and sloppy, but on the summit of the ridge progress was easier. She gave the grey therein and he carried her forward at a canter. From here she saw the lastof the horsemen below her sweep round the curve towards Baronmead, andthe hubbub growing fainter in the distance told her that the hounds werealready plunging through the woods. Ahead of her the ridge culminated ina bare knoll whence it was evident that she could overlook a considerablestretch of country. She urged her animal towards it. 

The mist was thickening in the valley, and it had begun to drizzle. Thewatch on her wrist said two o'clock, and she determined to turn her facehomewards as soon as she had taken this final glimpse. 

The grey, snorting and sweating, stumbled up the slippery ascent. He wasplainly disgusted with his rider's tactics. They arrived upon the summit, and Anne brought him to a standstill. But though she still heard vagueshoutings below her the mist had increased so much in the few minutesthey had taken over the ascent that she could discern nothing. Her horsewas winded after the climb, however, and she remained motionless to givehim time to recover. The hubbub was dying away, and she surmised that thefox had led his pursuers out on the farther side of the woods. Sheshivered as the chill damp crept about her. A feeling of loneliness thatwas almost physical possessed her. She half wished that she had notforsaken the hunt after all. 

Stay! Was she quite alone? Out of the clinging, ever-thickening curtainthere came sounds--the sounds of hoofs that struggled upwards, of ananimal's laboured breathing, of a man's voice that encouraged and sworealternately. 

Her heart gave a sudden sharp throb. She knew that voice. Though she hadonly met the owner thereof three times she had come to know it ratherwell. Why had he elected to come that way, she asked herself? He almostseemed to be dogging her steps that day. 

Impulse urged her to strike in another direction before he reachedher. She did not feel inclined for another _tęte-ŕ-tęte_ with NapErrol just then. 

She tapped the grey smartly with her switch, more smartly than sheintended, for he started and plunged. At the same instant there broke outimmediately below them a hubbub of yelling and baying that was like theshrieking of a hundred demons. It rose up through the fog as from themouth of an invisible pit, and drove the grey horse clean out of hissenses. He reared bolt upright in furious resistance to his rider's will, pawed the air wildly, and being brought down again by a sharp cut overthe ears, flung out his heels in sheer malice and bolted down the hill, straight for that pandemonium of men and hounds. If the pleasures of thehunt failed to attract his mistress, it was otherwise with him, and hemeant to have his fling in spite of her. 

For the first few seconds of that mad flight Anne scarcely attempted tocheck his progress. She was taken by surprise and was forced to give allher attention to keeping in the saddle. 

The pace was terrific. The scampering hoofs scarcely seemed to touch theground at all. Like shadows they fled through the rising mist. It struckchill upon her face as they swooped downwards. She seemed to be plunginginto an icy, bottomless abyss. 

And then like a dagger, stabbing through every nerve, came fear, ahorror unspeakable of the depth she could not see, into which she wasbeing so furiously hurled. She was clinging to the saddle, but shemade a desperate effort to drag the animal round. It was quitefruitless. No woman's strength could have availed to check thatheadlong gallop. He swerved a little, a very little, in answer, thatwas all, and galloped madly on. 

And then--all in a moment it came, a moment of culminating horror moreawful than anything she had ever before experienced--the ground fellsuddenly away from the racing feet. A confusion of many lights dancedbefore her eyes--a buzzing uproar filled her brain--she shot forwardinto space.... 

CHAPTER VIII

THE RIDE HOME

Sir Giles was in a decidedly evil temper as he rode home from the hunt inthe soaking rain that afternoon. The second fox had led them miles out ofthe way, and they had not been rewarded by a kill. The brute had eludedthem, profiting by the downpour that had washed away the scent. So SirGiles, having solaced himself several times with neat brandy from thelarge silver flask without which he never rode abroad, was in anythingbut a contented mood with the world in general and his own luck inparticular. Dusk had long descended when at length he turned in at hisown gates. He had given up urging his jaded animal, being too jadedhimself for the effort. But, hearing a clatter of hoofs on the drivebefore him, he did rouse himself to holler into the darkness, supposingthat his wife was ahead of him. If it were she, she was later inreturning than was her wont, but no answer came back to him, and he didnot repeat his call. After all, why should he hail her? He did not wanther company, Heaven knew. That stately demeanour of hers which once hadattracted him generally inspired in him a savage sense of resentmentnowadays. There were times when he even suspected her of despisinghim--him, the lord of the Manor, who had given her all she possessed inthe world!

He swore a furious oath under his breath as he rode. The darkness aheadof him was all pricked by tiny red sparks, that glanced and flashed likefireflies whichever way he looked. He rubbed his eyes and they departed, only to swarm again a little farther on. The rain had soaked him to theskin. He shivered and swore again as he fumbled for his flask. 

The fiery gleams faded wholly away as the raw spirit warmed his blood andrevived his brain. He drew a breath of relief. Again he heard the soundof a horse's feet some distance in front. They seemed to fall unevenly, as though the animal were lame. Could it be the grey, he asked himself?If so, why had Anne not answered his call? She must have heard him. Heground his teeth. It was like her habitual impudence to ignore him thus. He gathered himself together and sent a furious bellow into the darkness. 

But there came back no reply. The hoofs ahead seemed to quicken into ashambling trot, that was all. And after a little he heard them no more. 

She had reached the house then, and gone within into light and comfort, and again feverishly he execrated her for not waiting for him, the coldand the rain and the dark notwithstanding. Again fitfully he began tosee those leaping points of light; but it was only here and there. Whenever he focussed his attention upon them they eluded him. For thesealso he held his wife in some fashion responsible. What did she mean byleaving him thus? How dared she enter the house that was his while hewas still groping without? He believed that she would shut his own dooragainst him if she dared. He was sure she hated him, as he hated her--ashe hated her!

And then--suddenly a strange thing happened. Suddenly, clear-cut as acameo before his fevered vision, there arose against the drippingdarkness his wife's face. Pale and pure as the face of a saint, it shonebefore him like a star. There was no reproach in the level eyes; therewas no contempt. But they looked through him, they looked beyond him, andsaw him not. 

A violent tremor went through him, a nameless, unspeakable dread. Thecurses died upon his lips. He stared and stared again. 

And while he stared, the vision faded before his eyes into nothingness. He was alone once more in the darkness and the drenching rain; alone witha little gibing voice that seemed to come from within and yet was surelythe voice of a devil jeering a devil's tattoo in time to his horse'shoof-beats, telling him he was mad, mad, mad!

Three minutes later he rode heavily into his own stable-yard. 

A group of servants scattered dumbly before him as he appeared. The glareof lights dazzled him, but he fancied they looked at him strangely. Heflung an oath at the groom who stepped forward to take his horse. 

"What are you staring at? What's the matter?"

The man murmured something unintelligible. 

Sir Giles dismounted and scowled around. His limbs were stiff and notover steady. 

"What's the matter with you all?" he growled. "You look like a crowd ofdeath's heads. Hullo! What's this?"

He had caught sight of something he had not seen before, something thatsent him striding furiously forward. For there in the centre of theyard, standing huddled on three legs, was the grey horse his wife hadridden. Limp and draggled, plastered with mud and foam, with a greatstreaming gash on the shoulder, and head hanging down in utterexhaustion, stood the grey. 

"What's this?" demanded Sir Giles again. "Where's her ladyship?"

A shudder seemed to run through the assembled men. There was a moment'ssilence. Then old Dimsdale, the butler, who was standing in the doorwaythat led to the servants' quarters, stumped forward and made reply. 

"The animal's come home alone, Sir Giles. "

"What?" thundered his master. 

The old man faced him with respectful firmness. No one had ever seenDimsdale agitated. 

"As I said, Sir Giles, " he answered, with a certain deferentialobstinacy. "The animal's come back alone. "

"Only just come in, sir, " chimed in a groom. "We was just beginning towonder when he came limping in in this state. Looks as if her ladyshiphad met with a accident. "

Sir Giles rounded upon him with a violence that brought his surmisings toan abrupt end. Then, having worked off the first heat of his fury, heturned again to Dimsdale. 

"What the devil is to be done? I never saw her after the first kill. "

"And where might that be, Sir Giles?" questioned Dimsdale. 

"Up Baronmead way. It was hours ago. "

Dimsdale considered. "Shall we send and make inquiries at Baronmead, Sir Giles?"

"No, I'm damned if I do!" said Sir Giles. 

Dimsdale considered again. "Was her ladyship riding with anyone inparticular?" he asked next. 

"No, I don't think so. Stay! I believe I saw that Errol bounder talkingto her--the one who was here the other day. But I forget when. Anyhow"--his voice rising again--"I won't have any traffic with them. I've said I won't, and I won't!"

Dimsdale grunted. "Seems to me the only thing to do, Sir Giles. You can'tleave her lady ship to die under a hedge maybe, and not do anything tofind her. "

He spoke very deliberately, looking straight into his master's bloodshoteyes as he did so. 

"It wouldn't be hardly right, Sir Giles, " he pointed out gravely. "It'slikely that young Mr. Errol will be able to give us a clue, and we can'tleave any stone unturned, being such a serious matter. I'll send on myown responsibility if you like, Sir Giles. But send we must. "

The bystanders glanced uneasily at one another in the silence thatfollowed this bold speech. The old butler's temerity was unheard of. Notone among them would have dared thus to withstand the master to his face. They waited, nervously expectant, for the vials of wrath to descend. 

Old Dimsdale waited too, still firmly watching Sir Giles. If he felt anyanxiety on his own account, however, it was not apparent. Nor did hedisplay any relief when the unpleasant tension passed and Sir Giles witha shrug turned away from him. 

"Oh, go your own way, and be damned to you! I don't care what you do. Don't stand gaping there, you fools! Get to your work! Better send forthe vet. Can't afford to have a valuable animal spoilt. Dimsdale, takesome brandy and hot water up to my room at once, before you do anythingelse. Do you hear?"

And with that he tramped within, leaving an atmosphere of mingled reliefand indignation behind him. 

But if his words were callous, the soul of the man was far from easy ashe mounted to his room. He flung himself into the nearest chair when hearrived there and sat with eyes fixed sullenly before him. He ought to goin search of her, of course, but he was powerless. His brain was asmouldering furnace in which anxiety and anger strove luridly for themastery. But through it all he sat there torpidly staring. His body feltas though it were weighted with leaden fetters. 

He heard a step in the passage, but did not turn his head. Someoneknocked discreetly. He heard, but he took no notice. The door openedsoftly, and old Dimsdale entered. 

"We have news, Sir Giles. "

Sir Giles neither looked at him nor spoke. He continued to glare heavilyinto space. 

Dimsdale paused beside him. "A messenger has just come from Baronmead intheir motor, Sir Giles, " he said, speaking very distinctly. "Her ladyshiphas had a fall, and has been taken there. Mr. Errol begs that you will goback in the motor, as her ladyship's condition is considered serious. "

He stopped. Sir Giles said nothing whatever. 

"The messenger is waiting, Sir Giles. "

Still no response of any sort. 

Dimsdale waited a moment, then very respectfully he bent and touched hismaster's shoulder. 

"Sir Giles!"

Sir Giles turned slowly at last, with immense effort it seemed. Heglowered at Dimsdale for a space. Then, "Bring some brandy and water, " hesaid, "hot!"

"But the messenger, Sir Giles!"

"What?" Sir Giles glared a moment longer, then as anger came uppermost, the smouldering furnace leapt into sudden seething flame. "Tell him to goto the devil!" he thundered. "And when you've done that, bring me somebrandy and water--hot!"

As Dimsdale departed upon his double errand he dropped back into hisformer position, staring dully before him, under scowling brows. 

When Dimsdale returned he was sunk in the chair asleep. 

CHAPTER IX

THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE

"Hullo, Lucas! Can I come in?"

Nap Errol stood outside his brother's door, an impatient frown on hisface, his hand already fidgeting at the handle. 

"Come in, old chap, " drawled back a kindly voice. 

He entered with an abruptness that seemed to denote agitation. 

The room was large and brilliantly lighted. In an easy chair by the firethe eldest Errol was reclining, while his valet, a huge man with thefeatures of an American Indian half-breed and fiery red hair, put thefinishing touches to his evening dress. 

Nap approached the fire with his usual noiseless tread despite the factthat he was still in riding boots. 

"Be quick, Hudson!" he said. "We don't want you. "

Hudson rolled a nervous eye at him and became clumsily hasty. 

"Take your time, " his master said quietly. "Nap, my friend, hadn't youbetter dress?"

Nap stopped before the fire and pushed it with his foot. "I am not goingto dine, " he said. 

Lucas Errol said no more. He lay still in his chair with his head backand eyes half-closed, a passive, pathetic figure with the shoulders of astrong man and the weak, shrunken limbs of a cripple. His face was quitesmooth. It might have belonged to a boy of seventeen save for the eyes, which were deeply sunken and possessed the shrewd, quizzicalintelligence of age. 

He lay quite motionless as though he were accustomed to remain for hoursin one position. Hudson the valet tended him with the reverence of aslave. Nap fell to pacing soundlessly to and fro, awaiting the man's exitwith what patience he could muster. 

"You can go now, Tawny, " the elder Errol drawled at last. "I will ringwhen I want you. Now, Boney, what is it? I wish you would sit down. "

There was no impatience in the words, but his brows were slightly drawnas he uttered them, Nap, turning swiftly, noted the fact. "You are not so well to-night?"

"Sit down, " his brother repeated gently. "How is Lady Carfax?"

Nap sat down with some reluctance. He looked as if he would havepreferred to prowl. 

"She is still unconscious, and likely to remain so. The doctor thinksvery seriously of her. "

"Her husband has been informed?"

"Her husband, " said Nap from between his teeth, "has been informed, andhe declines to come to her. That's the sort of brute he is. "

Lucas Errol made no comment, and after a moment Nap continued:

"It is just as well perhaps. I hear he is never sober after a day'ssport. And I believe she hates the sight of him if the truth weretold--and small wonder!"

There was unrestrained savagery in the last words. Lucas turned his headand looked at him thoughtfully. 

"You know her rather well?" he said. 

"Yes. " Nap's eyes, glowing redly, met his with a gleam of defiance. 

"You have known her for long?" The question was perfectly quiet, utteredin the tired voice habitual to this man who had been an invalid foralmost the whole of his manhood. 

Yet Nap frowned as he heard it. "I don't know, " he said curtly. "I don'testimate friendships by time. "

Lucas said no more, but he continued to look at his brother withunvarying steadiness till at length, as if goaded thereto, Napspoke again. 

"We are friends, " he said, "no more, no less. You all think me ablackguard, I know. It's my speciality, isn't it?" He spoke withexceeding bitterness. "But in this case you are wrong. I repeat--weare friends. "

He said it aggressively; his tone was almost a challenge, but the elderErrol did not appear to notice. 

"I have never thought you a blackguard, Boney, " he said quietly. 

Nap's thin lips smiled cynically. "You have never said it. "

"I have never thought it. " There was no contradicting the calm assertion. It was not the way of the world to contradict Lucas Errol. "And I knowyou better than a good many, " he said. 

Nap stirred restlessly and was silent. 

Lucas turned his eyes from him and seemed to fall into a reverie. Suddenly, however, he roused himself. 

"What does the doctor say about her?"

Nap frowned. "He says very little. After the manner of his tribe, he isafraid to commit himself; thinks there may be this injury or there may bethat, but says definitely nothing. I shall get someone down from townto-morrow. I'd go tonight, only--" he broke off, hammering impotentlywith his clenched fist on the arm of his chair. "I must be at handto-night, " he said, after a moment, controlling himself. "The mater haspromised to call me if there is any change. You see, " he spokehalf-apologetically, "she might feel kind of lonely waking up in a crowdof strangers, and mine is the only face she knows. "

Silence followed the words. Lucas had closed his eyes, and there wasnothing in his face to indicate the trend of his thoughts. 

Nap sat with his face to the fire, and stared unblinkingly into the reddepths. There was no repose in his attitude, only the tension ofsuppressed activity. 

Softly at length his brother's voice came through the silence. "Why notdine, dear fellow, while you are waiting? You will do no good to anyoneby starving yourself. "

Nap looked round. "In Heaven's name, don't talk to me of eating!" hesaid savagely. "You don't know what I've been through. " Again he pausedto control himself, then added in a lower tone, "I thought she was dead, you know. "

"It was you who picked her up?" Lucas asked. 

"Yes. There was no one else near. " He spoke with feverish rapidity, asthough he found speaking a relief. "It was the old chalk-pit. You knowthe place--or p'r'aps you don't. It's a ten-foot drop. The brute wentclean over, and he must have rolled on her or kicked her getting up. " Hedrew a sharp breath between his teeth. "When I found her she was lyingall crumpled up. I thought her back was broken at first. "

A sudden shudder assailed him. He repressed it fiercely. 

"And then, you know, it was foggy. I couldn't leave her. I wasafraid of losing my bearings. And so I just had to wait--Heavenknows how long--till one of the keepers heard me shouting, and wentfor help. And all that time--all that time--I didn't know whethershe was alive or dead. "

His voice sank to a hard whisper. He got up and vigorously poked thefire. 

Lucas Errol endured the clatter for several seconds in silence:then, "Boney, " he said, "since you are feeling energetic, you mightlend me a hand. "

Nap laid down the poker instantly. "I am sorry, old fellow. I forgot. Letme ring for Hudson. "

"Can't you help me yourself?" Lucas asked. 

Nap hesitated for a second; then stooped in silence to give the requiredassistance. Lucas Errol, with a set face, accepted it, but once on hisfeet he quitted Nap's support and leaned upon the mantelpiece to wipehis forehead. 

"I knew I should hurt you, " Nap said uneasily. 

The millionaire forced a smile that was twisted in spite of him. "Nevermind me!" he said. "It is your affairs that trouble me just now, not myown. And, Boney, if you don't have a meal soon, you'll be making a bigfool of yourself and everyone will know it. "

The very gentleness of his speech seemed to make the words the moreemphatic. Nap raised no further protest. 

"Go and have it right now, " his brother said. 

"And--in case I don't see you again--goodnight!"

He held out his hand, still leaning against the mantelpiece. His eyes, blue and very steady, looked straight into Nap's. So for a second ortwo he held him while Nap, tight-lipped, uncompromising, lookedstraight back. 

Then, "Good-night, " Lucas said again gravely, and let him go. 

Yet for an instant longer Nap lingered as one on the verge of speech. Butnothing came of it. He apparently thought better--or worse--of theimpulse, and departed light-footed in silence. 

CHAPTER X

THE HAND OF A FRIEND

What had happened to her? Slowly, with a sensation of doubt that seemedto weigh her down, Anne rose to the surface of things, and looked oncemore upon the world that had rushed so giddily away from her and left herspinning through space. 

She was horribly afraid during those first few minutes, afraid with aphysical, overwhelming dread. She seemed to be yet falling, fallingthrough emptiness to annihilation. And as she fell she caught the soundsof other worlds, vague whisperings in the dark. She was sinking, sinkingfast into a depth unfathomable, where no worlds were. 

And then--how it came to her she knew not, for she was powerless to helpherself--out of the chaos and the awful darkness a hand reached out andgrasped her own; a hand strong and vital that gripped and held, thatlifted her up, that guided her, that sustained her, through all theterror that girt her round. 

The light dawned gradually in her eyes. She found herself gazing up intoa face she knew, a lean, brown face, alert and keen, that watched hersteadfastly. 

With an effort she clasped her nerveless fingers upon thesustaining hand. 

"Hold me!" she whispered weakly. "I'm falling!"

"Don't be afraid!" he made answer with infinite gentleness. "I haveyou safe. "

Someone whom she saw but vaguely came behind him and whispered in avigorous undertone. A large white hand, on which flashed many rings, rested upon his shoulder. 

He moved slightly, took something into his free hand and held it to herlips. Submissively, in answer to an influence that seemed to fold herabout and gently to compel, she drank. 

Slowly the mist of dread cleared from her brain. Slowly she awoke to fullconsciousness, and found Nap Errol bending over her, her hand fastclasped in his. 

"What happened?" she asked him faintly. "Where am I?"

"You are at Baronmead, " he said. "You were thrown and we broughtyou here. "

"Ah!" Her brows contracted a little. "Am I much hurt?" she asked. 

"Nothing to worry about, " Nap said with quiet confidence. "You will soonbe all right again. I will leave you to get a good sleep, shall I? Ifyou are wanting anything my mother will be here. "

She looked at him doubtfully. Her hand still clung to his, half-mechanically it seemed. 

"Mr. Errol, " she faltered, "my husband--does he know?"

"Yes, he knows. " Very softly Nap made answer, as though he were soothinga child. "Don't trouble about that. Don't trouble about anything. Justlie still and rest. "

But the anxiety in her eyes was growing. "He isn't here?" she questioned. 

"No. "

"Then--then I think I ought to go to him. He will think it so strange. Hewill--he will--"

"Lady Carfax, listen!" Quietly but insistently he broke in upon herrising agitation. "Your husband knows all about you. He couldn't cometo-night, but he is coming in the morning. Now won't you be content andtry to sleep?"

"I can't sleep, " she said, with a shudder. "I am afraid of falling. "

"No, you're not. See! I am holding your hands. You can't fall. Look atme! Keep looking at me and you will see how safe you are!"

His voice had sunk almost to a whisper. His eyes dusky, compelling, yetstrangely impersonal, held hers by some magic that was too utterlyintangible to frighten her. With a sigh she yielded to the mastery shescarcely felt. 

And as she floated away into a peace indescribable, unlike anythingshe had ever known before, she heard a woman's voice, hushed to asibilant whisper, remark, "My, Nap! You're too smart to be human. Ialways said so. "

When she opened her eyes again it was many hours later, and she was lyingin the broad sunshine with the doctor, whom she knew, stooping over her. 

"Ah, you are awake at last!" he said. "And I find a marvellousimprovement. No, I shouldn't try to move at present. But I don't supposeyou can for a moment. You have had a wonderful escape, my dear lady, amost wonderful escape. But for all that I shall keep you where you arefor the next fortnight or so. A badly jarred spine is not a thing toplay with. "

"Is that all?" Anne asked. 

He became cautious on the instant. "I don't say that is all. In any casewe will run no risks. Let me congratulate you upon having fallen intosuch good hands. "

He glanced over Anne's head at someone on the other side of the bed, andAnne turned slightly to see the person thus indicated. And so she had herfirst sight of the woman who ruled Lucas Errol's house. 

She had heard of her more than once. People smiled, not unkindly, whenthey mentioned Mrs. Errol, a good sort, they said; but, like many anotherwoman of inelegant exterior, how good a sort only her Maker knew. She waslarge in every way. It was the only word that described her;large-boned, large-featured, and so stout that she wheezed--a fact whichin no way limited her activity. Her voice was as deep as a man's, and itwent even deeper when she laughed. 

But she was not laughing now. Her face was full of the most kindlyconcern. "Lord bless the child!" she said. "She don't know me yet. I'm Mrs. Errol, dear, Mrs. Lucas Blenheim Errol. And if there'sanything you want--well, you've only got to mention it to me and it'sas good as done. "

She spoke with a strong American accent. A Yankee of the Yankees was Mrs. Errol, and she saw no reason to disguise the fact. She knew that peoplesmiled at her, but it made no difference to her. She was content to letthem smile. She even smiled at herself. 

"You are very good, " Anne murmured. 

"Not a bit, " said Mrs. Errol cheerfully. "I'm real pleased to have you, dear. And don't you think you're giving any trouble to anybody, for thereisn't anything that pleases me so much as to have a girl to look after. It's the biggest treat the Lord could send. "

Anne smiled a little, conscious of a glow at the heart that she had notknown for many a day. She tried weakly to give her hand to her newfriend, but the pain of moving was so intense that she uttered a quickgasp and abandoned the attempt. 

But in an instant Mrs. Errol's fingers were wound closely about her own, the large face, wonderfully smooth, save for a few kindly wrinkles aboutthe eyes, was bent to hers. 

"There, dearie, there!" said the motherly voice, tender for all itsgruffness. "You're stiff in every limb, and no wonder. It's just natural. Just you lie still and leave everything to me. "

She was, in fact, determined to take the whole burden of nursing uponherself, and when the doctor had gone she began to show Anne how capableshe was of fulfilling the responsibility she had thus undertaken. Notrained nurse could have given her more dexterous attention. 

"I've spent a great part of my life in sickrooms, " she told Anne. "Firstmy husband, and then poor Lucas, that's my eldest boy. But Lucas won'thave me to wait on him now. He doesn't like his mother to see him in hisbad hours, and they are mighty bad now and then. So my nursing talentswould run to seed if it weren't for a casual patient like yourself. "

It was so evident that she enjoyed her self-appointed task that Annecould only smile and thank her. She was helpless as an infant and couldnot have refused her hostess's ministrations even had she desired to doso. She suffered a good deal of pain also, and this kept her from takingmuch note of her surroundings during that first day at Baronmead. 

She refrained from asking further about her husband for some time, avoiding all mention of him, but she was possessed by a nervous dreadthat increased steadily as the hours wore on. At last, as Mrs. Errolseemed equally determined to volunteer no information, she summoned herresolution and compelled herself to speak. 

"My husband has not come yet?" she asked. 

"No, dear. " Mrs. Errol smiled upon her with much kindness, but her tonedid not encourage further inquiries. 

Anne lay silent for a little. It was a difficult matter to handle. "Did he send no message?" she asked at last, with knitted brows. "Ithought--or did I dream it?--that your son said he was coming. "

"To be sure he did, " said Mrs. Errol. "You would like to speak to Napabout it, wouldn't you?"

Anne hesitated. Mrs. Errol was already on her way to the door. It wasplain that here was a responsibility she was unprepared to shoulder. ButAnne called her back. 

"No, please!" she said, a slight flush on her face. "Don't call him inagain! Really, it is of no consequence. "

But in spite of this assertion her uneasiness regarding her husband grewrapidly from that moment--an uneasiness that she was powerless to controlor hide. Could it be--was it possible?--that he meant to leave her thusabandoned to the pitying kindness of strangers? She could hardly believeit. And yet--and yet--he had done un-heard-of things before. There weretimes, times that had become more and more frequent of late, when shedoubted his sanity. Those devilish moods of his, whither were theytending? Was he in the grip of one of them now? And if so--if so--whatwould happen to her? What could she do?

As the hours passed, the torture of suspense so worked upon her thatshe began to grow feverish. The afternoon was waning and still noword had come. 

She tried to reassure herself again and again, but each failure added toher distress. 

"You mustn't fret, child, " said Mrs. Errol gently, when she brought hertea. "It's the worst thing possible. Come, come! What is it?"

Anne tried to tell her, but could not. The very utterance of herfears was more than she could accomplish in her present state. Wordsfailed her. 

Mrs. Errol said no more, but presently she went quietly away, leaving heralone in the firelight, chafing but impotent. 

She was soon back again, however, and a muffled word on the thresholdtold Anne that she was not alone. She turned her head sharply on thepillow regardless of wrenched muscles, hoping against hope. But shelooked in vain for her husband's tall figure, and a sigh that was almosta groan escaped her. It was Nap, slim, upright, and noiseless, whostepped from behind Mrs. Errol and came to her bedside. 

He stooped a little and took her quivering hand, holding it in both hisown so that his fingers pressed upon her pulse. 

"The mater thought you would like to speak to me, " he said. 

She looked up at him with eyes of piteous entreaty. She was long past anythought of expediency so far as he was concerned. It seemed only naturalin her trouble to turn to him for help. Had he not helped her before?Besides, she knew that he understood things that she could not utter. 

"Oh, Nap, " she said admitting him unconsciously in her extremity to anintimacy she would never have dreamed of according him in any less urgentcircumstances, "I am greatly troubled about my husband. You said he wouldcome to me, but--he hasn't come!"

"I know he hasn't, " Nap said. He spoke quietly, but she was aware of acertain grimness in his speech. "I shouldn't worry if I were you. Itwon't help you any. Is there anyone else you would like sent for?"

"I have--no one else, " she said, her voice quivering beyond her control. "How can I lie here and not worry?"

"Lord bless the child!" said Mrs. Errol vigorously. "What is there toworry about, anyway?"

But Nap was silent. His fingers were still closed firmly upon her wrist. 

"Mrs. Errol is very good, " Anne said earnestly. "You mustn't think meungrateful or unappreciative. But I cannot go on like this. I cannot!"

"I am afraid you have no choice, " Nap said. 

She scarcely heard him. At least she paid no heed. "Will you tell meexactly what has passed? Has he definitely refused to come to me?Because, if so--"

"If so--" said Nap gently. 

She summoned her wavering self-control. "If so--I must go back to him atonce. I must indeed. You will manage it for me, will you not? Perhaps youwill take me yourself in the motor. "

"No, " said Nap. He spoke briefly, even sternly. He was bending down overher, and she caught the gleam of the firelight in his eyes and thoughtthat they shone red. "I would do a good deal for you, Lady Carfax, " hesaid, "but I can't do that. You ask the impossible. " He paused a momentand she felt his grasp slowly tighten upon her hand. "You want to knowwhat passed, and perhaps it is better that you should know even if itdistresses you. I sent a messenger in the motor to Sir Giles last nightto tell him of your accident and to beg him to return here with him. Hecame back alone with no definite reply. He did not, in fact, see SirGiles, though the message was delivered. I waited till noon today to seeif he would come, and then as there was no sign of him I went myself inthe motor to fetch him. "

"Ah!" Anne's lips parted to utter the word. They were quiveringuncontrollably. 

"I saw him, " Nap went on very quietly. "I practically forced an entrance. He was in his study alone. I fancy he was feeling sick, but I didn't stopto inquire. I told him you were wanting him. I was quite kind to him--foryour sake. " She fancied the grim lips smiled. "But I regret to say hedidn't appreciate my kindness, and I soon saw that he was in no state tocome to you even if he would. So--I left him and came away. "

"Ah!" Again that faint exclamation that was like the half-uttered cry ofa woman's heart. "He wasn't--wasn't rude to you, I hope?"

Nap's teeth showed for an instant. He made no reply. 

"Mr. Errol, " she said beseechingly, "please tell me everything! He didnot--did not--"

"Kick me?" questioned Nap drily. "My dear lady, no man may kick Nap Erroland live. So I did not give him the opportunity. "

She uttered a quick sob and turned her head upon the pillow. The tearswere running down her face. 

The hand that pressed her wrist began to rub it very gently. "That'sthe worst of telling the truth, " Nap said softly. "It is sure tohurt someone. "

"I am glad you told me, " she whispered back, "though I don't know what tosay to you--how to atone--"

"I will tell you then, " he answered swiftly. "Stay quietly here and beas happy as you can till the doctor gives you leave to go back. You willhave to do it in any case, but--if you feel you owe me anything, which ofcourse you don't"--he smiled again, and his smile when free from cynicismheld a wonderful charm--"do it willingly--please do it willingly!"

She could not answer him in words, but her fingers closed upon his. Instantly she felt his answering pressure. A moment later he laid herhand down very gently and left her. 

CHAPTER XI

THE STING OF A SCORPION

"Oh, dear, I wish it wasn't so muddy. " Dot, emerging from old Squinny'scottage, stood a moment on the edge of the large puddle that was oldSquinny's garden and gazed over the ploughed fields beyond towards thesinking sun. It was the last day in January, and the winter dusk wasalready creeping up in a curtain of damp mist that veiled everything ittouched. She knew it would be dark long before she got home, and theprospect of sliding about in the muddy lanes did not attract her. 

"You were an idiot not to bring a lantern, " she told herself severely, as she skirted the edge of the puddle. "You might have known--but younever think!"

Here she reached the garden-gate and lifted it scientifically off itshinges and then back again when she had passed through. Old Squinny'sgate had not opened in the ordinary way within the memory of man. It wasstoutly bound to the gate-post by several twists of rusty chain. 

A stretch of waste land lay beyond the cottage garden; then came theroad and then the fields, brown and undulating in the ruddy western glow. For a second or two Dot considered the homeward path that lay across thefields. She had come by that earlier in the afternoon, and she knewexactly what it had to offer besides the advantage of cutting half a milefrom a three-mile trudge. But her knowledge eventually decided her infavour of the road. 

"Besides, " as she optimistically remarked to herself, "someone might passand give me a lift. "

For Dot was not above being seen in a waggon or a tradesman's cart. She accepted as she was prone to give, promiscuously and withabsolute freedom. 

But it was no tradesman's cart that the gods had in store for her thatday. Rather was it a chariot of their own that presently swooped as ifupon wings swiftly and smoothly down upon the Sturdy wayfarer. Dotherself was scarcely aware of its approach before it had passed and cometo a standstill barely half a dozen yards from her. 

"Hullo!" cried a boyish voice. "This is luck! Jump in! I'll soon trundleyou home. "

It was Bertie leaning out from the wheel on which his hands rested. Inthe open seat behind him, propped by cushions, sat a man whom she knewinstantly though she had never met him before. He looked at her as shecame up to the car with blue eyes as frank and kind as Bertie's, thoughnot so merry. It was not difficult to see that they were brothers. 

"My brother Lucas, " said Bertie, "the one you wanted to know. "

He smiled as he said it for the sheer malicious pleasure of seeing herblush. And Dot's green-brown eyes shot him a glance of quick indignation. 

But Lucas Errol stepped calmly into the breach. "This young brother ofmine has a way of turning things topsy-turvy, " he said in his easy drawl. "We just make allowances for him when we can, and kick him when we can't. It is I who have wanted to know you, Miss Waring--it is Miss Waring, Ithink?--for some time past. Won't you get in beside me and give me thepleasure of making your acquaintance?"

He pulled off his glove and offered her his hand. 

Dot instantly took it, but when he would have helped her in she drewback. "I had better not, really. Look at my boots!"

"Jump in!" urged Bertie. "Who cares?"

He sprang suddenly down and seized her impulsively by the waist. Inanother second he would have bundled her in without ceremony, butquietly, with no change of countenance, his brother intervened. 

"Bertie, behave yourself! Miss Waring, I beg you will do exactly as youlike, but please believe that the state of your boots doesn't matter acent. I should say the same with absolute honesty if I had to clean thecar myself. "

"I am quite sure I shouldn't in your place, " said Dot as she climbedinto the car. 

Lucas smiled and fished out a spare rug. "Put it round your shoulders andfold it well over. You will find it cold when we begin to move. Are yourfeet quite warm? There is a foot-warmer here. Tuck her in well, Bertie. That's the way. "

"You will never get out again, " laughed Bertie, as he shut the door uponher. "Now, where are we going? To Baronmead?"

His merry eyes besought her for an instant; then, as she began to shakeher head, "Can't you persuade her, Luke?" he said. 

"I think so, " Lucas answered. "Drive on slowly while I try. You knowthere is a friend of yours there, Miss Waring?"

"Lady Carfax?" said Dot quickly. 

He bent his head. "I think she would like you to visit her. She has sofew friends. "

"I would love to, of course, " Dot said impetuously. "But--you know, I'venever visited her before, though I have often longed to. People don'tcall at the Manor. Not even Dad goes there. And in any case, I am hardlygrown up enough to pay calls. Wouldn't she--are you sure she wouldn'tthink it very presumptuous of me to go and see her?"

"That is the last thing I should expect from her, " Lucas answered, withquiet conviction. 

"She is very proud, " Dot began. 

"She is very miserable, " he said. 

Dot's eyes softened. "Oh, poor Lady Carfax!" she said. "So you knowthat, too!"

"I have seen her only twice, " he said. "Yes, I know it. "

Dot's eyes widened. "Only twice! Why, surely it must be three weeksnearly since her accident. "

"I believe it is. But it was serious, you know, and she has made a veryslow recovery. The doctor has only just allowed her to be removed toanother room. "

"Poor Lady Carfax!" Dot said again. "Yes, I'll come. I know Dadwouldn't mind!"

So Bertie had his desire and turned the motor with a light heart towardsBaronmead. He sang as he drove, sang at the top of his voice; for he wasin a happy mood that evening. 

And Dot was happy too, though a little nervous. She had often longed togo to Baronmead, and she was already thoroughly at her ease with themaster thereof, who sat and conversed beside her in that rathermonotonous, tired drawl of his. It was only the thought of Anne that madeher nervous. Warmly as she admired her, she was ever so slightly afraidof the stately lady of the Manor, who made friends with so few and forall her queenly graciousness kept those she had at so discreet adistance. Of course everyone knew why. The reason was plain to all whohad eyes to see. But that fact did not help any to overstep the barrier, nor did it keep the majority from being affronted. Dot was not of thelatter, but she was ever shy in Anne's presence, though it was more thefear of hurting than of being hurt that made her so. 

She enjoyed the brisk run to Baronmead with all her healthy soul. As theysped up the long drive they were joined by a galloping horseman, whoshouted to Bertie to put on speed and flogged his animal furiously whenthe car drew ahead. He looked like a demon to Dot in the half-light--ablack imp mounted on a black mare riding to perdition. She was glad toleave him behind. 

But as they drew up before the great house that loomed gaunt and eerie inthe gathering darkness the galloping hoofs drew near again, and beforethey were out of the car Nap was beside them. 

He flung himself out of the saddle, with a curt, "Here, Bertie! Take thebrute for me. Mind her teeth! She's in a vile temper. "

"What a beast you are!" was Bertie's comment, as he went to thepanting animal. 

The valet, Hudson, was waiting to help his master out of the car, but Nappushed him imperiously aside. His quick, lithe movements fascinated Dot. She stood and watched him as he dexterously assisted the heavy, misshapenfigure of his brother to alight. He was wonderfully strong for so slighta man. He seemed compacted of muscle and energy, welded together with acertain fiery grace that made him in some fashion remarkable. He wasutterly different from any other man she had ever seen. 

"Will you go first, Miss Waring?" It was Lucas Errol's voice. He leanedon his brother's shoulder, waiting for her. 

Nap glanced round at her. She saw his ironical smile for an instant. "Miss Waring prefers to wait for Bertie, perhaps, " he remarked. 

The words stung her, she scarcely knew why, and what had been ahalf-reluctant prejudice before turned to sudden hot antagonism in Dot'sheart. She hated Nap Errol from that moment. 

But Lucas laid a quiet hand on her arm, and her resentment died. 

"I think Miss Waring was waiting for me, " he said. "Will you let me leanon you, Miss Waring? Steps are always a difficulty to me. "

"Of course, " she said eagerly. "Do lean hard!"

It occurred to her afterwards that the valet's assistance would have beenmore effectual than hers, and at the top of the steps she glanced back athim. He was immediately behind them, laden with some things he had takenfrom the car. His eyes, as he ascended, were fixed upon Nap, and acurious little thrill of sympathy ran through Dot as she realised thatshe was not the only person who hated him. 

As they passed into the great entrance-hall Bertie came springing upbehind them. "I say, can't we have tea here before you go up to see LadyCarfax? It's the cosiest place in the whole house. "

A huge fire burned on an open hearth, about which a deep lounge andseveral easy-chairs were arrayed. 

"That will be O. K. , " said Lucas. "Fix me up on the settee, Nap. "

"You had better go and rest in your room, " said Nap. "Bertie and MissWaring are accustomed to entertaining each other. "

Again Dot felt the sting--this time a tangible one--in his words. He wasevidently in a stinging mood. 

She drew back quickly. "I would rather go straight up to Lady Carfaxif I may. "

"Oh, I say, don't!" thrust in Bertie with a quick frown. "Lucas, you'llstay, won't you, and have tea with us here?"

"That is my intention, " said Lucas, "if Miss Waring will give us thepleasure of her company. "

And Dot, though she longed to escape, went forward with him into the glowof the firelight. 

She hoped earnestly that Nap would depart, but for some reason Nap wasminded to remain. He settled his brother on the cushions and then flunghimself into a chair on the other side of the fire. Dot was aware withoutlooking at him that he had her under observation; she felt the scrutinyshe could not see, and knew it was malevolent. 

Bertie evidently knew it too, for he was scowling savagely in a fashionquite unfamiliar to her. He placed a chair for her close to Lucas. 

"I guess we must ask you to do the honours, Miss Waring, " the lattersaid. "My mother must be with Lady Carfax. "

"Here's an opportunity for Miss Waring to display her charms!" gibed Nap. "But doubtless Bertie has been initiated in the arts and wiles oftea-making long before this. It's a bewitching performance, eh, Bertie?"

Bertie growled something unintelligible and turned his back. 

"Give him plenty of sugar, Miss Waring, " recommended Nap. "He'sremarkably guileless. With a little patience and subtlety on your parthe'll soon come and feed out of your hand. After that, a little femininepersuasion is all that is required to entice the pretty bird into thecage. He's quite a fine specimen; such a lot of gold about him, too! Itwould be a pity to let him escape. There are not many of his sort, Iassure you. "

The drawling insolence of the words made Dot quiver all over. She knew byBertie's rigidity of pose that he was furious too, but she did not dareto look at him. She tried to attend to some remark that Lucas made toher, but she only answered at random. She could not take in what he said. 

Perhaps he saw her perturbation, for after a moment he turned from her toNap and very deliberately engaged him in conversation, while Bertie, very pale but quite collected, sat down by her and began to talk also. 

She did her best to second his efforts, but with Nap's eyes openlymocking her from the other side of the hearth, she found it impossible todivert her thoughts. 

So they thought that of her, did they? They thought--that! She felt as ifshe had been publicly weighed in the balances and found wanting. She toldherself passionately that she would never, as long as she lived, speak toNap Errol again. Everyone said he was a bounder, and everyone was right. 

CHAPTER XII

BROTHERS

"Come right in!" said Mrs. Errol. "Anne, my dear, here is little MissWaring come to see you. I'm real pleased to meet you, child. I've watchedyou in church many a time when I ought to have been saying my prayers, and so has someone else I know. "

Dot's cheeks were scarlet as she came forward to Anne's couch. She wasstill telling herself with fierce emphasis that never, never again wouldshe voluntarily venture herself within the walls of Baronmead. 

But when Anne stretched out a hand to her and smiled, all herperturbation vanished at a breath. She went impulsively forward and kneltdown by her side. For some reason she did not feel her customary awe ofthe lady of the Manor. This sad-faced woman with the deeply shadowed eyesaroused within her something that was stronger, something that carriedher completely out of herself. 

"Oh, are you better?" she said. "I have been so sorry about you. "

"It was good of you to come up to see me, " Anne said gently. "Yes, Dot, I am better. I am allowed to walk again, and I am going home to-morrow. "

"Not if I know it, " said Mrs. Errol stoutly. "Or if you do, I go too, totake care of you. "

Anne smiled at her without replying. "Sit down, Dot, " she said, "and tellme all the news. I know you hear everything. "

"But nothing has happened, " said Dot. "Everybody is squabbling as usualabout the Town Hall, why we want one, why there isn't one, and when weare going to have one. Really, there's nothing else. "

"My dear, " said Mrs. Errol, "everybody wants a sound spanking, and Ishould like to administer it. Every township ought to have a publicbuilding, and there's my son Lucas wanting nothing so much as to buildone and they won't let him. "

"I am afraid my husband is the main obstacle, " said Anne. 

"Then I guess we won't discuss it, " said Mrs. Errol firmly. "Who's thatscratching at the door?"

It was Bertie, as Anne knew on the instant by Dot's face. "Do ask him tocome in, " she said kindly. 

Bertie came in as one not wholly sure of his welcome, and took up aposition in the background. And there during the remainder of Dot'svisit he stayed, scarcely speaking, and so sternly preoccupied thatDot's embarrassment returned upon her overwhelmingly, and she very soonrose to go. 

He stepped forward then and followed her out. "I am going to motor youhome, " he said, as he escorted her down the stairs. 

Dot nearly stopped short in consternation. "Oh, no, really! I'm goinghome alone. It's no distance, and I know my way perfectly. "

"I'm coming with you, " he said doggedly. 

But the memory of those eyes that had mocked her across the hall stillburned in the girl's heart. She faced him resolutely;

"You are not to, Bertie. I don't wish it. "

"I can't help it, " said Bertie. "I am coming. "

At this point they arrived in the hall, and here she found Lucas Errolwaiting to say good-bye to her. 

She turned to him with desperate appeal. "Mr. Errol, please don't letBertie see me home. I--I would so much rather go alone. "

She was almost crying as she said it, and Lucas looked at Bertie withmost unaccustomed sharpness. 

"It's all right, " the boy made answer. "We haven't quarrelled yet. "

The last word sounded ominous, and with her hand in Lucas's quiet grasp, Dot shivered. 

"But I'm sure we are going to, " she said. "And I do so hate quarrelling. Do, please, let me run home alone. I'm not a bit afraid. "

Lucas began to smile. "I think it's rather hard on Bertie, " he said. "However--"

"I must go, Lucas, " Bertie said quickly. "You don't understand. There issomething I want to explain. "

But Lucas leaned a hand upon his shoulder. "Let it keep, dear fellow. There is always tomorrow!"

"No, never, never, never!" whispered Dot to her turbulent heart. 

Yet when a moment later Bertie came forward, and silently, withoutlooking at her, held open the door, a wild regret surged fiercelythrough her, and for that second she almost wished that she had let himgo with her. 

And then again there came to her that hateful whisper--that taunting, intolerable sneer; and she fled without a backward glance. 

Bertie closed the great door very quietly, and turned back into the hall. 

"Where is Nap?"

"Come here, Bertie, " Lucas said. 

He went unwillingly. "Where is Nap?" he said again. 

Lucas, supporting himself on one side with a crutch, stood by the fireand waited for him. 

As Bertie drew near he took him gently by the shoulder. "May I know whatyou were going to say to Miss Waring just now?" he asked. 

Bertie threw back his head. "I was going to ask her to overlook thatcad's vile insinuations--and marry me. "

"And that was the very thing she didn't want you to do, " Lucas said. 

"I can't help it. " There was a stubborn note in Bertie's voice. "Sheshan't think I'm a blackguard like Nap. "

"We will leave Nap out of it, " Lucas said quietly. 

"Why?" demanded Bertie hotly. "He was responsible. He insulted a guestunder your roof. Are you going to put up with that? Because I'm not!"

"My dear fellow, it is I, not you, who must deal with that. "

Bertie stamped furiously. "That's all very well, but--dash it, Lucas, you're always holding me back. And I can't knock under to you in this. I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm going to have it out with Nap. Whatever youmay say, it is more my business than yours. "

He would have flung round with the words, but his brother's hand wasstill upon him, restraining him. 

He paused, chafing. "You must let me go. I shall hurt you if you don't. "

"You will hurt me if I do, boy, " Lucas made grave reply. 

"I know, and I'm sorry. But I can't help it. There are times when aman--if he is a man--must act for himself. And I--" he broke off, stillchafing, his hand seeking without violence to free him from that holdwhich could not have been so very powerful, though it resisted hisefforts. "Luke, " he said suddenly, and the anger was gone from his voice, "let me go, old chap. You must let me go. It isn't right--it isn't justto--to take advantage of being--what you are. "

The quick falter in the words deprived them of any sting, yet on theinstant Lucas's hand fell, setting him free. 

"All right, Bertie! Go!" he said. 

And Bertie went--three steps, and halted. Lucas remained motionlessbefore the fire. He was not so much as looking at him. 

Several seconds passed in silence. Then impulsively Bertie turned. Hislips were quivering. He went straight back to the quiet figure on thehearth, lifted the free arm, and drew it boyishly round his neck. 

"Old chap, forgive me!" he said. 

"For what you haven't done?" Lucas asked, with a very kindly smile. 

"For being an unconscionable brute!" Bertie said, with feeling. "I didn'tmean, it, old man. I didn't mean it!"

"Oh, shucks, dear fellow! Don't be such a silly ass! It's demoralisingfor all concerned. " Lucas Errol's hand pressed his shoulderadmonishingly. "She's a nice little girl, Bertie. I've taken a kind offancy to her myself. "

Bertie looked up quickly. "Luke, you're a brick!"

Lucas shook his head. "But you mustn't ask her yet, lad. She's not readyfor it. I'm not sure that you are ready for it yourself. "

Bertie's face fell. "Why not? I'm in dead earnest. I want to marry her, just as soon as she will have me. "

"Quite so, " drawled Nap, from the depths of the lounge behind him. "Andshe, I doubt not, wants to marry you--even sooner, if possible. "

He had come up in his noiseless fashion unobserved. Attired in eveningdress, slim, sleek, well-groomed, he lay at full length and gazed up atthe two brothers, a malicious glitter in his eyes. He held an unlightedcigarette between his fingers. 

"Pray don't let me interrupt, Lucas, " he said airily, ignoring Bertie'ssharp exclamation, which was not of a pacific nature. "I always enjoyseeing you trying to teach the pride of the Errols not to make a fool ofhimself. It's a gigantic undertaking, isn't it? Let me know if yourequire any assistance. "

He placed the cigarette between his lips and felt for some matches. 

"I am going to turn my attention to you now, " Lucas rejoined in his tiredvoice. "Bertie, old chap, go and dress, will you? You can come to my roomafterwards. "

"Bring me one of those spills first, " said Nap. 

Bertie stood rigid. He was white to the lips with the effort to controlhimself. Nap, outstretched, supple as a tiger, lay and watched himunwaveringly. 

"Go, Bertie!" Lucas said very quietly. 

He took a spill himself from the mantelpiece, and tried to hold it to theblaze. But he stooped with difficulty, and sharply Bertie reached forwardand took it from him. 

"I will, " he said briefly, and lighting the spill, carried it to Nap, atease on the sofa. 

With a faint smile Nap awaited him. He did not offer to take the burningspill, and Bertie held it in sullen silence to the end of his cigarette. His hand was not very steady, and after a moment Nap took his wrist. 

The cigarette glowed, and Nap looked up. "It's a pity you're too big tothrash, Bertie, " he said coolly, and with a sudden movement doubled theflaming paper back upon the fingers that held it. 

Bertie's yell was more of rage than pain. He struck furiously at histormentor with his free hand, but Nap, by some trick of marvellousagility, evaded the blow. He leapt over the back of the settee with alaugh of devilish derision. 

And, "Bertie, go!" said Lucas peremptorily. 

Without a word Bertie checked himself as it were in mid career, stood asecond as one gathering his strength, then turned in utter silence andmarched away. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE JESTER'S INFERNO

Between the two men who were left not a word passed for many minutes. Napprowled to and fro with his head back and his own peculiarly insolentsmile curving the corners of his mouth. There was a ruddy glare in hiseyes, but they held no anger. 

Lucas, still leaning on his crutch, stood with his back turned, his faceto the fire. There was no anger about him either. He looked spent. 

Abruptly Nap ceased his pacing and came up to him. "Come!" he said. "Youhave had enough of this. I will help you to your room. "

Slowly Lucas lifted his heavy eyes. "Send Hudson to me, " he said. 

Nap looked at him sharply. Then, "Lean on me, " he said. "I'll help you. "

"No. Send Hudson. " The words ended upon a stifled groan. 

Nap turned swiftly and dragged forward the settee. "Lie down here for aminute, while I fetch him. Don't faint, man! You will be easierdirectly. You have been on your feet too long. There! Is that better?"

Lucas drew a long, shuddering breath and slowly suffered his limbs torelax. His face was ghastly though he forced himself to smile. 

"Yes, I am better. Don't call Hudson for a minute. Nap!"

Nap bent. 

"Put your hand under my shoulders. Ah! That's a help. I always like yourtouch. Say, Boney, " the words came gaspingly, the sunken eyes were heavywith pain, "you'll think me a mean brute. I am, dear fellow, I am; acoward, too, from the same point of view. But--ill or well, I've got tosay it. You've been running amok to-day, and it's been altogether toolively to be just pleasant. You've got to pull up. I say it. "

Nap's smile had utterly departed. It was some other impulse that twitchedhis lips as he made reply. 

"Whatever you say is law. "

"Thanks! I'm duly grateful. Do you mind wiping my forehead? I'm too lazyto move. Boney, old chap, he's a well-behaved youngster on the whole. What do you want to bait him for?"

"Because I'm a jealous devil, " Nap said through his teeth. 

"Oh, rats, dear fellow! We are not talking in parables. You're a bit of asavage, I know, but--"

"More than that, " threw in Nap. 

"No--no! You can hold yourself in if you try. And why jealous, anyway?We're all brothers. Say, Boney, I'm going to hurt you infernally. You hitthe youngster below the belt. It was foul play. "

"What can you expect?" muttered Nap. 

"I expect--better things. If you must be a beast, be a clean beast. Ifyou must hit out now and then, give him a chance to hit back. It's kindof shabby--the game you played today. "

"Are you going to make me apologise?" asked Nap grimly. 

"Shucks, no; He would think you were laughing at him. Clap him on theback and tell him not to be a fool. He'll understand that. "

"And wish him luck with the parson's daughter?" said Nap, with a sneer. 

"Why not, old chap?"

"You really mean to let him marry the first girl who runs afterhis dollars?"

"It isn't the dollars, " said the millionaire gently. "And she isn'trunning after him either. She's running away. "

"Same thing sometimes, " said Nap. 

"Oh, don't be cynical, Boney! It's so damned cheap! There! I've doneswearing at you for the present. It's wonderful how you fellows bear withme. Find Hudson, will you? And then go and tell Lady Carfax that I amafraid I can't visit her this evening as I had hoped. "

"Do you know she talks of leaving tomorrow?" said Nap. 

"Yes, I know. Guess she is quite right to go. "

"She's not fit for it, " said Nap, in a fierce undertone. "It's madness. Itold her so. But she wouldn't listen. "

"She is the best judge, " his brother said. "Anyway, she is in anintolerable position. We can't press her to prolong it. Besides--whateverhe is--her husband has first right. "

"Think so?" said Nap. 

"It is so, " Lucas asserted quietly, "whether you admit it or not. "

Nap did not dispute the point, but his jaw looked exceedinglyuncompromising as he departed to find the valet. 

When a little later he asked for admission to Anne's presence, however, his bitter mood seemed to have modified. He entered with the air of onewell assured of his welcome. 

"Are you in a mood for chess tonight?" he asked. 

"Now, you're not to plague her, Nap, " put in Mrs. Errol. "She isn't goingto spend her last evening amusing you. "

"Oh, please, " protested Anne. "It is your son who has had all theamusing to do. "

Nap smiled. "There's for you, alma mater!" he remarked as he sat down. 

"Lady Carfax is much too forbearing to say anything else, " retortedMrs. Errol. 

"Lady Carfax always tells the truth, " said Nap, beginning to set thechess-board, "which is the exact reason why all her swains adore her. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Errol very deliberately, though without venom, "I guessthat's about the last quality I should expect you to appreciate. "

"Strange to say, it is actually the first just now, " said Nap. "Are yougoing, alma mater? Don't let me drive you away!"

He rose, nevertheless, to open the door for her; and Mrs. Errol went, somewhat with the air of one complying with an unspoken desire. 

Nap came softly back and resumed his task. "P'r'aps you will be goodenough to refrain from referring to me again as the august lady's son, "he said. "She doesn't like it. "

"Why not?" said Anne in astonishment. 

He glanced up at her as if contemplating something. Then, "You see, thebenign mother is not over and above proud of me, " he drawled. "If it wereBertie now--well, I guess even you will admit that Bertie is the flowerof the flock. "

His manner mystified her, but it was not her way to seek to probemysteries. She smiled as she said, "I have yet to discover that you areso very despicable. "

"You have yet to discover--many things, " said Nap enigmatically. "Willyou be pleased to make the first move?"

She did so silently. They had played together several times before. Hehad formed a habit of visiting her every evening, and though her skillat the game was far from great, it had been a welcome diversion from theconstant anxiety that pressed so heavily upon her. Nap was an expertplayer, yet he seemed to enjoy the poor game which was all she had tooffer. Perhaps he liked to feel her at his mercy. She strongly suspectedthat he often deliberately prolonged the contest though he seldom allowedher to beat him. 

To-night, however, he seemed to be in a restless mood, and she soon sawthat he was bent upon a swift victory. He made his moves with a quickdexterity that baffled her completely, and but a very few minutes elapsedbefore he uttered his customary warning. 

"You would do well to beware. "

"Which means that I am beaten, I suppose, " she said, with a smile ofresignation. 

"You can save yourself if you like, " he said, with his eyes on the board, "if you consider it worth while. "

"I don't think I do, " she answered. "The end will be the same. "

His eyes flashed up at her. "You surrender unconditionally?"

She continued to smile despite the sadness of her face. "Absolutely. I amso accustomed to defeat that I am getting callous. "

"You seem to have great confidence in my chivalry, " he said, lookingfull at her. 

"I have--every confidence, Mr. Errol, " she answered gravely. "I thinkthat you and your brother are the most chivalrous men I know. "

His laugh had a ring of harshness. "Believe me, I am not accustomed tobeing ranked with the saints, " he said. "How shall I get away from yourhalo? I warn you, it's a most awful misfit. You'll find it out presently, and make me suffer for your mistake. "

"You haven't a very high opinion of my sense of justice, " Anne said, withjust a tinge of reproach in her gentle voice. 

"No, " he said recklessly. "None whatever. You are sure to forget whofashioned the halo. Women always do. "

Anne was silent. 

He leaned suddenly towards her, careless of the chessmen that rolled inall directions. "I haven't been living up to the halo to-day, " he said, and there was that in his voice that touched her to quick pity. "I'vebeen snapping and biting like a wild beast all day long. I've been inhell myself, and I've made it hell wherever I went. "

"Oh, but why?" Half involuntarily she held out her hand to him as one whowould assist a friend in deep waters. 

He took it, held it closely, bowed his forehead upon it, and so sattensely silent. 

"Something is wrong. I wish I could help you, " she said at last. 

He lifted his head, met her eyes of grave compassion, and abruptlyset her free. 

"You have done what you could for me, " he said. "You've made me hate myinferno. But you can't pull me out. You have"--she saw his teeth for asecond though scarcely in a smile--"other fish to fry. "

"Whatever I am doing, I shall not forget my friends, Nap, " she said, withgreat earnestness. 

"No, " he returned, "you won't forget them. I shouldn't wonder if youprayed for them even. I am sure you are one of the faithful. " There wasmore of suppressed misery than irony in his voice. "But is that likely tohelp when you don't so much as know what to pray for?"

He got up and moved away from her with that noiseless footfall that wasso like the stealthy padding of a beast. 

Anne lay and silently watched him. Her uncertainty regarding him had longsince passed away. Though she was far from understanding him, he hadbecome an intimate friend, and she treated him as such. True, he wasunlike any other man she had ever met, but that fact had ceased toembarrass her. She accepted him as he was. 

He came back at length and sat down, smiling at her, thoughsomewhat grimly. 

"You will pardon your poor jester, " he said, "if he fails to make a jokeon your last night. He could make jokes--plenty of them, but not of thesort that would please you. "

Anne said nothing. She would not, if she could help it, betray to anyhow much she was dreading the morrow. But she felt that he knew it inspite of her. 

His next words revealed the fact. "You are going to purgatory, " hesaid, "and I am going to perdition. Do you know, I sometimes wonder ifwe shouldn't do better to turn and fly in the face of the gods whenthey drive us too hard? Why do we give in when we've nothing to gainand all to lose?"

She met his look with her steadfast eyes. "Does duty count asnothing?" she said. 

He made an impatient movement, and would have spoken, but shestopped him. 

"Please don't rail at duty. I know your creed is pleasure, but thepursuit of pleasure does not, after all, bring happiness. "

"Who wants pleasure?" demanded Nap fiercely. "That's only the anestheticwhen things get unbearable. You use duty in the same way. But what weboth want, what we both hanker for, starve for, is just life! Who caresif there is pain with it? I don't, nor do you. And yet we keep onstunting and stultifying ourselves with these old-fashioned remedies fora disease we only half understand, when we might have all the world andthen some. Oh, we're fools--we're fools!" His voice rang wildlypassionate. He flung out his arms as if he wrestled with something. "We've been cheated for centuries of our birthright, and we still put upwith it, still bring our human sacrifices to an empty shrine!"

And there he broke off short, checked suddenly at the height of hisoutburst though she had made no second effort to stop him. 

Her quiet eyes had not flinched from his. She had made no sign ofshrinking. With the utmost patience she had listened to him. Yet by somemeans intangible the fiery stream of his rebellion was stayed. 

There fell a brief silence. Then he rose. "I am afraid I am not fit forcivilised society to-night, " he said. "I will say good-bye. " He held herhand for a moment. "You will let me see you sometimes?"

"I hope to come now and then to Baronmead, " she answered quietly. "Butyou will not--please--come to the Manor again. "

He looked down at her with eyes that had become inscrutable. "I shall notcome against your will, " he said. 

"Thank you, " she answered simply. 

And so he left her. 

CHAPTER XIV

A BIG THING

As the widowed rector's only daughter, Dot's occupations were many andvarious, and it was in consequence no difficult matter to be too deeplyengrossed in these occupations to have any time to spare for intercoursewith the rector's pupil. 

Her brother had gone back to college, and there was therefore no excusefor the said pupil to linger when his studies were over, though heinvented many that would not have borne a very close investigation. 

But his ingenuity was all to no purpose. Dot could be ingenious too, andshe evaded him so adroitly that at the end of a week he had abandonedhis efforts. 

He went about with a certain sternness in those days, but it was not thesternness of the vanquished, rather the dogged patience of the man who isquite sure of ultimate success. Dot, peeping from the kitchen window tosee him ride away, marked this on more than one occasion andstrengthened her defences in consequence. She had not the remotestintention of seeing Bertie alone again for many a month, if ever. Hispersistence had scared her badly on that night at Baronmead. She washorribly afraid of what he might feel impelled to say to her, almostterrified at the bare notion of an explanation, and the prospect of apossible apology was unthinkable. It was easier for her to sacrifice hisgood comradeship, though that of itself was no easy matter, and she couldonly thrust her sense of loss into the background of her thoughts by themost strenuous efforts. 

She was sturdily determined to make him relinquish their former pleasantintimacy before they should meet again. She was growing up, she toldherself severely, growing up fast; and intimacies of that sort werelikely to be misconstrued. 

She took the counsel of none upon this difficult matter. Her father wastoo vague a dreamer to guide her, or so much as to realise that she stoodin need of guidance. And Dot had gone her own independent way all herlife. Her healthy young mind was not accustomed to grapple with problems, but she did not despair on that account. She only resolutely set herselfto cope with this one as best she might, erecting out of her multifariousduties a barrier calculated to dishearten the most hopeful knight. 

But in thus constructing her defences there was one force with which sheomitted to reckon and against which she in consequence made nopreparation, a force which, nevertheless, was capable of shattering allher carefully-laid schemes at a touch. 

As she emerged among the last of the congregation from the church on theSunday morning following her visit to Baronmead, she found Lucas Errolleaning upon the open lych-gate. 

He greeted her with that shrewd, kindly smile of his before which it wasalmost impossible to feel embarrassed or constrained. Yet she blushedvividly at meeting him, and would gladly have turned the other way hadthe opportunity offered. For there in the road below, doing something tothe motor, was Bertie. 

"It's a real pleasure to meet you again, Miss Waring, " said Lucas, in hispleasant drawl. "I was just hoping you would come along. I met yourfather before the service, and he promised to show me his orchids. "

"Oh!" said Dot, nervously avoiding a second glance in Bertie's direction. "Won't you come across to the Rectory then and wait for him there?"

"May I?" said Lucas. 

He straightened himself with an effort and transferred his weight to hiscrutch. Dot shyly proffered her arm. 

"Let me!" said Bertie. 

He was already on the steps, but Lucas waved him down, and accepted thegirl's help instead. 

"We will go in the garden way, " said Dot. "It's only just acrossthe road. "

He halted terribly in the descent, and glancing at him in some anxietyshe saw that his lips were tightly closed. Overwhelming pity for the manovercame her awkwardness, and she spoke sharply over her shoulder. 

"Bertie, come and take my place! You know what to do better than I do. "

In an instant Bertie was beside her, had slipped his arm under hisbrother's shoulder, and taken his weight almost entirely off the crutch. His active young strength bore the great burden unfalteringly and withimmense tenderness, and there ran through Dot, watching from above, aqueer little indefinable thrill that made her heart beat suddenly faster. He certainly was a nice boy, as he himself had declared. 

"That didn't hurt so badly, eh, old chap?" asked the cheery voice. "Comealong, Dot. You can give him a hand now while I fetch the car round. There are no steps to the Rectory, so he will be all right. "

His airy friendliness banished the last of Dot's confusion. With a keensense of relief she obeyed him. Those few seconds of a common solicitudehad bridged the gulf at least temporarily. 

"This is real good of you, " Lucas Errol said, as he took her arm again. "And it's a luxury I ought not to indulge in, for I can walk alone onthe flat. "

"Oh, it is horrid for you!" she said with vehemence. "How ever doyou bear it?"

"We can all of us bear what we must, " he said, smiling whimsically. 

"But we don't all of us do it well, " said Dot, as she opened theRectory gate. 

"I guess that's a good deal a matter of temperament, " said theAmerican. "A fellow like Nap, for instance, all hustle and quicksilver, might be expected to kick now and then. One makes allowances for afellow like that. "

"I believe you make allowances for everyone, " said Dot, impetuously. 

"Don't you?" he asked. 

"No, I am afraid I don't. "

There was a pause. The garden door was closed behind them. Theystood alone. 

Lucas Errol's eyes travelled over the stretch of lawn that lay betweenthem and the house, dwelt for a few thoughtful seconds upon nothing inparticular, and finally sought those of the girl at his side. 

"One must be fair, Miss Waring, " he said gently. "I can't imagine youbeing deliberately unfair to anyone. "

She flushed again. There was something in his manner that she could notquite fathom, but it was something that she could not possibly resent. 

"Not deliberately--of course, " she said after a moment, as he waited foran answer. 

"Of course not, " he agreed, in his courteous, rather tired voice. "If, for instance, you were out with a friend and met a scorpion in a rage whostung you both, you'd want to take it out of the scorpion, wouldn't you, not the friend?"

She hesitated, seeing in a flash the trend of the conversation, andunwilling to commit herself too deeply. 

He read her reluctance at a glance. "Please don't be afraid of me, " hesaid, with that most winning smile of his. "I promise you on my honourthat whatever you say shall not be used against you. "

She smiled involuntarily. "I am not afraid of you, only--"

"Only--" he said. 

"I think there are a good many scorpions about, " she told him ratherpiteously. "I could name several, all venomous. "

"I understand, " said Lucas Errol. He passed his hand within her arm againand pressed it gently. "And so you are flinging away all your valuablesto escape them?" he questioned. "Forgive me--is that wise?"

She did not answer. 

He began to make his difficult progress towards the house. 

Suddenly, without looking at her he spoke again. "I believe you're awoman of sense, Miss Waring, and you know as well as I do that there is aprice to pay for everything. And the biggest things command the highestprices. If we haven't the means to pay for a big thing when it isoffered us, we must just let it go. But if we have--well, I guess we'd bewise to sell out all the little things and secure it. Those same littlethings are so almighty small in comparison. "

He ceased, but still Dot was silent. It was not the silence ofembarrassment, however. He had spoken too kindly for that. 

He did not look at her till they were close to the house, then for a fewmoments she was aware of his steady eyes searching for the answer shehad withheld. 

"Say, Miss Waring, " he said, "you are not vexed any?"

She turned towards him instantly, her round face full of the most earnestfriendliness. "I--I think you're a brick, Mr. Errol, " she said. 

He shook his head. "Nothing so useful, I am afraid, but I'm grateful toyou all the same for thinking so. Ah! Here comes your father. "

The rector was hastening after them across the grass. He joined them onthe path before the house and urged his visitor to come in and rest. Theorchids were in the conservatory. He believed he had one very rarespecimen. If Mr. Errol would sit down in the drawing-room he would bringit for his inspection. 

And so it came to pass that when Bertie entered he found his brother deepin a botanical discussion with the enthusiastic rector while Dot haddisappeared. Bertie only paused to ascertain this fact before he turnedround and went in quest of her. 

He knew his way about the lower regions of the Rectory, and he began asystematic search forthwith. She was not, however, to be very readilyfound. He glanced into all the downstairs rooms without success. He was, in fact, on the point of regretfully abandoning his efforts on thesupposition that she had retreated to her own room when her voice rangsuddenly down the back stairs. She was calling agitatedly for help. 

It was enough for Bertie. He tore up the stairs with lightning speed, boldly announcing his advent as he went. 

He found her at the top of the house in an old cupboard used for storingfruit. She was mounted upon a crazy pair of steps that gave signs ofimminent collapse, and to save herself from the catastrophe that thiswould involve she was clinging to the highest shelf with both hands. 

"Be quick!" she cried to him. "Be quick! I'm slipping every second!"

The words were hardly uttered before the steps gave a sudden loud crackand fell from beneath her with a crash. But in the same instant Bertiesprang in and caught her firmly round the knees. He proceeded with muchpresence of mind to seat her on his shoulder. 

"That's all right. I've got you, " he said cheerily. "None the worse, eh?What are you trying to do? May as well finish before you come down. "

Dot seemed for a moment inclined to resent the support thus jauntilygiven, but against her will her sense of humour prevailed. 

She uttered a muffled laugh. "I'm getting apples for dessert. "

"All in your Sunday clothes!" commented Bertie. "That comes ofprocrastination--the fatal British defect. "

"I hate people who hustle, " remarked Dot, hoping that her hot cheeks werenot visible at that altitude. 

"Meaning me?" said Bertie, settling himself for an argument. 

"Oh, I suppose you can't help it, " said Dot, filling her basket withfeverish speed. "You Americans are all much too greedy to wait foranything. Am I very heavy?"

"Not in the least, " said Bertie. "I like being sat on now and then. Iadmit the charge of greed but not of impatience. You misjudge me there. "

At this point a large apple dropped suddenly upon his upturned faceand, having struck him smartly between the eyes, fell with a thud tothe ground. 

Bertie said "Damn!" but luckily for Dot he did not budge an inch. 

"I beg your pardon, " he added a moment later. 

"What for?" said Dot. 

"For swearing, " he replied. "I forgot you didn't like it. "

"Oh!" said Dot; and after a pause, "Then I beg yours. "

"Did you do it on purpose?" he asked curiously. 

"I want to get down, please, " said Dot. 

He lowered her from his shoulder to his arms with perfect ease, set heron the ground, and held her fast. 

"Dot, " he said, his voice sunk almost to a whisper, "if you're going tobe violent, I guess I shall be violent too. "

"Let me go!" said Dot. 

But still he held her. "Dot, " he said again. "I won't hustle you any. Iswear I won't hustle you. But--my dear, you'll marry me some day. Isn't that so?"

Dot was silent. She was straining against his arms, and yet he held her, not fiercely, not passionately, but with a mastery the greater for itsvery coolness. 

"I'll wait for you, " he said. "I'll wait three years. I shall betwenty-five then, and you'll be twenty-one. But you'll marry me then, Dot. You'll have to marry me then. "

"Have to!" flashed Dot. 

"Yes, have to, " he repeated coolly. "You are mine. "

"I'm not, Bertie!" she declared indignantly. "How--how dare you hold meagainst my will? And you're upsetting the apples too. Bertie, you--you're a horrid cad!"

"Yes, I know, " said Bertie, an odd note of soothing in his voice. "That'swhat you English people always do when you're beaten. You hurl insults, and go on fighting. But it's nothing but a waste of energy, and onlymakes the whipping the more thorough. "

"You hateful American!" gasped Dot. "As if--as if--we could be beaten!"

She had struggled vainly for some seconds and was breathless. She turnedsuddenly in his arms and placed her hands against his shoulders, forcinghim from her. Bertie instantly changed his position, seized her wrists, drew them outward, drew them upward, drew them behind his neck. 

"And yet you love me, " he said. "You love yourself better, but--youlove me. "

His face was bent to hers, he looked closely into her eyes. And--perhapsit was something in his look that moved her--perhaps it was only therealisation of her own utter impotence--Dot suddenly hid her face uponhis shoulder and began to cry. 

His arms were about her in an instant. He held her against his heart. 

"My dear, my dear, have I been a brute to you? I only wanted to make youunderstand. Say, Dot, don't cry, dear, don't cry!"

"I--I'm not!" sobbed Dot. 

"Of course not, " he agreed. "Anyone can see that. Butstill--darling--don't!"

Dot recovered herself with surprising rapidity. "Bertie, you--you're agreat big donkey!" She confronted him with wet, accusing eyes. "What yousaid just now wasn't true, and if--if you're a gentleman you'llapologise. "

"I'll let you kick me all the way downstairs if you like, " saidBertie contritely. "I didn't mean to hurt you, honest. I didn't meanto make you--"

"You didn't!" broke in Dot. "But you didn't tell the truth. That's whyI'm angry with you. You--told--a lie. "

"I?" said Bertie. 

He had taken his arms quite away from her now. He seemed in fact a littleafraid of touching her. But Dot showed no disposition to beat a retreat. They faced each other in the old apple cupboard, as if it were the mostappropriate place in the world for a conflict. 

"Yes, you!" said Dot. 

"What did I say?" asked Bertie, hastily casting back his thoughts. 

She looked at him with eyes that seemed to grow more contemptuouslybright every instant. "You said, " she spoke with immense deliberation, "that I loved myself best. "

"Well?" said Bertie. 

"Well, " she said, and took up her basket as one on the point ofdeparture, "it wasn't true. There!"

"Dot!" His hand was on the basket too. He stopped her without touchingher. "Dot!" he said again. 

Dot's eyes began to soften, a dimple showed suddenly near the corner ofher mouth. "You shouldn't tell lies, Bertie, " she said. 

And that was the last remark she made for several seconds, unless thesmothered protests that rose against Bertie's lips could be described assuch. They were certainly not emphatic enough to make any impression, andBertie treated them with the indifference they deserved. 

Driving home, he managed to steer with one hand while he thrust the otherupon his brother's knee. 

"Luke, old chap, I've gone dead against your wishes, " he jerked out. "And--for the first time in my life--I'm not sorry. She'll have me. "

"I thought she would, " said Lucas. He grasped the boy's hand closely. "There are times when a man--if he is a man--must act for himself, eh, Bertie?"

Bertie laughed a little. "I don't believe it was against your wishesafter all. "

"Well, p'r'aps not. " There was a very kindly smile in the sunken eyes. "Iguess you're a little older than I thought you were, and anyway, shewon't marry you for the dollars. "

"She certainly won't, " said Bertie warmly. "But she's horribly afraid ofpeople saying so, since Nap--"

"Ah! Never mind Nap!"

"Well, it's made a difference, " Bertie protested. "We are not going tomarry for three years. And no one is to know we are engaged except youand her father. "

"She doesn't mind me then?"

There was just a tinge of humour in the words, and Bertie looked athim sharply. 

"What are you grinning at? No, of course she doesn't mind you. But what'sthe joke?"

"Look where you're going, dear fellow. It would be a real pity to breakyour neck at this stage. "

Bertie turned his attention to his driving and was silent for a little. 

Suddenly, "I have it!" he exclaimed. "You artful old fox! I believe youhad first word after all. I wondered that she gave in so easily. What didyou say to her?"

"That, " said Lucas gently, "is a matter entirely between myself andone other. "

Bertie broke into his gay boyish laugh and sounded the hooter for sheerlightness of heart. 

"Oh, king, live for ever--and then some! You're just the finest fellow inthe world!"

"Open to question, I am afraid, " said the millionaire with his quietsmile. "And as to living for ever--well, I guess it's a cute idea in themain, but under present conditions it's a notion that makes me tired. "

"Who said anything about present conditions?" demanded Bertie, almostangrily; and then in an altered voice: "Old man, I didn't mean that, andyou know it. I only meant that you will always be wanted wherever youare. God doesn't turn out a good thing like you every day. "

"Oh, shucks!" said Lucas Errol softly. 

CHAPTER XV

THE CHAMPION

When Mrs. Errol remarked in her deep voice, that yet compassed theincomparable Yankee twang, that she guessed she wasn't afraid of any manthat breathed, none of those who heard the bold assertion ventured tocontradict her. 

Lucas Errol was entertaining a large house-party, and the great hallwas full of guests, most of whom had just returned from the day'ssport. The hubbub of voices was considerable, but Mrs. Errol's remarkwas too weighty to be missed, and nearly everyone left off talking tohear its sequel. 

Mrs. Errol, who was the soul of hospitality, but who, nevertheless, believed firmly in leaving people to amuse themselves in their own way, had only returned a few minutes before from paying a round of calls. Shewas wrapped in furs from head to foot, and her large, kindly face shoneout of them like a November sun emerging from a mass of cloud. 

There was a general scramble to wait upon her, and three cups of tea wereoffered her simultaneously, all of which she accepted with a nod ofthanks and a gurgle of laughter. 

"Put it down! I'll drink it presently. Where do you think I've just comefrom? And what do you think I've been doing? I'll wager my last dollar noone can guess. "

"Done!" said Nap coolly, as he pulled forward a chair to the blaze. "You've been bearding the lion in his den, and not unsuccessfully, tojudge by appearances. In other words, you've been to the Manor and havedrunk tea with the lord thereof. "

Mrs. Errol subsided into the chair and looked round upon her interestedaudience. "Well, " she said, "you're right there, Nap Errol, but Ishan't part with my last dollar to you, so don't you worry any aboutthat. Yes, I've been to the Manor. I've had tea with Anne Carfax. AndI've talked to the squire as straight as a mother. He was pretty mad atfirst, I can assure you, but I kept on hammering it into him till evenhe began to get tired. And after that I made my points. Oh, I wasmighty kind on the whole. But I guess he isn't under anymisapprehension as to what I think of him. And I'm going over to-morrowto fetch dear Anne over here to lunch. "

With which cheerful announcement Mrs. Errol took up one of her cups oftea and drank it with a triumphant air. 

"I told him, " she resumed, "he'd better watch his reputation, for he wasbeginning to be regarded as the local Bluebeard. Oh, I was as frank asGeorge Washington. And I told him also that there isn't a man inside theU. S. A. That would treat a black as he treats his wife. I think thatsurprised him some, for he began to stutter, and then of course I had theadvantage. And I used it. "

"It must have been real edifying for Lady Carfax, " drawled Nap. 

Mrs. Errol turned upon him. "I'm no bigger a fool than I look, Nap Errol. Lady Carfax didn't hear a word. We had it out in the park. I left themotor half way on purpose, and made his high mightiness walk down withme. He was pretty near speechless by the time I'd done with him, but hedid just manage at parting to call me an impertinent old woman. And Icalled him--a gentleman!"

Mrs. Errol paused to swallow her second cup of tea. 

"I was wheezing myself by that time, " she concluded. "But I'd had my say, and I don't doubt that he is now giving the matter his full and carefulattention, which after all is the utmost I can expect. It may not do dearAnne much good, but I guess it can't do her much harm anyway, and it wasbeer and skittles to me. Why, it's five weeks now since she left, andshe's only been over once in all that time, and then I gather there wassuch a row that she didn't feel like facing another till she was quitestrong again. "

"An infernal shame!" declared Bertie hotly. "I'll drive you over myselfto-morrow to fetch her. We'll get up some sports in her honour. I wonderif she likes tobogganing. "

"I wonder if she will come, " murmured Nap. 

Mrs. Errol turned to her third cup. "She'll come, " she said withfinality; and no one raised any further question on that point. Mrs. Errol in certain moods was known to be invincible. 

Though it was nearly the middle of March, the land was fast held in thegrip of winter. There had been a heavy fall of snow, and a continuousfrost succeeding it had turned Baronmead into an Alpine paradise. Tobogganing and skating filled the hours of each day; dancing made flythe hours of each night. Bertie had already conducted one ice gymkhanawith marked success, and he was now contemplating a masquerade on theornamental sheet of water that stretched before the house. Strings offairy lights were being arranged under his directions, and Chineselanterns bobbed in every bush. 

He was deeply engrossed in these preparations, but he tore himself awayto drive his mother to the Manor on the following morning. His alacrityto do this was explained when he told her that he wanted to drop into theRectory and persuade the rector to bring Dot that night to see the fun, to which plan Mrs. Errol accorded her ready approval, and even undertookto help with the persuading, to Bertie's immense gratification. He andhis mother never talked confidences, but they understood each other sothoroughly that words were superfluous. 

So they departed both in excellent spirits, while Lucas leaning uponNap's shoulder, went down to the lake to watch the skaters and tosuperintend Bertie's preparations for the evening's entertainment. 

The voices of the tobogganists reached them from a steep bit of groundhalf-a-mile away, ringing clearly on the frosty air. 

"The other side of that mound is tip-top for skiing, " remarked Nap, "better than you would expect in this country. But no one here seemsparticularly keen on it. I was out early this morning and tried severalplaces that were quite passable, but that mound was the best!"

"After dancing till three, " commented Lucas. "What a restlessfellow you are!"

Nap laughed a somewhat hard laugh. "One must do something. I never sleepafter dawn. It's not my nature. "

"You'll wear yourself to a shadow, " smiled Lucas. "There's little enoughof you as it is--nothing but fire and sinew!"

"Oh, rats, my dear fellow! I'm as tough as leather. There would need tobe something very serious the matter for me to lie in bed after daylight. Just look at that woman doing eights! It's a sight to make you shudder. "

"Whom do you mean? Mrs. Van Rhyl? I thought you were an admirer of hers. "

Nap made a grimace. "Where is your native shrewdness? And I neveradmired her skating anyway. It's about on a par with Mrs. Damer'sdancing. In the name of charity, don't ask that woman to come and help usdance again. I'm not equal to her. It's yoking an elephant to a zebra. "

"I thought you liked Mrs. Damer, " said Lucas. 

Nap grimaced again. "She's all right in the hunting-field. Leave her inher own sphere and I can appreciate her. "

"Do you think you are capable of appreciating any woman?" asked Lucasunexpectedly. 

Nap threw him a single fiery glance that was like a sword-thrust. Hisslight figure stiffened to arrogance. But his answer, when it came, was peculiarly soft and deliberate--it was also absolutely andimperiously final. 

"I guess so. "

Lucas said no more, but he did not look wholly satisfied. There weretimes in his dealings with Nap when even his tolerance would carry himno further. 

They spent a considerable time on the terrace in front of the house. Itwas a sheltered spot, and the sunshine that day was generous. 

"This place is doing you good, " Nap remarked presently. "You areconsiderably stronger than you were. "

"I believe I am, " Lucas answered. "I sleep better. "

He had just seated himself on a stone bench that overlooked the lake. His eyes followed the darting figures of the skaters with a certainintentness. 

Nap leaned upon the balustrade and watched him. "Why don't you see Capperagain?" he asked suddenly. 

The millionaire's gaze gradually lost its intentness and grew remote. "Iam afraid he is on the wrong side of the Atlantic, " he said. 

"You can cable to him. "

"Yes, I know. " Slowly Lucas raised his eyes to his brother's face. "I canhave him over to tell me what he told me before--that I haven't therecuperative strength essential to make his double operation a success. "

"He may tell you something different this time. " Nap spoke insistently, with the energy of one not accustomed to accept defeat. 

Lucas was silent. 

"Say, Lucas"--there was more than insistence in his tone this time; itheld compulsion--"you aren't faint-hearted?"

The blue eyes began to smile. "I think not, Boney. But I've got to hangon for the present--till you and the boy are married. P'r'aps then--I'lltake the risk. "

Nap looked supercilious. "And if it is not my intention to marry?"

"You must marry, my dear fellow. You'll never be satisfied otherwise. "

"You think marriage the hall-mark of respectability?" Nap sneered openly. 

"I think, " Lucas answered quietly, "that for you marriage is theonly end. The love of a good woman would be your salvation. Yes, youmay scoff. But--whether you admit it or not--it is the truth. Andyou know it. "

But Nap had ceased already to scoff; the sneer had gone from his face. Hehad turned his head keenly as one who listens. 

It was nearly a minute later that he spoke, and by that time the hummingof an approaching motor was clearly audible. 

Then, "It may be the truth, " he said, in a tone as deliberate as hisbrother's, "and it may not. But--no good woman will ever marry me, Luke. And I shall never marry--anything else. "

He stooped, offering his shoulder for support. "Another guest, I fancy. Shall we go?"

He added, as they stood a moment before turning, "And if you won't sendfor Capper--I shall. "

CHAPTER XVI

THE MASQUERADE

The brothers were standing together on the steps when Anne alighted fromthe car, and her first thought as she moved towards them was of theirutter dissimilarity. They might have been men of different nationalities, so essentially unlike each other were they in every detail. And yet shefelt for both that ready friendship that springs from warmest gratitude. 

Nap kept her hand a moment in his grasp while he looked at her with thatbold stare of his that she had never yet desired to avoid. On theoccasion of her last visit to Baronmead they had not met. She wondered ifhe were about to upbraid her for neglecting her friends, but he saidnothing whatever, leaving it to Lucas to inquire after her health whilehe stood by and watched her with those dusky, intent eyes of his thatseemed to miss nothing. 

"I am quite strong again, thank you, " she said in answer to her host'skindly questioning. "And you, Mr. Errol?"

"I am getting strong too, " he smiled. "I am almost equal to runningalone; but doubtless you are past that stage. Slow and sure has been mymotto for some years now. "

"It is a very good one, " said Anne, in that gentle voice of hers that waslike the voice of a girl. 

He heard the sympathy in it, and his eyes softened; but he passed thematter by. 

"I hope you have come to stay. Has my mother managed to persuade you?"

"She will spend to-night anyway, " said Mrs. Errol. 

"And only to-night, " said Anne, with quiet firmness. "You are all verykind, but--"

"We want you, " interposed Lucas Errol. 

She smiled, a quick smile that seemed reminiscent of happier days. "Yes, and thank you for it. But I must return in good time to-morrow. I told myhusband that I would do so. He is spending the night in town, but he willbe back to-morrow. "

Nap's teeth were visible, hard clenched upon his lower lip as helistened, but still he said nothing. There was something peculiarlyforcible, even sinister, in his silence. Not until Anne presently turnedand directly addressed him did his attitude change. 

"Will you take me to see the lake?" she said. "It looked so charming aswe drove up. "

He moved instantly to accompany her. They went out together into thehard brightness of the winter morning. 

"It is so good to be here, " Anne said a little wistfully. "It is like aday in paradise. "

He laughed at that, not very pleasantly. 

"It is indeed, " she persisted, "except for one thing. Now tell me; inwhat have I offended?"

"You, Lady Carfax!" His brows met for an instant in a single, savage line. 

"Is it only my fancy?" she said. "I have a feeling that all is notpeace. "

He stopped abruptly by the balustrade that bounded the terrace. "Thequeen can do no wrong, " he said. "She can hurt, but she cannot offend. "

"Then how have I hurt you, Nap?" she said. 

The quiet dignity of the question demanded an answer, but it was slow incoming. He leaned his arms upon the balustrade, pulling restlessly at theivy that clung there. Anne waited quite motionless beside him. She wasnot looking at the skaters; her eyes had gone beyond them. 

Abruptly at length Nap straightened himself. "I am a fool to take you totask for snubbing me, " he said. "But I am not accustomed to beingsnubbed. Let that be my excuse. "

"Please tell me what you mean, " said Anne. 

He looked at her. "Do you tell me you do not know?"

"Yes, " she said. Her clear eyes met his. "Why should I snub you? Ithought you were a friend. "

"A friend, " he said, with emphasis. "I thought so too. But--"

"Yes?" she said gently. 

"Isn't it customary with you to answer your friends when they write toyou?" he asked. 

Her expression changed. A look of sharp pain showed for an instant in hereyes. "My invariable custom, Nap, " she said very steadily. 

"Then--that letter of mine--" he paused. 

"When did you write it?"

"On the evening of the day you came here last--the day I missed you. "

"It did not reach me, " she said, her voice very low. 

He was watching her very intently. "I sent it by messenger, " he said. "Iwas hunting that day. I sat down and wrote the moment I heard you hadbeen. Tawny Hudson took it. "

"It did not reach me, " she repeated. She was very pale; her eyes haddropped from his. 

"I was going to allow you a month to answer that letter, " he went on, asthough she had not spoken. "After that, our--friendship would have beenat an end. The month will be up to-morrow. "

Anne was silent. 

"Lady Carfax, " he said, "will you swear to me that you never receivedthat letter?"

"No, " she said. 

"You will not?"

"I will not. "

He made a sudden movement--such a movement as a man makes involuntarilyat an unexpected dart of pain. 

Anne raised her eyes very quietly. "Let us be quite honest, " she said. "No oath is ever necessary between friends. "

"You expect me to believe you?" he said, and his voice was shaken by someemotion he scarcely tried to hide. 

She smiled very faintly. "You do believe me, " she said. 

He turned sharply from her. "Let us go down, " he said. 

They went down to the garden below the terrace, walking side by side, insilence. They stood at the edge of the lake together, and presently theytalked--talked of a hundred things in which neither were greatlyinterested. A few people drifted up and were introduced. Then Bertie camerunning down, and their _tęte-ŕ-tęte_ was finally at an end. 

They were far away from one another during luncheon, and when the mealwas over Nap disappeared. He never concerned himself greatly about hisbrother's guests. 

At Bertie's persuasion Anne had brought skates, and she went down withhim to the lake in the afternoon, where they skated together tillsunset. She had a curious feeling that Nap was watching her the wholetime, though he was nowhere to be seen; nor did he appear at tea in thegreat hall. 

Later Mrs. Errol took possession of her, and they sat together in theformer's sitting-room till it was time to dress for dinner. Anne hadbrought no fancy dress, but her hostess was eager to provide for her. She clothed her in a white domino and black velvet mask, and insistedupon her wearing a splendid diamond tiara in the shape of a heart in hersoft hair. 

When she finally descended the stairs in Mrs. Errol's company, a slim mandressed as a harlequin in black and silver, who was apparently waitingfor her halfway down, bowed low and presented a glorious spray of crimsonroses with the words: "For the queen who can do no wrong!"

"My, Nap! How you startled me!" ejaculated Mrs. Errol. 

But Anne said nothing whatever. She only looked him straight in the eyesfor an instant, and passed on with the roses in her hand. 

During dinner she saw nothing of him. The great room was crowded withlittle tables, each laid for two, and she sat at the last of all with herhost. Later she never remembered whether they talked or were silent. Sheonly knew that somewhere the eyes that had watched her all the afternoonwere watching her still, intent and tireless, biding their time. Butsilence in Lucas Errol's company was as easy as speech. Moreover, astring band played continuously throughout the meal, and the hubbubaround them made speech unnecessary. 

When they went out at last on to the terrace the whole garden wastransformed into a paradise of glowing colours. The lake shone like aprism of glass, and over all the stars hung as if suspended very nearthe earth. 

Lucas went down to the edge of the ice, leaning on his valet. Bertie, clad as a Roman soldier, was already vanishing in the distance withsomeone attired as a Swiss peasant girl. Mrs. Errol, sensibly wrappedin a large motoring coat, was maintaining a cheery conversation withthe rector, who looked cold and hungry and smiled bluely ateverything she said. 

Anne stood by her host and watched the gay scene silently. "You ought tobe skating, " he said presently. 

She shook her head. "Not yet. I like watching. It makes me think of whenI was a girl. "

"Not so very long ago, surely!" he said, with a smile. 

"Seven years, " she answered. 

"My dear Lady Carfax!"

"Yes, seven years, " she repeated, and though she also smiled there was anote of unspeakable dreariness in her voice. "I was married on myeighteenth birthday. "

"My dear Lady Carfax, " he said again. And with that silence fell oncemore between them, but in some magic fashion his sympathy imparted itselfto her. She could feel it as one feels sudden sunshine on a cold day. Itwarmed her to the heart. 

She moved at length, turning towards him, and at once he spoke, as ifshe had thereby set him at liberty to do so. 

"Shall I tell you what I do when I find myself very badly up againstanything?" he said. 

"Yes, tell me. " Instinctively she drew nearer to him. There was thatabout this man that attracted her irresistibly. 

"It's a very simple remedy, " he said, "simpler than praying. One can'talways pray. I just open the windows wide, Lady Carfax. It's ahelp--even that. "

"Ah!" she said quickly. "I think your windows must be always open. "

"It seems a pity to shut them, " he answered gently. "There is always asparrow to feed, anyway. "

She laughed rather sadly. "Yes, there are always sparrows. "

"And sometimes bigger things, " he said, "things one wouldn't miss forhalf creation. "

"Or lose again for the other half, " said the cool voice of a skater whohad just glided up. 

Anne started a little, but Lucas scarcely moved. 

"Lady Carfax is waiting to go on the ice, " he said. 

"And I am waiting to take her, " the new-comer said. 

His slim, graceful figure in its black, tight-fitting garb sparkled atevery turn. His eyes shone through his velvet mask like the eyes of ananimal in the dark. 

He glided nearer, but for some reason inexplicable to herself, Annestepped back. 

"I don't think I will, " she said. "I am quite happy where I am. "

"You will be happier with me, " said the harlequin, with imperialconfidence. 

He waved his hand to Hudson standing a few paces away with her skates, took them from him, motioned her to the bank. 

She stepped forward, not very willingly. Hudson, at another sign, spreada rug for her. She sat down, and the glittering harlequin kneeled uponthe ice before her and fastened the blades to her feet. 

It only took a couple of minutes; he was deft in all his ways. Andthen he was on his feet again, and with a royal gesture had helpedher to hers. 

Anne looked at him half dazzled. The shimmering figure seemed to bedecked in diamonds. 

"Are you ready?" he said. 

She looked into the glowing eyes and felt as if some magic attractionwere drawing her against her will. 

"So long!" called Lucas from the bank. "Take care of her, Boney. "

In another moment they were gliding into that prism of many lights andcolours, and the harlequin, holding Anne's hands, laughed enigmaticallyas he sped her away. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE SLAVE OF GOODNESS

It seemed to Anne presently that she had left the earth altogether, andwas gliding upwards through starland without effort or conscious movementof any sort, simply as though lifted by the hands that held her own. Their vitality thrilled through her like a strong current of electricity. She felt that whichever way they turned, wherever they led her, she mustbe safe. And there was a quivering ecstasy in that dazzling, rapid rushthat filled her veins like liquid fire. 

"Do you know where you are?" he asked her once. 

And she answered, in a species of breathless rapture, "I feel as if Iwere caught in a rainbow. "

He laughed again at that, a soft, exultant laugh, and drew her moreswiftly on. 

They left the other masqueraders behind; they left the shimmeringlake and its many lights; and at last in the starlight only theyslackened speed. 

Anne came out of her trance of delight to find that they were between thebanks of the stream that fed the lake. The ground on each side of themshone white and hard in the frost-bound silence. The full moon was justrising over a long silver ridge of down. She stood with her face to itscold splendour, her hands still locked in that vital grip. 

Slowly at last, compelled she knew not how, she turned to the man besideher. His eyes were blazing at her with a lurid fire, and suddenly thatsensation that had troubled her once before in his presence--a sensationof sharp uneasiness--pricked through her confidence. 

She stood quite still, conscious of a sudden quickening of her heart. Butshe did not shrink from that burning gaze. She met it with level eyes. 

For seconds they stood so, facing one another. He seemed to be trying insome fashion to subjugate her, to beat her down; but she would not yieldan inch. And it was he who finally broke the spell. 

"Am I forgiven?"

"For what?" she said. 

"For pretending to disbelieve you this morning. "

"Was it pretence?" she asked. 

"No, it wasn't!" he told her fiercely. "It was deadly earnest. I wouldhave given all I had to be able to disbelieve you. Do you know that?"

"But why, Nap?"

"Why?" he said. "Because your goodness, your purity, are making a slaveof me. If I could catch you--if I could catch you only once--cheating, asall other women cheat, I should be free. But you are irreproachable andincorruptible. I believe you are above temptation. "

"Oh, you don't know me, " she interposed quietly. "But even if I were allthese things, why should it vex you?"

"Why?" he said. "Because you hold me back, you check me at every turn. You harness me to your chariot wheels, and I have to run in the path ofvirtue whether I will or not!"

He broke off with a laugh that had in it a note of savagery. 

"Don't you even care to know what was in that letter that you never had?"he asked abruptly. 

"Tell me!" she said. 

"I told you that I was mad to have missed you that day. I begged you tolet me have a line before you came again. I besought you to let me callupon you and to fix a day. I signed myself your humble and devoted slave, Napoleon Errol. "

He ceased, still laughing queerly, with his lower lip between his teeth. 

Anne stood silent for many seconds. 

At last, "You must never come to see me, " she said very decidedly. 

"Not if I bring the mother as a chaperon?" he jested. 

"Neither you nor your mother must ever come to see me again, " shesaid firmly. "And--Nap--though I know that the writing of thatletter meant nothing whatever to you, I am more sorry than I can saythat you sent it. "

He threw back his head arrogantly. "What?" he said. "Has the queen nofurther use for her jester? Am I not even to write to you then?"

"I think not, " she said. 

"And why?" he demanded imperiously. 

"I think you know why, " she said. 

"Do I know why? Is it because you are afraid of your husband?"

"No. "

"Afraid of me then?" There was almost a taunt in the words. 

"No, " she said again. 

"Why, then?" He was looking full into her eyes. There was somethingpeculiarly sinister about his masked face. She almost felt as if he weremenacing her. 

Nevertheless she made unfaltering reply. "For a reason that means muchto me, though it may not appeal to you. Because my husband is notalways sane, and I am afraid of what he might do to you if he wereprovoked any further. "

"Great Lucifer!" said Nap. "Does he think I make love to you then?"

She did not answer him. "He is not always sane, " she repeated. 

"You are right, " he said. "That reason does not appeal to me. Yourhusband's hallucinations are not worth considering. But I don't proposeon that account to write any more letters for his edification. For thefuture--" He paused. 

"For the future, " Anne said, "there must be no correspondence between usat all. I know it seems unreasonable to you, but that cannot be helped. Mr. Errol, surely you are generous enough--chivalrous enough--tounderstand. "

"No, I don't understand, " Nap said. "I don't understand how you can, bythe widest stretch of the imagination, believe it your duty to conform tothe caprices of a maniac. "

"How can I help it?" she said very sadly. 

He was silent a moment. His hands were still gripping hers; shecould feel her wedding-ring being forced into her flesh. "Like ourmutual friend, Major Shirley, " he said slowly, "I wonder why youstick to the man. "

She turned her face away with a sound that was almost a moan. 

"You never loved him, " he said with conviction. 

She was silent. Yet after a little, as he waited, she spoke as onecompelled. 

"I live with him because he gave me that for which I married him. Hefulfilled his part of the bargain. I must fulfil mine. I was nothing buthis bailiff's daughter, remember; a bailiff who had robbed him--for whoseescape from penal servitude I paid the price. "

"Great Heavens!" said Nap. 

She turned to him quickly, with an impulsiveness that was almost girlish. "I have never told anyone else, " she said. "I tell you because I knowyou are my friend and because I want you to understand. We willnever--please--speak of it again. "

"Wait!" Nap's voice rang stern. "Was it part of the bargain that heshould insult you, trample on you, make you lead a dog's life without asingle friend to make it bearable?"

She did not attempt to answer him. "Let us go back, " she said. 

He wheeled at once, still holding her hands. 

They skated a few yards in silence. Then suddenly, almost under hisbreath, he spoke. "I am not going to give up my friendship with you. Letthat be clearly understood. "

"You are very good to me, " she said simply. 

"No. I am not. I am human, that's all. I don't think this state ofaffairs can last much longer. "

She shuddered. Her husband's condition had been very much worse of late, but she did not tell him so. 

They were skating rapidly back towards the head of the lake. In front ofthem sounded the swirling rush of skates and the laughter of many voices. 

"I'm sorry I've been a beast to you, " Nap said abruptly. "You mustn'tmind me. It's just my way. "

"Oh, I don't mind you, Nap, " she answered gently. 

"Thanks!" he said. 

And with that he stooped suddenly and shot forward like a meteor, bearingher with him. 

They flashed back into the gay throng of masqueraders, and mingled withthe crowd as though they had never left it. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE DESCENT FROM OLYMPUS

"Come and say good-bye to Lucas, " said Bertie. "He is up andasking for you. "

So, with an impetuous hand upon Anne's arm, he whisked her away on thefollowing morning to his brother's room. She was dressed for departure, and waiting for the motor that was to take her home. Of Nap she had seennothing. He had a way of absenting himself from meals whenever it suitedhim to do so. She wondered if he meant to let her go without farewell. 

She found the master of the house lying on a couch sorting hiscorrespondence. He pushed everything aside at her entrance. 

"Come in, Lady Carfax! I am glad not to have missed you. A pity you haveto leave so soon. "

"I only wish I could stop longer, " Anne said. He looked up at her, holding her hand, his shrewd blue eyes full of the most candidfriendliness. 

"You will come again, I hope, when you can, " he said. 

"Thank you, " she answered gently. 

He still held her hand. "And if at any time you need the help--orcomfort--of friends, " he said, "you won't forget where to look?"

"Thank you, " she said again. 

"Is Nap driving you?" he asked. 

"No, " said Bertie. "Nap's skiing. "

"Then you, Bertie--"

"My dear fellow, " said Bertie, "I'm fearfully sorry, but I can't. Youunderstand, don't you, Lady Carfax? I would if I could, but--" hisexcuses trailed off unsatisfactorily. 

He turned very red and furiously jabbed at the fire with his boot. 

"Please don't think of it, " said Anne. "I am so used to being alone. Infact, your mother wanted to come with me, but I dissuaded her. "

"Then I conclude it is useless for me to offer myself as an escort?"said Lucas. 

"Yes, quite useless, " she smiled, "though I am grateful to you all thesame. Good-bye, Mr. Errol!"

"Good-bye!" he said. 

As Bertie closed the door behind her he took up a letter from the heap athis elbow; but his eyes remained fixed for several seconds. 

At length: "Bertie, " he said, without looking up, "are you due at theRectory this morning?"

"This afternoon, " said Bertie. 

He also bent over the pile of correspondence and began to sort. He oftendid secretarial work for Lucas. 

Lucas suffered him for some seconds longer. Then, "You don't generallybehave like a boor, Bertie, " he said. 

"Oh, confound it!" exclaimed Bertie, with vehemence. "You don't suppose Ienjoyed letting her think me a cad, do you?"

"I don't suppose she did, " Lucas said thoughtfully. 

"Well, you do anyway, which is worse. "

Bertie slapped down the letters and walked to the fire. 

Lucas returned without comment to the paper in his hand. 

After a long pause Bertie wheeled. He came back to his brother's side andpulled up a chair. His brown face was set in stern lines. 

"I don't see why I should put up with this, " he said, "and I don'tmean to. It was Nap's doing. I was going to drive her. Heinterfered--as usual. "

"I thought you said Nap was skiing. " Lucas spoke without raising hiseyes. He also looked graver than usual. 

"I did. He is. But he has got some game on, and he didn't want melooking on. Oh, I'm sick to death of Nap and all his ways! He's rottento the core!"

"Gently, boy, gently! You go too far. " Lucas looked up into the hot blueeyes, the severity all gone from his own. "It isn't what things look likethat you have to consider. It is what they are. Nap, poor chap, is badlyhandicapped; but he has been putting up a big fight for himself lately, and he hasn't done so badly. Give the devil his due. "

"What's he doing now?" demanded Bertie. "It's bad enough to have thewhole community gossiping about his flirtations with women that don'tcount. But when it comes to a good woman--like Lady Carfax--oh, I tellyou it makes me sick! He might leave her alone, at least. She's miserableenough without him to make matters worse. "

"My dear boy, you needn't be afraid for Lady Carfax. " Lucas Errol's voiceheld absolute conviction. "She wouldn't tolerate him for an instant if heattempted to flirt with her. Their intimacy is founded on something moresolid than that. It's a genuine friendship or I have never seen one. "

"Do you mean to say you don't know he is in love with her?"ejaculated Bertie. 

"But he won't make love to her, " Lucas answered quietly. "He is drawn bya good woman for the first time in his life, and no harm will come of it. She is one of those women who must run a straight course. There are a fewsuch, born saints, 'of whom the world is not worthy. '" He checked himselfwith a sudden sigh. "Suppose we get to business, Bertie. "

"It's all very fine, " said Bertie, preparing to comply. "But if Nap everfalls foul of Sir Giles Carfax, he may find that he has bitten off morethan he can chew. They say he is on the high road to the D. T. 's. Smallwonder that Lady Carfax looks careworn!"

Small wonder indeed! Yet as Anne sped along through the sunshine on thatwinter day she found leisure from her cares to enjoy the swift journey inthe great luxurious car. The burden she carried perpetually weighed lessheavily upon her than usual. The genial atmosphere of Baronmead hadwarmed her heart. The few words that Lucas had spoken with her hand inhis still echoed through her memory. Yes, she knew where to look forfriends; no carping critics, but genuine, kindly friends who knew andsympathised. 

She thought of Nap with regret and a tinge of anxiety. She was sure hehad not intended to let her go without farewell, but she hoped earnestlythat he would not pursue her to the Manor to tell her so. 

And then she remembered his letter; that letter that her husband musthave intercepted, recalling his storm of unreasonable fury on theoccasion of her last return from Baronmead. He had doubtless read thatletter and been inflamed by it. Hating her himself, he yet was fiercelyjealous of her friends--these new friends of hers who had lavished uponher every kindness in her time of need, to whom she must always feelwarmly grateful, however churlishly he might ignore the obligation. 

He had raised no definite objection to this present visit of hers. Mrs. Errol had, in her own inimitable fashion, silenced him, but she had knownthat she had gone against his wish. And it was in consequence of thisknowledge that she was returning so early, though she did not expect himback till night. He should have no rational cause for complaint againsther. For such causes as his fevered brain created she could not holdherself responsible. 

It was hard to lead such a life without becoming morbid, but Anne wasfashioned upon generous lines. She strove ever to maintain the calm levelof reason wherewith to temper the baleful influence of her husband'scaprice. She never argued with him; argument was worse than futile. Butsteadfastly and incessantly she sought by her moderation to balance thedifficulties with which she was continually confronted. And to a certainextent she succeeded. Open struggles were very rare. Sir Giles knew thatthere was a limit to her submission, and he seldom, if ever now, attempted to force her beyond that limit. 

But she knew that a visit from Nap would place her in an intolerableposition, and with all her heart she hoped that her caution of theprevious day had taken effect. Though utterly reckless on his ownaccount, she fancied that she had made an impression upon him, and thathe would not act wholly without consideration for her. In bestowing herfriendship upon him she had therewith reposed a confidence which hisinvariable compliance with her wishes had seemed to warrant. She did notthink that her trust would ever prove to have been misplaced. But she wassorry, unquestionably she was sorry, to have left without bidding himfarewell. It might be long ere they would meet again. 

And with the thought yet in her mind she looked out of the window infront of her, and saw his slim, supple figure, clad in a white sweater, shoot swiftly down a snow-draped slope ahead of her, like a meteorflashing earthwards out of the blue. 

His arms were extended; his movements had a lithe grace that wasirresistibly fascinating to the eye. Slight though he was, he might havebeen a young god descending on a shaft of sunshine from Olympus. But thethought that darted all unbidden through Anne's mind was of something fardifferent. She banished it on the instant with startled precipitancy; butit left a scar behind that burned like the sudden searing of a hot iron. "I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven. "

The car was stopping. The figure on skis was waiting motionless by theroadside. It ran smoothly up to him and stopped. 

"Dramatic, wasn't it?" smiled Nap. "Did you think you were going toescape without another word?"

"I had almost begun to think so, " she admitted, smiling also. 

He stooped to take off the skis, then stepped to the door. He leanedtowards her. There was no faintest sign of cynicism in his face that day. He was in the mood of good comradeship in which she liked him best. 

"Walk across to the park with me, " he said. "It is scarcely a mile by thedowns. The man can go on to the Manor with your things and wait here forme on his way back. "

Anne considered for a moment, but only for a moment. It might make herlate for the luncheon hour, but she was convinced that her husband wouldnot return before the evening. And the world was very enchanting thatwinter day. The very ground was scattered with diamonds!

"Yes, I will come, " she said. 

He handed her out, and picked up his discarded skis. His dark face smiledwith a certain triumph. The grim lines about his mouth were less apparentthan usual. He moved with the elastic swing of well-knit limbs. 

And Anne, walking beside him, found it not difficult to thrust her caresa little farther into the sombre background of her mind. The sun shoneand the sky was blue, and the ground was strewn with glittering diamonds. She went over the hill with him, feeling that she had snatched one morehour in paradise. 

CHAPTER XIX

VENGEANCE

By what magic he cajoled her into trying her skill upon skis Anne neverafterwards remembered. It seemed to her later that the exhilaratingatmosphere of that cloudless winter day must in some magic fashion haverevived in her the youth which had been crushed out of existence so longago. A strange, irresponsible happiness possessed her, so new, so subtlysweet, that the heavy burden she had borne for so long seemed almost tohave shrunk into insignificance. It permeated her whole being like anoverpowering essence, so that she forgot the seven dreary years thatseparated her from her girlhood, forgot the bondage to which she wasreturning, the constant, ever-increasing anxiety that wrought somercilessly upon her; and remembered only the splendour of the sunshinethat sparkled on the snow, and the ecstasy of the keen clear air shebreathed. It was like an enchanting dream to her, a dream through whichshe lived with all the greater zest because it so soon must pass. 

All the pent energies of her vanished youth were in the dream. She couldnot--for that once she could not--deny them vent. 

And Nap, strung to a species of fierce gaiety that she had never seen inhim before, urged her perpetually on. He would not let her pause tothink, but yet he considered her at every turn. He scoffed like a boy ather efforts to ski, but he held her up strongly while he scoffed, takingcare of her with that adroitness that marked everything he did. And whilethey thus dallied the time passed swiftly, more swiftly than eitherrealised. The sun began to draw to the south-west. The diamonds ceased tosparkle save here and there obliquely. The haze of a winter afternoonsettled upon the downs. 

Suddenly Anne noticed these things, suddenly the weight of care which hadso wonderfully been lifted from her returned, suddenly the shininggarment of her youth slipped from her, and left her like Cinderella whenthe spell of her enchantment was broken. 

"Nap!" she exclaimed. "I must go! I must have been dreaming to forgetthe time!"

"Time!" laughed Nap. "What is time?"

"It is something that I have to remember, " she said. "Why, it must benearly two o'clock!"

Nap glanced at the sun and made no comment. Anne felt for and consultedher watch. It was already three. 

She looked up in amazement and dismay. "I must go at once!"

"Don't!" said Nap. "I am sure your watch is wrong. "

"I must go at once, " she repeated firmly. "It is long past the luncheonhour. I had no idea we had been here so long. You must go too. Yourchauffeur will think you are never coming. "

The skis were still on her feet. Nap looked at her speculatively. 

"This is rather an abrupt end, " he said. "Won't you have one more go? Afew minutes more or less can't make any difference now. "

"They may make all the difference, " Anne said. "Really, I ought not. "

They stood on a gentle slope that led downwards to the path shemust take. 

"Just ski down into the valley from here then, " urged Nap. "It's quickerthan walking. I won't hold you this time. You won't fall. "

The suggestion was reasonable, and the fascination of the sport had takenfirm hold of her. Anne smiled and yielded. She set her feet together andlet herself go. 

Almost at the same instant a sound that was like the bellow of aninfuriated bull reached her from above. 

She tried to turn, but the skis were already slipping over the snow. Topreserve her balance she was forced to go, and for seconds that seemedlike hours she slid down the hillside, her heart thumping in her throat;her nerves straining and twitching to check that maddening progress. Forshe knew that sound. She had heard it before, had shrunk secretly many atime before its coarse brutality. It was the yell of a man in headlong, furious wrath, an animal yell, unreasoning, hideously bestial; and shefeared, feared horribly, what that yell might portend. 

She reached the valley, and managed to swerve round without falling. Butfor an instant she could not, she dared not, raise her eyes. Clear on thefrosty air came sounds that made her blood turn cold. She felt as if herheart would suffocate her. A brief blindness blotted out all things. 

Then with an agonised effort she forced back her weakness, she forcedherself to look. Yes, the thing she had feared so horribly was beingenacted like a ghastly nightmare above her. 

There on the slope was her husband, a gigantic figure outlined againstthe snow. He had not stopped to parley. Those mad fits of passion alwaysdeprived him, at the outset, of the few reasoning powers that yetremained to him. Without question or explanation of any kind he had flunghimself upon the man he deemed his enemy, and Anne now beheld him, gripping him by the neck as a terrier grips a rat, and flogging him withthe loaded crop he always carried to the hunt. 

Nap was writhing to and fro like an eel, striving, she saw, to overthrowhis adversary. But the gigantic strength of madness was too great forhis lithe activity. By sheer weight he was borne down. 

With an anguished cry Anne started to intervene. But two steps with theskis flung her headlong upon the snow, and while she grovelled there, struggling vainly to rise, she heard the awful blows above her likepistol-shots through the stillness. Once she heard a curse, and once ademonical laugh, and once, thrilling her through and through, spurringher to wilder efforts, a dreadful sound that was like the cry of astricken animal. 

She gained her feet at last, and again started on her upward way. Nap hadbeen forced to his knees, but he was still fighting fiercely, as a ratwill fight to the last. She cried to him wildly that she was coming, wascoming, made three paces, only to trip and fall again. 

Then she knew that, so handicapped, she could never reach them, and withshaking, fumbling fingers she set herself to unfasten the straps thatbound the skis. It took her a long, long time--all the longer for herfevered haste. And still that awful, flail-like sound went on and on, though all sound of voices had wholly ceased. 

Free at last, she stumbled to her feet, and tore madly up the hill. Shesaw as she went that Nap was not struggling any longer. He was hanginglike a wet rag from the merciless grip that upheld him, and though hislimp body seemed to shudder at every crashing blow, he made no voluntarymovement of any sort. 

As she drew near, her husband suddenly swung round as though aware ofher, and dropped him. He fell in a huddled heap upon the snow, and lay, twisted, motionless as a dead thing. 

Sir Giles, his eyes suffused and terrible, turned upon his wife. 

"There lies your gallant lover!" he snarled at her. "I think I've curedhim of his fancy for you. "

Her eyes met his. For a single instant, hatred, unveiled, passionate, shone out at him like sudden, darting lightning. For a single instant shedared him with the courage born of hatred. It was a challenge so distinctand personal, so fierce, that he, satiated for the moment with revenge, drew back instinctively before it, as an animal shrinks from the flame. 

She uttered not a word. She did not after that one scorching glance deignto do battle with him. Without a gesture she dismissed him, kneelingbeside his vanquished foe as though he were already gone. 

And--perhaps it was the utter intrepidity of her bearing that deprivedhim of the power to carry his brutality any further just then--perhapsthe ferocity that he had never before encountered in those grey eyescowed him somewhat in spite of the madness that still sang in hisveins--whatever the motive power it was too potent to resist--Sir Gilesturned and tramped heavily away. 

Anne did not watch him go. It was nothing to her at the moment whether hewent or stayed. She knelt beside the huddled, unconscious figure andtried to straighten the crumpled limbs. The sweater had been literallytorn from his back, and the shirt beneath it was in blood-stainedtatters. His face was covered with blood. Sir Giles had not beenparticular as to where the whip had fallen. Great purple welts crossedand re-crossed each other on the livid features. The bleeding lips weredrawn back in a devilish grimace. He looked as though he had beenterribly mauled by some animal. 

Anne gripped a handful of snow, hardly knowing what she did, and tried tostanch the blood that ran from an open cut on his temple. She was nottrembling any longer. The emergency had steadied her. But the agony ofthose moments was worse than any she had ever known. 

Minutes passed. She was beginning to despair. An icy dread was at herheart. He lay so lifeless, so terribly inert. She had attempted to lifthim, but the dead weight was too much for her. She could only rest hishead against her, and wipe away the blood that trickled persistently fromthat dreadful, sneering mouth. Would he ever speak again, she askedherself? Were the fiery eyes fast shut for ever? Was he dead--he whosevitality had always held her like a charm? Had her friendship done thisfor him, that friendship he had valued so highly?

She stooped lower over him. The anguish of the thought was more than shecould bear. 

"O God, " she prayed suddenly and passionately, "don't let him die! Don'tlet him die!"

And in that moment Nap's eyes opened wide and fixed themselves upon her. 

He did not attempt to move or speak, but the snarling look went whollyout of his face. The thin lips met and closed over the battered mouth. Helay regarding her intently, as if he were examining some curious thing hehad never seen before. 

And before that gaze Anne's eyes wavered and sank. She felt she couldnever meet his look again. 

"Are you better?" she whispered. "Can I--will you let me--help you?"

"No, " he said. "Just--leave me!" He spoke quite quietly, but the verysound of his voice sent a perfect storm of emotion through her. 

"I can't!" she said almost fiercely. "I won't! Let me help you! Let me dowhat I can!"

He stirred a little, and his brow contracted, but he never took his eyesfrom her face. 

"Don't be--upset, " he said with an effort. "I'm not going--to die!"

"Tell me what to do, " she urged piteously. "Can I lift you alittle higher?"

"For Heaven's sake--no!" he said, and swallowed a shudder. "Mycollar-bone's broken. "

He was silent for a space, but still his dusky eyes watched herperpetually. 

At last, "Let me hold your hand, " he said. 

She put it into his, and he held it tightly. The blood was running downhis face again, and she wiped it softly away. 

"Thank you, " he said. 

Those two words, spoken almost under his breath, had a curious effectupon her. She felt as if something had suddenly entered and pierced herheart. Before she knew it, a sharp sob escaped her, and then all in amoment she broke down. 

"Oh, Nap, Nap, " she sobbed, "I wish I had died before this could happen!"

She felt his hand tighten as she crouched there beside him in heranguish, and presently she knew that he had somehow managed to raisehimself to a sitting posture. 

Through her agony his voice came to her. It was pitched very low, yetshe heard it. 

"Don't cry--for pity's sake! I shall get over it. I shall live--to getback--my own. "

Torn by emotion as she was, something in the last words, spoken in thatcurious undertone, struck her with a subtle force. With a desperateeffort she controlled herself. She knew that he was still watching herwith that strange intensity that she could not bring herself to meet. Hisright hand still held hers with quivering tenacity; the other traileduselessly on the snow. 

"Let me help you, " she urged again. 

He was silent; she feared he was going to refuse. And then she saw thathis head had begun to droop forward, and realised that he was on theverge of another collapse. Instinctively she slipped her arm about hisshoulders, supporting him. He was shuddering all over. She drew his headto rest against her. 

A long time passed thus, she kneeling motionless, holding him, while hepanted against her breast, struggling with dogged persistence to masterthe weakness that threatened to overpower him. It was terrible to see himso, he the arrogant, the fierce, the overbearing, thus humbled to theearth before her. She felt the agony of his crushed pride, and yearnedwith an intensity that was passionate to alleviate it. But there seemednothing for her to do. She could only kneel and look on in bitterimpotence while he fought his battle. 

In the end he lifted his face. "It's the collarbone that hurts soinfernally. Could you push something under my left arm to hold it up?Your muff would do. Mind my wrist--that's broken too. Ah!" She heard thebreath whistle sharply between his lips as with the utmost care shecomplied with these instructions, but almost instantly he went on: "Don'tbe afraid of touching me--unless I'm too monstrous to touch. But I don'tbelieve I can walk. "

"I will help you, " she said. "I am very strong. "

"You are--wonderful, " he said. 

And the words comforted her subtly though she did not know exactly whathe meant by them. 

Thereafter they scarcely spoke at all. By slow degrees he recovered hisself-command, though she knew with only too keen a perception howintolerable was the pain that racked his whole body. With her assistanceand with strenuous effort he managed at last to get upon his feet, but hewas immediately assailed afresh by deadly faintness, and for minutes hecould stand only by means of her arms upholding him. 

Later, with his one available arm across her shoulders, he essayed towalk, but it was so ghastly an ordeal that he could accomplish only a fewsteps at a time. 

Anne did not falter now. She was past that stage. All her nerves werestrung to meet his pressing need. Again and again as he hung upon her, half-fainting, she stopped to support him more adequately till he hadfought down his exhaustion and was ready to struggle on again. Sheremained steadfast and resolute throughout the long-drawn-out agony ofthat walk over the snow. 

"Great Heaven!" he muttered once. "That you should do this--for me!"

And she answered him quickly and passionately, as though indeed therewere something within that spoke for her, "I would do anything foryou, Nap. "

It was drawing near to sunset when at last the end of the journey came insight. Anne perceived the car waiting in the distance close to the spotwhere Nap had descended upon her that morning. 

She breathed a sigh of thankfulness. "I scarcely thought he would havewaited for you so long, " she said. 

"He daren't do otherwise, " said Nap, and she caught a faint echo ofarrogance in the words. 

And then of his own free will he paused and faced her. "You are comingwith me, " he said. 

She shook her head. "No, Nap. "

His eyes blazed redly. His disfigured face was suddenly devilish. "Youare mad if you go back, " he said. 

But she shook her head again. "No, I know what I am doing. And I am goingback now. But I will come to Baronmead in the morning. "

He looked at her. "Are you--tired of life?" he asked abruptly. 

She smiled--a piteous smile. "Very, very tired!" she said. "But youneedn't be afraid of that. He will not touch me. He will not even see meto-night. " Then, as he still looked combative, "Oh, please, leave thismatter to my judgment! I know exactly what I am doing. Believe me, I amin no danger. "

He gave in, seeing that she was not to be moved from her purpose. 

They went a few yards farther; then, "In Heaven's name--come early toBaronmead, " he said jerkily. "I shall have no peace till you come. "

"I will, " she promised. 

The chauffeur came to meet them with clumsy solicitude as they neared thecar, but Nap kept him at a distance. 

"Don't touch me! I've had a bad fall skiing. It's torn me to ribbons. Just open the door. Lady Carfax will do the rest!" And as the man turnedto obey, "Not a very likely story, but it will serve our turn. "

"Thank you, " she said very earnestly. 

He did not look at her again. She had a feeling that he kept his eyesfrom her by a deliberate effort of the will. 

Silently she helped him into the car, saw him sink back with her muffstill supporting his injured arm, whispered a low "Good-bye!" and turnedto the waiting chauffeur. 

"Drive him quickly home, " she said. "And then go for a doctor. "

Not till the car was out of sight did she realise that her knees wereshaking and refusing to support her. She tottered to a gate by theroadside, and there, clinging weakly with her head bowed upon her arms, she remained for a very long time. 

CHAPTER XX

THE VISION

It was growing dusk when Anne at length came to the Manor. She wasutterly weary and faint from lack of food. The servant who admitted herlooked at her strangely, as if half afraid. 

"Please have tea taken to my sitting-room, " she said quietly, as shepassed him. 

And with that she went straight to her room. Standing before a mirror toremove her hat, she caught sight of something that seemed to stab herheart. The cream cloth coat she wore was all spattered with blood. 

She stood rigid, not breathing, staring into the white face aboveit--the white face of a woman she hardly knew, with compressed lips andwild, tragic eyes. What was it those eyes held? Was it hatred? Was itmadness? Was it--?

She broke away horror-stricken, and stripped the coat from her with handslike ice. Again through her mind, with feverish insistence, ran thosewords that had startled her earlier in the day. She found herselfrepeating them deliriously, under her breath: "I beheld Satan--aslightning--fall from heaven!"

Why did they haunt her so? What was it in the utterance thatfrightened her? What meaning did they hold for her? What hidden terrorlay behind it? What had happened to her? What nightmare horror wasthis clawing at her heart, lacerating, devouring, destroying? It wassomething she had never felt before, something too terrible to face, too overwhelming to ignore. 

Was she going mad, she asked herself? And like a dreadful answer to ariddle inscrutable her white lips whispered those haunting unforgettablewords: "I beheld Satan--as lightning--fall from heaven. "

Mechanically she bathed her face and hands and passed into hersitting-room, where her tea awaited her. A bright fire crackled there, and her favourite chair was drawn up to it. The kettle hissed merrily ona spirit-lamp. 

Entering, she found, somewhat to her surprise, old Dimsdale waiting toserve her. 

"Thank you, " she said. "I can help myself. "

"If your ladyship will allow me, " he said deferentially. 

She sat down, conscious of a physical weakness she could not control. Andthe old butler, quiet and courteous and very grave, proceeded to make thetea and wait upon her in silence. 

Anne lay back in her chair with her eyes upon the fire, and accepted hisministrations without further speech. There was a very thoroughunderstanding between herself and Dimsdale, an understanding establishedand maintained without words. 

The tea revived her, and after a little she turned her head and lookedup at him. 

"Well, Dimsdale?"

Dimsdale coughed. "It was about Sir Giles that I wanted to speak to yourladyship. "

"Well?" she said again. 

"Sir Giles, my lady, is not himself--not at all himself, " Dimsdale toldher cautiously. "I was wondering just before you came in if I didn'tought to send for the doctor. "

"Why, Dimsdale?" Anne looked straight up into the old man's troubledface, but her eyes had a strangely aloof expression, as though the matterscarcely touched her. 

Dimsdale shook his head. "It's not the same as usual, my lady. I've neverseen him like this before. There's something--I don't rightly knowwhat--about him that fair scares me. If your ladyship will only let mesend for the doctor--"

He paused. Anne's eyes had gone back to the fire. She seemed to beconsidering. 

"I don't think the doctor would be at home, " she said at last. "Wait tillthe morning, Dimsdale--unless he is really ill. "

"My lady, it's not that, " said Dimsdale. "There's nothing ails his body. But--but--" he faltered a little, and finally, "It's his mind, " he said, "if I may make so bold as to say it. I don't believe as he's safe. I'mafraid he'll be doing a mischief to--someone. "

His pause was not lost upon Anne. Again she raised her eyes and steadilyregarded him. 

"To whom, Dimsdale?" she asked. 

"My lady--" the old man murmured unwillingly. 

"To me?" she questioned in a quiet, unmoved voice. "Why are youafraid of that?"

Dimsdale hesitated. 

"Tell me, " she said. But again her eyes had sunk to the fire. She seemedas one not vitally interested, as one whose thoughts were elsewhere. 

Reluctantly Dimsdale made answer: "He's been cutting your ladyship'sportrait into strips and burning 'em in the study fire. It was dreadfulto see him, so intent like and quiet. I saw him put his hand right intothe flame once, and he didn't seem to know. And he came in in one of hisblack moods with his hunting-crop broken right in two. Carrying thepieces he was, and glaring like as if all the world was against him. Iwas afraid there would be trouble when he came home to lunch and foundyour ladyship not there. "

He stopped, arrested by a sudden movement from Anne. She had leanedforward and covered her face with her hands. The tension of her attitudewas such that Dimsdale became strongly aware that his presence was anintrusion. Yet, the matter being urgent, he stood his ground. 

He waited silently, and presently Anne lifted her head. "I think youmust leave the matter till the morning, Dimsdale, " she said. "It could dono good to have the doctor at this hour. Besides, I doubt if he couldcome. And Sir Giles will be himself again after a night's rest. "

"I'm very much afraid not, my lady, " said Dimsdale lugubriously. "He'sdrinking brandy--neat brandy--all the while. I've never seen him drinklike that before. It fair scares me, and that's the truth. "

"You are not afraid on your own account?" Anne asked. 

"Oh, no, my lady. He wouldn't interfere with me. It's your ladyship--"

"Ah, well, " she said, quietly interrupting, "you need not be afraid forme either. I shall not go downstairs again to-night. He will not beexpecting me. "

"Very good, my lady. "

Dimsdale looked somewhat relieved but not wholly satisfied. He lingeredas if he longed yet did not dare to say more. 

As for Anne, she sat quite motionless gazing into the fire, her handsclasped very tightly before her. She seemed to have dismissed the subjectunder discussion and the faithful Dimsdale simultaneously from her mind. 

After a few seconds the old butler realised this, and without further adohe removed the tea-things and went quietly away. 

Anne did not notice his departure. She was too deep in thought. Herbrain was steadier now, and she found it possible to think. For the firsttime she was asking herself if she would be justified in bringing herlong martyrdom to an end. She had fulfilled her part of the bargain, patiently, conscientiously, unflaggingly, throughout those seven bitteryears. She had married her husband without loving him, and he had neversought to win her love. He had married her for the sake of conqueringher, attracted by the very coldness with which she had tried in hergirlhood to repel him. She had caught his fancy in those far-off days. Her queenliness, her grace, had captivated him. And later, with the sheerhunter's instinct, he had pursued her, and had eventually discovered ameans of entrapping her. He had named his conditions and she had namedhers. In the end he had dispatched the father to Canada and made thedaughter his wife. 

But his fancy for her had scarcely outlasted his capture. He had takenpleasure for a while in humiliating her, counting it sport if hesucceeded in arousing her rare indignation. But soon even this had ceasedto amuse him. He had developed into that most odious of all bullies, thedomestic tyrant, and had therewith sunk back into those habits ofintemperance which his marriage had scarcely interrupted. He was manyyears her senior. He treated her as a slave, and if now and then anuncomfortable sensation of inferiority assailed him, he took his revengeupon her in evil, glowering tempers that rendered him more of a beastthan a man. 

But yet she had borne with him. By neither word nor action had she evervoluntarily widened the breach between them: His growing dislike had nothad any visible effect upon her. She had done her duty faithfully throughall, had borne his harshness and his insults in silence, with a patiencetoo majestic, too colossal, for his understanding. 

And now for the first time she asked herself, Did he want to be rid ofher? Had he invented this monstrous grievance to drive her from him? Werethe days of her bondage indeed drawing at last to an end? Had she bornewith him long enough? Was she free--was she free to go?

Her heart quickened at the bare thought. How gladly would she set herselfto make a living when once this burden had been lifted from her!

But she would not relinquish it without his sanction. She would befaithful to the last, true to that bargain she had struck with him solong ago. Yet surely he could not refuse it. She was convinced that hehated her. 

Again she felt that strange new life thrilling in her veins. Again shefelt herself almost young. To be free! To be free! To choose her ownfriends without fear; to live her own life in peace; to know no furthertumults or petty tyrannies--to be free!

The prospect dazzled her. She lifted her face and gasped for breath. 

Then, hearing a sound at her door, she turned. 

A white-faced servant stood on the threshold. "If you please, my lady, your coat is in a dreadful state. I was afraid there must have been anaccident. "

Anne stared at the woman for a few seconds with the dazed eyes of onesuddenly awakened. 

"Yes, " she said slowly at length. "There was--an accident. Mr. Nap Errolwas--hurt while skiing. "

The woman looked at her with frank curiosity, but there was that abouther mistress at the moment that did not encourage inquiry or comment. 

She stood for a little silent; then, "What had I better do with the coat, my lady?" she asked diffidently. 

Anne made an abrupt gesture. The dazed look in her eyes had given placeto horror. "Take it away!" she said sharply. "Do what you like with it! Inever want to see it again. "

"Very good, my lady. "

The woman withdrew, and Anne covered her face with her hands once more, and shuddered from head to foot. 

CHAPTER XXI

AT THE MERCY OF A DEMON

Some time later Anne seated herself at her writing-table. 

The idea of writing to her husband had come to her as an inspiration; notbecause she shirked an interview--she knew that to be inevitable--butbecause she realised that the first step taken thus would make the finaldecision easier for them both. 

She did not find it hard to put her thoughts into words. Her mind wasvery clear upon the matter in hand. She knew exactly what she desired tosay. Only upon the subject of her friendship with Nap she could not bringherself to touch. A day earlier she could have spoken of it, even in theface of his hateful suspicion, without restraint. But to-night she couldnot. It was as if a spell of silence had been laid upon her, a spellwhich she dared not attempt to break. She dared not even think of Napjust then. 

It was not a very long letter that she wrote, sitting there in thesilence of her room, and it did not take her long to write. But when itwas finished, closed and directed, she sat on with her chin upon herhand, thinking. It seemed scarcely conceivable that he would refuse tolet her go. 

She could not imagine herself to be in any sense necessary to him. Shehad helped him with the estate in many ways, but she had done nothingthat a trustworthy agent could not do, save, perhaps, in the matter ofcaring for the poorer tenants. They would miss her, she told herself, butno one else. It was very long since she had entertained any guests at theManor. Sir Giles had offended almost everyone who could ever have claimedthe privilege of intimacy with him. And people wondered openly that hiswife still lived with him. Well, they would not wonder much longer. 

And when her life was at her own disposal what would she do with it?

There were many things she might do; as secretary, as companion, asmusic-teacher, as cook. She knew she need not be at a loss. And again theprospect of freedom from a yoke that galled her intolerably made herheart leap. 

A slight sound in the passage brought her out of her reverie. She glancedup. It was probably Dimsdale. She would give him the note to deliver tohis master in the morning. She crossed to the door and opened it. 

The next instant, in amazement, she drew back. On the threshold, face toface with her, stood her husband!

He did not give her time to speak, but pushed straight forward into theroom as if in haste. His face was white and purple in patches. His eyeswere narrowed and furtive. There was something unspeakably evil in theway they avoided hers. He carried his right hand behind him. 

He began to speak at once in quick, staccato tones, with which she wasutterly unfamiliar. 

"So you think you are going to escape me, do you? But you won't! No, notfor all the Errols in the world!"

She did not answer him. There was something so utterly unusual in thisabrupt visitation that she knew not how to cope with it. But he scarcelywaited for an answer. He swung the door behind him with a bang. 

"Do you remember, " he said, his staccato tone merging into one of risingviolence, "a promise I made to you the first time I caught that scoundrelmaking love to you? I swore that if it happened again I'd thrash him. Well, I'm a man who keeps his promises. I've kept that one. And now it'syour turn. I thought at first I'd kill you. But I fancy this will hurtyou more. "

His hand shot suddenly out from behind him, and there followed thewhistle of a thong--the thick, leathern thong with which he kept hisdogs in order. 

It struck her as she stood before him, struck and curled about hershoulders with a searching, scalding agony that turned her sick, wringingfrom her a cry that would never have been uttered had she been prepared. 

But before he could strike again she was ready to cope with his madness. On the instant she sprang, not from him, but to him, clasping his armswith both of hers. 

"Giles!" she said, and her voice rang clear and commanding. "You are notyourself. You don't know what you are doing. Look at me! Do you hear?Look at me!"

That was his vulnerable point, and instinctively she knew it. He wasafraid--as a wild animal is afraid--of the compulsion of her eyes. But hefought with her savagely, furiously, refusing to face her, strugglingwith inarticulate oaths to break away from her clinging arms. 

And Anne was powerless against him, powerless as Nap had been earlierin the day, to make any impression against his frenzied strength. Shewas impotent as a child in that awful grip, and in a very few secondsshe knew it. 

He had already wrung his arm free and raised it to strike a second blow, while she shut her eyes in anguished expectation, still clinging blindlyto his coat, when the door burst open with a crash and Dimsdale toreinto the room. 

Anne heard his coming, but she could not turn. She was waiting with everynerve stretched and quivering for the thong to fall. And when it didnot, when Dimsdale, with a strength abnormal for his years, flung himselfat the upraised arm and bore it downwards, she was conscious not ofrelief, but only of a sudden snapping of that awful tension that was likea rending asunder of her very being. She relaxed her hold and totteredback against the wall. 

"He will kill you!" she heard herself saying to Dimsdale. "He willkill you!"

But Dimsdale clung like a limpet. Through the surging uproar of herreeling senses Anne heard his voice. 

"Sir Giles! Sir Giles! This won't do, sir. You've got a bit beyondyourself. Come along with me, Sir Giles. You are not well. You ought tobe in bed. Now, now, Sir Giles! Give it up! Come! Here's West to helpyou undress. "

But Sir Giles fought to be free, cursing hideously, writhing this way andthat with Dimsdale hanging to him; and at sight of the footman hasteningto the old man's assistance he put forth a strength so terrific that heswung him completely off the ground. 

"He's too much for me!" shouted Dimsdale. "My lady, go--go, for the loveof heaven! Quick, West! Quick! Trip him! It's the only way! Ah!"

They went down in a fearful, struggling heap. Sir Giles underneath, butmaking so violent a fight that the whole room seemed to shake. 

And Anne stood and looked upon the whole ghastly spectacle as oneturned to stone. 

So standing, propped against the wall, she saw the young under-footmancome swiftly in, and had a glimpse of his horrified face as he leaptforward to join the swaying, heaving mass of figures upon the floor. Hiscoming seemed to make a difference. Sir Giles's struggles became lessgigantic, became spasmodic, convulsive, futile, finally ceasedaltogether. He lay like a dead man, save that his features twitchedhorribly as if evil spirits were at work upon him. 

The whole conflict had occupied but a few minutes, but to the rigidwatcher it had been an eternity of fearful tumult. Yet the hard-breathingsilence that followed was almost more terrible still. 

Out of it arose old Dimsdale, wiping his forehead with a shaking hand. 

"He didn't hurt your ladyship?" he questioned anxiously. 

But she could not take her eyes from the motionless figure upon the flooror answer him. 

He drew nearer. "My lady, " he said, "come away from here!"

But Anne never stirred. 

He laid a very humble hand upon her arm. "Let me take you downstairs, " heurged gently. "There's a friend there waiting for your ladyship--afriend as will understand. "

"A--friend?" She turned her head stiffly, her eyes still striving toremain fixed upon that mighty, inert form. 

"Yes, my lady. He only came a few minutes back. He is waiting in thedrawing-room. It was Sir Giles he asked to see, said it was veryparticular. It was West here took the message to Sir Giles, and I thinkit was that as made him come up here so mad like. I came after him assoon as I heard. But the gentleman is still waiting, my lady. Will yousee him and--explain?"

"Who is the gentleman?" Anne heard the question, but not as if sheherself had uttered it. The voice that spoke seemed to come from animmense distance. 

And from equally far seemed to come Dimsdale's answer, though it reachedand pierced her understanding in an instant. 

"It's Mr. Errol, my lady, --the crippled one. Mr. Lucas, I thinkhis name is. "

Anne turned then as sharply as though a voice had called her. 

"Lucas Errol! Is he here? Ah, take me to him! Take me to him!"

And the old butler led her thankfully from the scene. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE CITY OF REFUGE

The moment Lucas Errol's hand closed upon hers it was to Anne as if animmense and suffocating weight had been lifted from her, and with it allher remaining strength crumbled away as if her burden alone hadsustained her. 

She looked at him, meeting the kind, searching eyes without effort, trying piteously to speak, but her white lips only moved soundlessly, herthroat seemed paralysed. 

"Her ladyship has had a shock, sir, " explained Dimsdale. 

"Won't you sit down?" said Lucas gently. In a moment she found herselfsitting on a sofa with this stanch friend of hers beside her, holding herhand. A few words passed between him and Dimsdale, which she scarcelyheard and was too weak to comprehend, and then they were alone together, she and Lucas in a silence she felt powerless to break. 

"You mustn't mind me, Lady Carfax, " he said. "I know what you have comethrough. I understand. "

Dimly she heard the words, but she could not respond to them. Shewas shivering, shivering with a violence that she was utterly unableto repress. 

He did not speak again till Dimsdale came back with a tray, then again heexchanged a few murmured sentences with the old butler, who presentlysaid, "Very good, sir, " and went softly away. 

Then Lucas turned again to Anne. "Drink this, " he said. "It willrevive you. "

She groped for the glass he held towards her, but trembled so much thatshe could not take it. 

"Let me, " he said, and put it himself to her lips. 

She drank slowly, shuddering, her teeth chattering against the glass. 

"Lay your head down upon the cushion, " he said then, "and shut your eyes. You will be better soon. "

"You--you won't go?" she managed to whisper. 

"Why, no, " he said. "It's for your sake I've come. I guess I'm a fixturefor so long as you want me. "

She breathed a sigh of relief and lay back. 

A long time passed. Anne lay motionless with closed eyes, too crushed forthought. And Lucas Errol watched beside her, grave and patient and still. 

Suddenly there came a sound, piercing the silence, a sound that made Annestart upright in wild terror. 

"What is it? What is it?"

Instantly and reassuringly Lucas's hand clasped hers. "Don't be afraid!"he said. "They are moving him to another room, that's all. "

She sank back, shuddering, her face hidden. The sound continued, seemingto come nearer--the sound of a man's voice shrieking horribly for help, in piercing accents of terror that might have come from atorture-chamber. Suddenly the yells became articulate, resolved intowords: "Anne! Anne! Anne!" in terrible crescendo. 

She sprang up with a sharp cry. 

But on the instant the man beside her spoke. "Anne, you are not to go. "

She paused irresolute. "I must! I must! He is calling me!"

"You are not to go, " he reiterated, and for the first time she heard thedominant note in his voice. "Come here, child! Come close to me! It willsoon be over. "

Her irresolution passed like a cloud. She looked down, saw his blue eyesshining straight up at her, kind still, but compelling. And she droppedupon her knees beside him and hid her face upon his shoulder, with thecry of, "Help me! Help me! I can't bear it!"

He folded his arms about her as though he had been a woman, andheld her fast. 

Long after the awful sounds had died away Anne knelt there, sobbing, utterly unstrung, all her pride laid low, herself no more than a broken, agonised woman. But gradually, from sheer exhaustion, her sobs becameless anguished, till at length they ceased. A strange peace, whollyunaccountable, fell gently upon her torn spirit. But even then it waslong before she moved. She felt an overwhelming reluctance to withdrawherself from the shelter of those quiet arms. 

"What must you think of me?" she whispered at last, her face stillhidden. 

"My dear, " he said, "I understand. "

He did not offer to release her, but as she moved she found herself free, she found herself able to look into his face. 

"I shall never forget your goodness to me, " she said very earnestly. 

He smiled a little, after a fashion she did not wholly comprehend. "Mydear Lady Carfax! You underrate friendship when you say a thing likethat. Sit down, won't you? And let me tell you what brought me here. "

"Nap told you--" she hazarded. 

"Yes, Nap told me. And I decided I had better come at once. I wasn't inwhen he got back, or I should have been here sooner. I saw there had beena gross misunderstanding, and I hoped I should be able to get yourhusband to take a reasonable view. "

"Ah!" she said, with a shiver. "I--I'm thankful you didn't meet. "

"I am sorry, " Lucas said quietly. And though he said no more, she knewthat he was thinking of her. 

"How is Nap?" she ventured hesitatingly. 

"Nap, " he said with deliberation, "will be himself again in a very fewweeks. You need have no anxiety for him. "

Again she did not wholly understand his tone. She glanced at himnervously, half afraid that he was keeping something from her. 

"You really mean that?"

His eyes met hers, very level and direct. "He is badly battered, ofcourse. But--he is not quite like other men. He has no nerves to speak ofin a physical sense. He will make a quick recovery. Broken bones meanvery little to a man of his calibre. "

She heard him with relief mingled with a faint wonder at his confidenceon this point. 

"The doctor has seen him?" she asked. 

"Yes; and I have sent my man in the motor to ask him to come on here. "

She shivered again irrepressibly. "Giles hates Dr. Randal. "

"I do not think that will make any difference, " Lucas said gently. 

Thereafter they sat together almost in silence, till the buzzing of themotor told of the doctor's arrival. Then with the aid of a stick Lucasbegan to drag himself laboriously to his feet. Anne rose to help him. 

He took her arm, looking at her shrewdly. 

"Lady Carfax, will you let me speak to him alone?"

"If you wish it, " she said. 

"I do wish it. " His eyes passed hers suddenly and rested upon the lace ather neck. In one place it was torn, and the soft flesh was revealed;revealed also was a long red stripe, swollen and turning. In an instanthis glance fell, but she saw his brows contract as if at a sharp twingeof pain. "I do wish it, " he said again very gently. "P'r'aps you willwait for me here. "

And with that he relinquished her arm, and made his halting, difficultway across the room to the door. 

Anne sat down before the fire to wait. She had, to a large extent, recovered her self-control, but a deadly weariness was upon her which shefound it impossible to shake off. She kept it at bay for a time while shelistened for any sound. But no sound came, and at length exhausted natureprevailed. 

When Lucas came back she was sunk in her chair asleep. 

He took up his stand near her while he waited for the doctor, and againthat deep furrow showed between his brows. But the eyes that watched herwere soft and tender as a woman's. There was something almost maternal intheir regard, a compassion so deep as to be utterly unconscious ofitself. When the doctor's step sounded at length outside he shuffled awaywithout disturbing her. 

It was hours later when Anne awoke and sat up with a confused sense ofsomething wrong. She was still in her easy-chair before the fire, whichburned brightly as ever, while on the other side of the hearth, proppedupright upon cushions and watching her with those steady blue eyes, whosekindness never varied, was Lucas Errol. 

He spoke to her at once, very softly and gently, as if she hadbeen a child. 

"I'm real pleased you've had a sleep. You needed it. Don't look sostartled. It's all right--a little late, but that's nothing. Dimsdaleand I agreed that it would be a pity to disturb you. So we let you sleepon. And he brought in a tray of refreshments to fortify you when youawoke. He's a thoughtful old chap, Lady Carfax. You're lucky to havesuch a servant. "

But Anne scarcely heard him. She was staring at the clock in amazement. It was half-past three! Just twelve hours since--She repressed aviolent shudder. 

"Don't be shocked any!" besought Lucas in his easy drawl. "I'm oftenawake at this hour. I guessed you wouldn't sleep if we woke you to go toyour room, and I didn't quite like the thought of being down here out ofreach. You are not vexed with me, I hope?"

"No, " she said. "I am not vexed. "

But she looked at him very strangely, as if that were not all shedesired to say. 

"Dimsdale has been in and out, " he said, "keeping the fire going. He andone of the others are watching upstairs. But all is quiet there. SirGiles has been asleep ever since the doctor left. "

Anne got up slowly. "You look very uncomfortable, " she said. 

He smiled up at her. "My dear Lady Carfax, I am all right. The advantageof this position is that one can rise at a moment's notice. "

As if to demonstrate the truth of this he rose, but not withoutconsiderable effort. 

"Ah, please don't!" she said, putting out a quick, restraining hand. "Ithurts me to see you suffer on my account. It was too kind of you--muchtoo kind--to stay with me like this. You will never know how much youhave helped me, and I thank you for it with all my heart. Now please sitdown again, and let me wait upon you for a change. Have you had anythingto eat or drink?"

He sat down again, looking quizzical. "I have been waiting for my hostessto join me, " he said. 

"Do you ever think of yourself at all?" she asked, turning aside to thetray that Dimsdale's consideration had provided. 

"A great deal more often than you imagine, " smiled Lucas. "Must youreally do the waiting? It's very bad for me, you know. "

He joked with her gently through the light repast that followed. Andthough she scarcely responded, she let him see her gratitude. 

Finally, he laid aside all pretence of humour and spoke to her veryquietly and gravely of her husband. The doctor thought it advisable toremove him from the Manor with as little delay as possible. He wouldconsult her about it in the morning. His brain was without doubt veryseriously affected, and it might take some months to recover. It wasessential that he should be taken away from familiar surroundings andpeople whom he knew. 

Anne listened with a whitening face. She asked no questions. Lucassupplied every detail with the precision that characterised most of hisutterances. Finally he spoke of her position, advised her strongly toemploy an agent for the estate, and promised his help in this or anyother matter in which she might care to avail herself of it. 

He seemed to take it for granted that she would remain at the head ofaffairs, and it gradually dawned upon Anne that she could not well dootherwise. Her presence for a time at least seemed indispensable. Theresponsibility had become hers and she could not at that stage shake itoff. Her dream of freedom was over. Of what the future might hold for hershe could not even begin to think. But the present was very clearlydefined. It remained only for her to "do the work that was nearest" asbravely as she might. 

When Lucas ended she leaned forward and gave him her hand. "I wonderwhat I should have done without you, " she said. "I believe I shouldhave gone mad too. "

"No, no, Lady Carfax!"

She smiled faintly; the tears were standing in her eyes. "Yes, I know. You don't like to be thanked. But you have been like a mother to me in mytrouble, and--I shall always remember it. "

The blue eyes began to twinkle humorously. The hand that held hers closedwith a very friendly pressure. 

"Well, " drawled the kindly American voice, "I'll be shot if thatisn't the kindest thing that anyone ever said to me. And I believeyou meant it too. "

"Yes, I meant it, " Anne said. 

And though she smiled also there was genuine feeling in her words. 

PART II

CHAPTER I

THE JESTER'S RETURN

The gradual coming of spring that year was like a benediction after theprolonged rigour of the frost. The lengthening evenings were wrapped inpearly mystery, through which the soft rain fell in showers of blessingupon the waiting earth. To Anne, it was as though a great peace haddescended upon all things, quelling all tumult. She had resolutely takenup her new burden, which was so infinitely easier than the old, and shefound a strange happiness in the bearing of it. The management of herhusband's estate kept her very fully occupied, so that she had no timefor perplexing problems. She took each day as it came, and each day lefther stronger. 

Once only had she been to Baronmead since the masquerade on the ice. Itwas in fulfilment of her promise to Nap, but she had not seen him; and asthe weeks slipped by she began to wonder at his prolonged silence. Forno word of any sort reached her from him. He seemed to have forgotten hervery existence. That he was well again she knew from Lucas, who oftencame over in the motor with his mother. 

As his brother had predicted he had made a rapid recovery; but no soonerwas he well than he was gone with a suddenness that surprised no one butAnne. She concluded that his family knew where he was to be found, but nonews of his whereabouts reached her. Nap was the one subject upon whichneither Mrs. Errol nor her elder son ever expanded, and for some namelessreason Anne shrank from asking any questions regarding him. She wasconvinced that he would return sooner or later. She was convinced that, whatever appearances might be, he had not relinquished the bond offriendship that linked them. She did not understand him. She believed himto be headlong and fiercely passionate, but beneath all there seemed toher to be a certain stability, a tenacity of purpose, that nocircumstance, however tragic, could thwart. She knew, deep in the heartof her she knew, that he would come back. 

She would not spend much thought upon him in those days. Somethingstood ever in the path of thought. Invariably she encountered it, andas invariably she turned aside, counting her new peace as too preciousto hazard. 

Meanwhile she went her quiet way, sometimes aided by Lucas, but moreoften settling her affairs alone, neither attempting nor desiring tolook into the future. 

The news of Sir Giles's illness spread rapidly through the neighbourhood, and people began to be very kind to her. She knew no one intimately. Herhusband's churlishness had deprived her of almost all social intercourse, but never before had she realised how completely he was held responsiblefor her aloofness. 

Privately, she would have preferred to maintain her seclusion, but it wasnot in her to be ungracious. She felt bound to accept the ready sympathyextended to her. It touched her, even though, had the choice been hers, she would have done without it. Lucas also urged her in his kindlyfashion not to lead a hermit's existence. Mrs. Errol was insistent uponthe point. 

"Don't you do it, dear, " was her exhortation. "There may not be much goodto be got out of society, I'll admit. But it's one better than solitude. Don't you shut yourself up and fret. I reckon the Lord didn't herd ustogether for nothing, and it's His scheme of creation anyway. "

And so Anne tried to be cordial; with the result that on a certainmorning in early May there reached her a short friendly note from Mrs. Damer, wife of the M. F. H. , begging her to dine with them quite informallyon the following night. 

"There will only be a few of us, all intimate friends, " the note said. "Do come. I have been longing to ask you for such an age. "

Anne's brows drew together a little over the note. She had always likedMrs. Damer, but her taste for dinner-parties was a minus quantity. Yetshe knew that the invitation had been sent in sheer kindness. Mrs. Damerwas always kind to everyone, and it was not the fashion among her circleof friends to disappoint her. 

Anne considered the matter, contemplated an excuse, finally rejected it, and wrote an acceptance. 

She wore the dress of shimmering green in which she had appeared at theHunt Ball. Vividly the memory of that night swept across her. She had notworn it since, and scarcely knew what impulse moved her to don it now. Itwell became her stately figure. Dimsdale, awaiting her departure at thehall-door, looked at her with the admiring reverence he might havebestowed upon a queen. 

Again, during her drive through the dark, the memory of that winter nightflashed back upon her. She recalled that smooth, noiseless journey inwhich she had seemed to be borne upon wings. She recalled her misery andher weariness, her dream and her awakening. Nap had been very good to herthat night. He had won her confidence, her gratitude, her friendship. Hisreputation notwithstanding, she had trusted him fully, and she had notfound him wanting. A faint sigh rose to her lips. She was beginning tomiss this friend of hers. 

But the next moment she had drawn back sharply and swiftly, as if shehad encountered an angel with a flaming sword. This was the path downwhich she would not wander. Why should she wish to do so? There were somany other paths open to her now. 

When she stepped at length from the carriage her face was serene andquiet as the soft spring night behind her. 

Upstairs she encountered the doctor's wife patting her hair before amirror. She turned at Anne's entrance. 

"Why, Lady Carfax! This is indeed a pleasure. I am so glad to seeyou here. "

There was genuine pleasure in her voice, and Anne remembered with a smilethat Mrs. Randal liked her. 

They chatted as she removed her wraps, and finally descended together, Mrs. Randal turning at the head of the stairs to whisper: "There's thathorrid old gossip, Major Shirley. I know he will fall to my lot. Healways does. How shall I direct the conversation into safe channels?"

Anne could only shake her head. She knew that Mrs. Randal was notcelebrated for discretion. 

Entering the drawing-room, they found Major Shirley with his wife anddaughter, Ralph and Dot Waring, and the doctor, assembled with their hostand hostess. 

Mrs. Damer glanced at the clock after greeting them. "The Errolsare late. "

Anne chanced to be speaking to Dot at the moment, and the girl's magicchange of countenance called her attention to the words. She wondered ifher own face changed, and became uneasily aware of a sudden quickening ofthe heart. Quietly she passed on to speak to the Shirleys. The majorlooked her up and down briefly and offensively as his manner was, and sheescaped from his vicinity as speedily as possible. His wife, a powdered, elderly lady, sought to detain her, but after a few moments Anne verygently detached herself, accepting the seat which young Ralph Waringeagerly offered her. 

There followed a somewhat lengthy and by no means easy pause. Conversation was spasmodic. Everyone was listening for the arrival of thelast guests, and when after some minutes there came the rush of wheelsunder the window and the loud hoot of a motor everyone jumped. Mrs. Damer, who had talked hard through the silences, made no comment butlooked unutterably relieved. 

Dot openly and eagerly watched the door, and Anne with a conscious effortsuppressed an inclination to do likewise. 

When it opened she looked up quite naturally, and surely no one suspectedthe wild leaping of her heart. 

Nap entered--sleek, trim, complacent; followed by Bertie, whose brownface looked unmistakably sullen. 

"Sorry we are late, " drawled Nap, "Bertie will make our excuses. "

But Bertie said nothing, and it was left to Mrs. Damer to step intothe breach. 

She did so quite gallantly, if somewhat clumsily. "I am very pleased tosee you, Nap; but, you know, it was your brother whom we expected. Ididn't so much as know that you were at home. "

"Oh, quite so, " smiled Nap. "Don't apologise--please!" He bent slightlyover her hand. "So good of you not to mind the exchange. I know I am apoor substitute. But my brother is entertaining an old friend who hasarrived unexpectedly, so I persuaded him to send me in his place. Hecharged me with all manner of excuses and apologies, which I have notdelivered since I know them to be unnecessary. "

Mrs. Damer found it impossible not to smile at his calm effrontery, eventhough she knew Major Shirley to be frowning behind her back. 

"When did you return?" she asked. "Someone said you were in the States. "

"I was, " said Nap. "I returned half an hour ago; hence our late arrival, for which I humbly beg to apologise, and to entreat you not to blameBertie, who, as you perceive, is still speechless with suspense. "

"Oh, you Americans!" laughed Mrs. Damer. "You are never at a loss. Do letus go in to dinner. No, Nap! The doctor will take me. Will you take MissWaring? But you won't be able to sit together. You have disarranged allmy plans, so I shall treat you as of no importance. "

"Miss Waring won't quarrel with either you or me on that account, "commented Nap, as he offered his arm to the rector's daughter withironical courtesy. "Come along, Miss Waring! Shut your eyes and bolt me. It will soon be over. "

Dot was young enough to make a face at him, but the hard stare with whichhe countered it reduced her almost instantly to confusion. Whereupon hetransferred his attention and looked at her no more. 

But compensation was in store for her, for at the dinner-table she foundherself placed between Bertie and the doctor, a pleasing situation inwhich she speedily recovered her spirits, since the doctor talked to hishostess, and Bertie's partner, Mrs. Shirley, strenuously occupied theattention of her host, who was seated on her other side. 

Major Shirley fell as usual to Mrs. Randal, over which circumstance Anne, catching a tragic glance from the latter, failed somewhat conspicuouslyto repress a smile. 

"Yes, it's mighty funny, isn't it?" said Nap, and with a sharp start shediscovered that he was seated upon her right. 

"I--didn't see you, " she faltered. 

"No?" he said coolly. "Well, it's all right. I was told to sithere--obviously decreed by the gods. You'll think me uncanny if I tellyou that it was just this that I came for. "

"You are uncanny, " she said. 

He made her a brief bow. It seemed to her that a mocking spirit gleamedin his eyes. She had never felt less confident of him, less at her easewith him, than at that moment. She felt as if in some subtle fashion, wholly beyond her comprehension, he were playing some deep-laid game, asif he were weaving some intricate web too secret and too intangible to beunderstood or grappled with. Upon one point only was she quite clear. Hewould suffer no reference to their last meeting. Whatever the effect ofthat terrible punishment upon him, he did not choose that she should seeit. She had seen him in the utmost extremity of his humiliation, but sheshould never see the scars that were left. 

This much of his attitude she could understand, and understanding couldpardon that part which baffled her. But she could not feel at her ease. 

"And so you are afraid, " said Nap. "That's a new thing for you. "

She glanced round the table. In the general hubbub of talk they were asisolated as though they were actually alone together. 

"No, " she said. "Why should I be afraid? But--I feel as if I am talkingto--a stranger. "

"Perhaps you are, " said Nap. 

He uttered a laugh she could not fathom, and then with a certainrecklessness: "Permit me to present to your majesty, " he said, "the Knaveof Diamonds!"

There was that in his tone that hurt her vaguely, little as sheunderstood it. She smiled with a hint of wistfulness. 

"Surely I have met him before!" she said. 

"Without knowing him, " said Nap. 

"No, " she maintained. "I have known him for a long while now. I believehim to be my very good friend. "

"What?" he said. 

She glanced at him, half startled by the brief query; but instantly shelooked away again with a curious, tingling sense of shock. For it was toher as though she had looked into the heart of a consuming fire. 

"Aren't you rather behind the times?" he drawled. "That was--as yousay--a long while ago. "

The shock passed, leaving her strangely giddy, as one on the edge ofinconceivable depth. She could say no word in answer. She was utterly andhopelessly at a loss. 

With scarcely a pause Nap turned to Violet Shirley, who was seated on hisright, and plunged without preliminary into a gay flirtation to which allthe world was at liberty to listen if it could not approve. Ralph Waring, thus deprived of his rightful partner, solaced himself with Mrs. Randal, who was always easy to please; and the major on her other side relapsedinto bearish gloom. 

It was with unspeakable relief that Anne rose at length from thatdinner-table. She had a deep longing to escape altogether, to go back tothe quiet Manor, where at least all was peace. He had hurt her moresubtly than she could have deemed possible. Had his friendship reallymeant so much to her? Or was it only her pride that suffered to think hevalued hers so lightly? It seemed that he was fickle then, fickle aseveryone declared him to be. And yet in her heart she did not for amoment believe it. That single glimpse she had had, past the gibing devilin his eyes, deep into the man himself, had told her something different. 

He hated her then, he hated her as the cause of his downfall. This seemedthe more likely. And yet--and yet--did she really believe this either?

"Dear Lady Carfax, do play to us!" urged her hostess. "It will be such atreat to hear you. "

She rose half-mechanically and went to the piano, struck a few chords andbegan to play, still so deep in her maze of conjecture that she hardlyknew what she had chosen. 

Mrs. Randal came to sit near her. Mrs. Shirley edged close to Mrs. Damerand began to whisper. The two girls went softly into the conservatory. 

Anne's fingers played on. Now and then Mrs. Randal spoke to her, thankedher or begged her to continue. But presently she moved away and Anne didnot miss her. She was far too deeply engrossed in her own thoughts. 

"Lady Carfax!"

She started, every nerve suddenly on the alert. 

"Don't stop playing!" he said, and as it were involuntarily shecontinued to play. 

"I am coming to see you to-morrow, " he went on. "What time would you likeme to call?"

She was silent. But the blood had risen in a great wave to her face andneck. She could feel it racing in every vein. 

"Won't you answer me?" he said. "Won't you fix a time?"

There was that in his voice that made her long earnestly to see his face, but she could not. With a great effort she answered:

"I am generally at home in the afternoon. "

"Then will you be out to the rest of the world?" he said. 

She stilled the wild tumult of her heart with desperate resolution. "Ithink you must take your chance of that. "

"I am not taking any chances, " he said. "I will come at the fashionablehour if you prefer it. But--"

He left the sentence unfinished with a significance that was moreimperious than a definite command. 

Anne's fingers were trembling over the keys. Sudden uncertainty seizedher. She forgot what she was playing, forgot all in the overwhelmingdesire to see his face. She muffled her confusion in a few soft chordsand turned round. 

He was gone. 

CHAPTER II

THE KERNEL OF THE DIFFICULTY

"I want to know!" said Capper, with extreme deliberation. 

He was the best-known surgeon in the United States, and he looked likenothing so much as a seedy Evangelical parson. Hair, face, beard, allbore the same distinguishing qualities, were long and thin and yellow. He sat coiled like a much-knotted piece of string, and he seemed topossess the power of moving any joint in his body independently of therest. He cracked his fingers persistently when he talked after a fashionthat would have been intolerable in anyone but Capper. His hands werealways in some ungainly attitude, and yet they were wonderful hands, strong and sensitive, the colour of ivory. His eyes were small andgreen, sharp as the eyes of a lizard. They seemed to take in everythingand divulge nothing. 

"What do you want to know?" said Lucas. 

He was lying in bed with the spring sunshine full upon him. His eyes weredrawn a little. He had just undergone a lengthy examination at the handsof the great doctor. 

"Many things, " said Capper, somewhat snappishly. "Chief among them, whyyour tomfool brother--you call him your brother, I suppose?--brought meover here on a fool's errand. "

"He is my brother, " said Lucas quietly. "And why a fool's errand? Isthere something about my case you don't like?"

"There is nothing whatever, " said Capper, with an exasperated tug at hispointed beard. "I could make a sound man of you. It wouldn't be easy. But I could do it--given one thing, which I shan't get. Is the sunbothering you?"

He suddenly left his chair, bent over and with infinite gentleness raisedhis patient to an easier posture and drew forward the curtain. 

"I guess I won't talk to you now, " he said. "I've given you as much asyou can stand and then some already. How's that? Is it comfort?"

"Absolute, " Lucas said with a smile. "Don't go, doctor. I am quite ableto talk. I suppose matters haven't altered very materially since yousaw me last?"

"I don't see why you should suppose that, " said Capper. "As a matter offact things have altered--altered considerably. Say, you don't have thosefainting attacks any more?"

"No. I've learnt not to faint. " There was a boyishly pathetic note aboutthe words though the lips that uttered them still smiled. 

Capper nodded comprehendingly. "But the pain is just as infernal, eh?Only you've the grit to stand against it. Remember the last time Ioverhauled you? You fainted twice. That's how I knew you would never faceit. But I've hurt you worse to-day, and I'm damned if I know how youmanaged to come up smiling. "

"Then why do you surmise that you have been brought here on a fool'serrand?" Lucas asked. 

"I don't surmise, " said Capper. "I never surmise. I know. " He began tocrack his fingers impatiently, and presently fell to whistling below hisbreath. "No, " he said suddenly, "you've got the physical strength andyou've got the spunk to lick creation, but what you haven't got is zeal. You're gallant enough, Heaven knows, but you are not keen. You arepassive, you are lethargic. And you ought to be in a fever!"

His fingers dropped abruptly upon Lucas's wrist, and tightened upon it. "That brother of yours that you're so fond of, now if it were he, I couldpull him out of the very jaws of hell. He'd catch and hold. But you--youare too near the other place to care. Say, you don't care, do you, not asingle red cent? It's all one to you--under Providence--whether you liveor die. And if I operated on you to-morrow you'd die--not at once, butsooner or later--from sheer lack of enthusiasm. That's my difficulty. It's too long a business. You would never keep it up. "

Lucas did not immediately reply. He lay in the stillness habitual tohim, gazing with heavy eyes at the motes that danced in the sunshine. 

"I guess I'm too old, doctor, " he said at last. "But you are wrong in onesense. I do care. I don't want to die at present. "

"Private reasons?" demanded Capper keenly. 

"Not particularly. You see, I am the head of the family. I hold myselfresponsible. My brothers want looking after, more or less. "

"Brothers!" sniffed Capper, with supreme contempt. "Thatconsideration wouldn't keep you out of heaven. It's only anotherreason for holding back. "

"Exactly, " Lucas said quietly. "I don't know what Nap will say to me. Hewill call me a shirker. But on the whole, doctor, I think I must holdback a little longer. "

"He'd better let me hear him!" growled Capper. "I wish to heaven youwere married. That's the kernel of the difficulty. You want a wife. You'd be keen enough then. I shouldn't be afraid of your letting go whenI wasn't looking. "

"Ah!" Lucas said, faintly smiling. "But what of the wife?"

"She'd be in her element, " maintained Capper stoutly. "She'd be to youwhat the mainspring is to a watch, and glory in it. Haven't you seen suchwomen? I have, scores of 'em, ready made for the purpose. No, you willonly go through my treatment with a woman to hold you up. It's a processthat needs the utmost vitality, the utmost courage, and--something greatto live for--a motive power behind to push you on. There's only onemotive power that I can think of strong enough to keep you moving. Andthat is most unfortunately absent. Find the woman, I tell you, find thewoman! And--under Providence--I'll do the rest!"

He dropped back in his chair, cracking his fingers fiercely, his keeneyes narrowly observant of every shade of expression on his patient'sface. 

Lucas was still smiling, but his eyes had grown absent. He lookedunutterably tired. 

"Yes, " he said slowly at length. "I am afraid you have asked theimpossible of me now. But, notwithstanding that, if I could see my wayto it, I would place myself in your hands without reservation--and takemy chance. There are times now and then--now and then--" his wordsquickened a little, "when a man would almost give the very soul out ofhis body to be at peace--to be at peace; times when it's downright agonyto watch a fly buzzing up and down the pane and know he hasn't even thestrength for that--when every muscle is in torture, and every movementmeans hell--" He broke off; his lips usually so steady had begun totwitch. "I'm a fool, Capper, " he murmured apologetically. "Makeallowances for a sick man!"

"Look here!" said Capper. "This is a big decision for you to makeoff-hand. You can take three months anyway to think it over. You aregetting stronger, you know. By then you'll be stronger still. You won'tbe well. Nothing but surgical measures can ever make you well. And you'llgo on suffering that infernal pain. But three months one way or anotherwon't make much difference. I am due in London in September for theSchultz Medical Conference. I'll run over then and see if you've made upyour mind. "

"Will you, doctor? That's real kind of you. " Lucas's eyes brightened. Hestretched out a hand which Capper grasped and laid gently down. "And ifyou undertake the job--"

"If you are fit to go through it, " Capper broke in, "I'll do it rightaway before I leave. You'll spend the winter on your back. And in thespring I'll come again and finish the business. That second operation isa more delicate affair than the first, but I don't consider it moredangerous. By this time next year, or soon after, you'll be walking likean ordinary human being. I'll have you as lissom as an Indian. "

He cracked his fingers one after the other in quick succession and rose. A moment he stood looking down at the smooth face that had flushedunwontedly at his words; then bending, he lightly tapped his patient'schest. "Meanwhile, my friend, " he said, "you keep a stiff upper lip, and_cherchez la femme--cherchez la femme toujours_! You'll be a sound mansome day and she won't mind waiting if she's the right sort. "

"Ah!" Lucas said. "You will have to forego that condition, doctor. I amno ladies' man. Shall I tell you what a woman said to me the other day?"

"Well?"

"That I was like a mother to her. " Again without much mirth he smiled. His lips were steady enough now. 

"I should like to meet that woman, " said Capper. 

"Why?"

The doctor's hand sought his beard. "P'r'aps she'd tell me I was like afather. Who knows?"

Lucas looked at him curiously. "Are you fond of women?"

"I adore them, " said Capper without enthusiasm. He never satisfiedcuriosity. 

Lucas's eyes fell away baffled. "I'll take you to see her this afternoonif you can spare the time, " he said. 

"Oh, I can spend the afternoon philandering so long as I catch the nighttrain to Liverpool, " Capper answered promptly. "Meanwhile you must get arest while I go and take a dose of air and sunshine in the yard. "

His straight, gaunt figure passed to the door, opened it, and disappearedwith a directness wholly at variance with his lack of repose when seated. 

As for Lucas, he lay quite still for a long while, steadily watching themotes that danced and swam giddily in the sunshine. 

Nearly half an hour went by before he stirred at all. And then a heavysigh burst suddenly from him, shaking his whole body, sending a flickerof pain across his drooping eyelids. 

"_Cherchez la femme_!" he said to himself. And again with a quiveringsmile, "_Cherchez la femme_! God knows she isn't far to seek. But--mydear--my dear!"

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST ORDEAL

All the birds in the Manor garden were singing on that afternoon in May. The fruit trees were in bloom. The air was full of the indescribablefragrance of bursting flowers. There was no single note of sadness in allthe splendid day. But the woman who paced slowly to and fro under theopening lilacs because she could not rest knew nothing of its sweetness. 

The precious peace of the past few weeks had been snatched from her. Shewas face to face once more with the problem that had confronted her for afew horror-stricken minutes on that awful evening in March. Then she hadthrust it from her. Since she had resolutely turned her back upon it. Butto-day it was with her, and there was no escaping it. It glared at herwhichever way she turned, a monster of destruction waiting to devour. Andshe was afraid, horribly, unspeakably afraid, with a fear that wasneither physical nor cowardly, yet which set her very soul a-trembling. 

Restlessly she wandered up and down, up and down. It was a day fordreams, but she was terribly and tragically awake. 

When Nap Errol came to her at length with his quick, light tread that waswary and noiseless as a cat's, she knew of his coming long before hereached her, was vividly, painfully aware of him before she turned tolook. Yesterday she had longed to look him in the face, but to-day shefelt she dared not. 

Slim and active he moved across the grass, and there came to her ears aslight jingle of spurs. He had ridden then. A sudden memory of the man'sfree insolence in the saddle swept over her, his domination, hisimperial arrogance. Turning to meet him, she knew that she was quiveringfrom head to foot. 

He came straight up to her, halted before her. "Have you no welcome forme?" he said. 

By sheer physical effort she compelled herself to face him, to meet thefierce, challenging scrutiny which she knew awaited her. She held out herhand to him. "I am always glad to see you, Nap, " she said. 

He took her hand in a sinewy, compelling grip. "Although you prefer goodmen, " he said. 

The ground on which she stood seemed to be shaking, yet she forcedherself to smile, ignoring his words. 

"Let us go and sit down, " she said. 

Close by was a seat under a great lilac tree in full purple bloom. Shemoved to it and sat down, but Nap remained upon his feet, watchingher still. 

The air was laden with perfume--the wonderful indescribable essences ofspring. Away in the distance, faintly heard, arose the bleating of lambs. Near at hand, throned among the purple flowers above their heads, athrush was pouring out the rapture that thrilled his tiny life. The wholeworld pulsed to the one great melody--the universal, wordless song. Onlythe man and the woman were silent as intruders in a sacred place. 

Anne moved at last. She looked up very steadily, and spoke. "It seemslike holy ground, " she said. 

Her voice was hushed, yet it had in it a note of pleading. Her eyesbesought him. 

And in answer Nap leaned down with a sudden, tigerish movement and laidhis hand on hers. "What have I to do with holiness?" he said. "Anne, comedown from that high pedestal of yours! I'm tired of worshipping agoddess. I want a woman--a woman! I shall worship you none the lessbecause I hold you in my arms. "

It was done. The spell was broken. Those quick, passionate words hadswept away her last hope of escape. She was forced to meet him face toface, to meet him and to do battle. 

For a long second she sat quite still, almost as if stunned. Then sharplyshe turned her face aside, as one turns from the unbearable heat andradiance when the door of a blast-furnace is suddenly opened. 

"Oh, Nap, " she said, and there was a sound of heart-break in her words, "What a pity! What a pity!"

"Why?" he demanded fiercely. "I have the right to speak--to claim my own. Are you going to deny it--you who always speak the truth?"

"You have no right, " she answered, still with her face averted. "No manhas ever the faintest right to say to another man's wife what you havejust said to me. "

"And you think I will give you up, " he said, "for that?"

She did not at once reply. Only after a moment she freed her hands fromhis hold, and the action seemed to give her strength. She spoke, hervoice very clear and resolute. "I am not going to say anything unkind toyou. You have already borne too much for my sake. But--you must know thatthis is the end of everything. It is the dividing of the ways--where wemust say good-bye. "

"Is it?" he said. He looked down at her with his brief, thin-lippedsmile. "Then--if that's so--look at me--look at me, Anne, and tell methat you don't love me!"

She made an almost convulsive gesture of protest and sat silent. 

For a little he waited. Then, "That being so, " he said very deliberately, "there is no power on earth--I swear--I swear--that shall ultimatelycome between us!"

"Oh, hush!" she said. "Hush!" She turned towards him, her face whiteand agitated. "I will not listen to you, Nap. I cannot listen to you!You must go. "

She stretched a hand towards him appealingly, and he caught it, crushingit against his breast. For a moment he seemed about to kneel, and then healtered his purpose and drew her to her feet. Again she was aware of thatsubtle, mysterious force within him, battling with her, seeking todominate, to conquer, to overwhelm her. Again there came to her thatsense of depth, depth unutterable, appalling. She seemed to totter on thevery edge of the pit of destruction. 

Very quietly at length his voice came to her. It held just a touch ofridicule. "What! Still doing sacrifice to the great god Convention? Mydear girl, but you are preposterous! Do you seriously believe that I willsuffer that drunken maniac to come between us--now?"

He flung his head back with the words. His fiery eyes seemed to scorchher. And overhead the rapturous bird-voice pealed forth a perfect paeanof victory. 

But Anne stood rigid, unresponsive as an image of stone. "He is myhusband, " she said. 

She felt his hand tighten upon hers, till the pressure was almost morethan she could endure. "You never felt a spark of love for him!" he said. "You married him--curse him!--against your will!"

"Nevertheless, I married him, " she said. 

He showed his teeth for a moment, and was silent. Then imperiously heswept up his forces for the charge. "These things are provided for in theStates, " he said. "If you won't come to me without the sanction of thelaw, I will wait while you get it. I will wait till you are free--till Ican make you my lawful wife. That's a fair offer anyway. " He began tosmile. "See what a slave you have made of me!" he said. "I've neveroffered any woman marriage before. "

But Anne broke in upon him almost fiercely. "Oh, don't you know me betterthan that?" she said. "Nap, I am not the sort of woman to throw off theyoke like that. It is true that I never loved him, and I do not thinkthat I shall ever live with him again. But still--I married him, andwhile he lives I shall never be free--never, never!"

"Yet you are mine, " he said. 

"No--no!"

She sought to free her hand, but he kept it. "Look at me!" he said. "Doyou remember that day in March--the day you saw me whipped like a dog?"

Involuntarily she raised her eyes to his. "Oh, don't!" she whispered, shuddering. "Don't!"

But he persisted. "You felt that thrashing far more than I did, though itmade a murderer of me. You were furious for my sake. Did you never askyourself why?" Then in a lower voice, bending towards her, "Do you thinkI didn't know the moment I saw your face above mine? Do you think Ididn't feel the love in your arms, holding me up? Do you think it isn'tin your eyes--even now?"

"Oh, hush!" she said again piteously. "Nap, you are hurting me. I cannotbear it. Even if it were so, love--true love--is a sacred thing--not tobe turned into sin. "

"Sin!" he said. "What is sin? Is it sin to fulfil the very purpose forwhich you were created?"

But at that she winced so sharply that he knew he had gone too far. It was characteristic of the man that he made no attempt to recoverlost ground. 

"I'm a wicked pagan no doubt, " he said, with a touch of recklessness. "Everyone will tell you so. I fancy I've told you so myself more thanonce. Yet you needn't shrink as if I were unclean. I have done nothingthat you would hate me for since I have known you. "

He paused and seemed to listen, then very quietly released her hand. Acurious expression flickered across his face as he did so, and a littlechill went through her. It was like the closing of the furnace door. 

"I am going, " he said. "But I shall come back--I shall come back. " Hissmile, sudden and magnetic, gleamed for an instant and was gone. 

"Do you remember the missing heart?" he said "There are some things thatI never forget. "

And so, without farewell, he turned and left her, moving swiftly andeasily over the grass. She heard the jingle of his spurs, but no sound ofany footfall as he went. 

CHAPTER IV

THE FATAL STREAK

"My lady!"

Anne looked up with a start. She had been sitting with closed eyes underthe lilac tree. 

Dimsdale, discreet and deferential as ever, stood before her. 

"Mr. Lucas Errol is here, " he told her, "with another gentleman. I knewyour ladyship would wish to be at home to him. "

"Oh, certainly, " she answered, rising. "I am always at home to Mr. LucasErrol. Please tell him I am coming immediately. "

But she did not instantly follow Dimsdale. She stood instead quitemotionless, with her face to the sky, breathing deeply. 

When she turned at length she had recovered all her customary serenity. With the quiet dignity peculiar to her, she passed up the garden path, leaving the thrush still singing, singing, singing, behind her. 

She found her visitors in the drawing-room, which she entered by theopen window. Lucas greeted her with his quiet smile and introducedCapper--"a very great friend of mine, and incidentally the finestdoctor in the U. S. A. "

She shook hands with the great man, feeling the small green eyes runningover her, and conscious that she blushed under their scrutiny. Shewondered why, with a vague feeling of resentment. She also wondered whathad moved Lucas to bring him. 

As she sat at the tea-table and dispensed hospitality to her guests itwas Lucas who kept the conversation going. She thought he seemed inwonderful spirits despite the heavy droop of his eyelids. 

Capper sat in almost unbroken silence, studying his hostess soperpetually that Anne's nerves began to creak at last under the strain. 

Quite suddenly at length he set down his cup. "Lady Carfax, " he saidabruptly, "I'm told you have a herb garden, and I'm just mad on herbs. Will you take me to see it while Lucas enjoys a much-needed andwell-earned rest?"

Anne glanced up in surprise. They were almost the first words he hadspoken. Capper was already upon his feet. He stood impatiently crackinghis fingers one by one. 

She rose. "Of course I will do so with pleasure if Mr. Erroldoesn't mind. "

"Certainly not, Lady Carfax, " smiled Lucas. "I am extremely comfortable. Pray give him what he wants. It is the only way to pacify him. "

Anne smiled and turned to the window. They went out together into thegolden spring evening. 

The herb garden was some distance from the house. Capper strode along insilence, with bent brows. More than ever Anne wondered what had broughthim. She did not try to make conversation for him, realising by instinctthat such effort would be vain as well as unwelcome. She merely walkedquietly beside him, directing their steps whither he had desired to go. 

They were out of sight of the house before he spoke. "Say, madam, I'm told you know the Errol family off by heart without needing tolook 'em up. "

She glanced at him in surprise. "Of course I know them. Yes, I knowthem all. "

"Well?" he demanded. 

"Oh, quite well. " Almost involuntarily she began to explain the intimacy. "I was taken to their house after a hunting accident, and I was aninvalid there for several weeks. "

"That so?" Again piercingly the American's eyes scanned her. "You're realfriendly then? With which in particular?"

She hesitated momentarily. Then, "I am very fond of Mrs. Errol, " shesaid, speaking very quietly. "But Nap was my first friend, andafterwards Lucas--"

"Oh, Nap!"

There was such withering contempt in the exclamation that she hadperforce to remark it. 

"Nap is evidently no favourite with you, " she said. 

He raised his brows till they nearly met his hair. "Nap, my dear lady, "he drily observed, "is doubtless all right in his own sphere. It isn'tmine, and it isn't yours. I came over to this country at his request andin his company, and a queerer devil it has never been my lot toencounter. But what can you expect? I've never yet seen him in a blanketand moccasins, but I imagine that he'd be considerably preferable thatway. I guess he's just a fish out of water on this side of civilisation. "

"What can you mean?" Anne said. 

For the second time that afternoon she felt as if the ground beneath herhad begun to tremble. She looked up at him with troubled eyes. Surely thewhole world was rocking!

"I mean what I say, madam, " he told her curtly. "It's a habit of mine. There is a powerful streak of red in Nap Errol's blood, or I am muchmistaken. "

"Ah!" Anne said, and that was all. In a flash she understood him. Shefelt as if he had performed some ruthless operation upon her, and she wastoo exhausted to say more. Unconsciously her hand pressed her heart. Itwas beating strangely, spasmodically; sometimes it did not beat at all. For she knew beyond all doubting that what he said was true. 

"I don't say the fellow is an out-and-out savage, " Capper was saying. "P'r'aps he'd be more tolerable if he were. But the fatal streak isthere. Never noticed it? I thought you women noticed everything. Oh, Ican tell you he's made things hum on our side more times than I'vetroubled to count. Talk of the devil in New York and you very soon findthe conversation drifting round to Nap Errol. Now and then he has a lapseinto sheer savagery, and then there is no controlling him. It's just asthe fit takes him. He's never to be trusted. It's an ineradicable taint. "

She shivered at the words, but still she did not speak. 

Capper went unconcernedly on. "I fancy Lucas once thought he was going tomake a gentleman of him. A gentleman, ye gods! Teach a tiger to sit upand beg! He has a most amazing patience, but I guess even he realises bynow that the beast is untamable. Mrs. Errol saw it long ago. There's afine woman for you--A. 1. , gilt-edged, quality of the best. You know Mrs. Errol, you say?"

"Yes, I know her. " Anne heard the words, but was not conscious ofuttering them. 

Capper gave her a single straight look. "You wouldn't think, would you, "said he, "that that woman carries a broken heart about with her? But Iassure you that's so. Nap Errol was the tragedy of her life. "

That quickened her to interest. She was conscious of a gradual sinkingdownwards of her dismay till it came to rest somewhere deep in her inmostsoul, leaving the surface free for other impressions. 

"He came out of nowhere, " Capper went on. "She never tried to account forhim. He was her husband's son. She made him hers. But he's been a tiger'scub all his life, a hurricane, a firebrand. He and Bertie are usually atdaggers drawn and Lucas spends his time keeping the peace; which is aboutas wearing an occupation for a sick man as I can imagine. I want to put astop to it, Lady Carfax. I speak as one family friend to another. Lucasseems to like you. I believe you could make him see reason if you tookthe trouble. Women are proverbially ingenious. "

Anne's faint smile showed for a moment. They had entered the herb gardenand were passing slowly down the central path. It was a small enclosuresurrounded by clipped yew hedges and intersected by green walks. Theevening sunlight slanting down upon her, had turned her brown hair toruddiest gold. There was no agitation about her now. The grey eyes weregravely thoughtful. 

She bent presently to pluck a sprig of rosemary. "Will you tell me, " shesaid, "what it is that you want to do?"

Capper shot her a keen side-glance. "I want to cure him, " he said. "Iwant to make a whole man of him. "

"Could you?" she asked. 

"I could. " Abruptly Capper stopped. His yellow face was curiously aglow. "I say I could, " he asserted almost fiercely, "if I could choose myconditions. If I could banish that pestilent brother of his, if I couldrouse him to something like energy, if I could turn his will in onedirection only, I could do it. Given his whole-hearted co-operation, Icould do it. Without it, I am powerless. He would simply die ofinanition. "

"It would mean an operation then? A very serious one?" Anne had pausedupon the green path. Her eyes sought Capper's. 

He answered her with curt directness. "My dear lady, it would mean notone, but two. I won't trouble you with technical details which youwouldn't understand. Put briefly, it would mean in the first place apulling down and in the second a building up. Both operations would be aserious tax upon his strength, but I am satisfied that he has thestrength for both. Six months would elapse between the two, and duringthat time he would be flat on his back. If he could hold on for those sixmonths he would come through all right. Of that I am convinced. But thosesix months are my stumbling-block. Freedom from all anxiety is essential. He wants a stanch friend continually beside him to keep him cheery and atpeace. That fellow Nap is the principle obstacle. He stirs up hell andtommy wherever he goes, and he's never absent for long. Lucas himselfadmits that his brothers are a care to him. Oh, it's all an infernaltangle. I sometimes think family ties are the very deuce. "

Capper tugged at his beard with restless fingers and ground his heelinto the turf. 

"If you consider Nap an obstacle--why don't you speak to him?" Anne askedin her quiet voice. 

Capper shrugged his shoulders. "He hates me--and small wonder! I've toldhim the brutal truth too often. "

Anne passed the matter by. "And Lucas does not wish to undergo theoperation?"

"That's just the infernal part of it!" burst forth Capper. "He wouldundergo it to-morrow if he didn't consider himself indispensable to theseyoung whelps. But that isn't all. Lady Carfax, he wants help. He wantssomeone strong to stand by. I believe you could do it--if you would. Youare the sort of woman that men turn to in trouble. I've been watchingyou. I know. "

Again very faintly Anne smiled, with more of patience than amusement. "Dr. Capper, has Lucas been telling you about me?"

Capper thrust out a hand. "Yes. "

"You know how I am situated?" she questioned. 

"I do. " There was no sympathy in Capper's voice or face; only in thegrasp of his hand. 

"And you think I could be of use to him?"

"I don't think, " said Capper. "I know. " He released her hand as abruptlyas he had taken it. His long fingers began to curve and crackmechanically. "I'll tell you something, " he said. "Don't know why Ishould, but I will. I love Lucas Errol as if he were my son. "

"Ah!" Anne said gently. "I think we all love him in our different ways. "

"That so?" said the American keenly. "Then I shall leave the matter inyour charge, Lady Carfax. I can see you're a capable woman. I'm comingback in September to perform that operation. You will have a willingpatient ready for me--by willing I mean something gayer thanresigned--and my bugbear, Nap--that most lurid specimen of civiliseddevilry--hunting scalps on the other side of the Atlantic. "

"Oh, I don't know!" Anne said quickly. "I don't know!"

She spoke breathlessly, as one suddenly plunged into a strong current. Her face was bent over the sprig of rosemary which she was threading inher dress. Her fingers were trembling. 

Capper watched her silently. 

"Let me!" he said at last. 

He took the sprig from her with a hand that was perfectly steady, held ita moment, seemed to hesitate, finally withdrew it and planted it in hisown buttonhole. 

"I guess I'll keep it myself, " he said, "with your permission, in memoryof a good woman. "

Anne commanded herself and looked up. "Keep it, by all means, " she said. "But do not expect too much from me. No woman is always good. The bestof us fail sometimes. "

"But you will do your best when the time comes?" he said, in a tone thatwas a curious blend of demand and entreaty. 

She met his eyes quite fully. "Yes, " she said, "I will do my best. "

"Then I'm not afraid, " said Capper. "We shall pull him through betweenus. It will be a miracle, of course, but"--a sudden smile flashed acrosshis face, transforming him completely--"miracles happen, Lady Carfax. "

CHAPTER V

THE TOKEN

Slowly Anne drew aside the curtain and looked forth into the night, amagic night, soft and wonderful, infinitely peaceful. A full moon shonehigh in the sky with an immense arc of light around it, many-rayed, faintly prismatic. There was the scent of coming rain in the air, but noclouds were visible. The stars were dim and remote, almost quenched inthat flood of moonlight. 

Across the quiet garden came the song of a nightingale in one of theshrubberies, now soft and far like the notes of a fairy flute, now closeat hand and filling the whole world with music. Anne stood, a silentlistener, on the edge of the magic circle. 

She had just risen from the piano, where for the past hour or more shehad been striving to forget the fever that burned within. Now at last shehad relinquished the piteous, vain attempt, and utterly wearied she stooddrinking in the spring sweetness. 

It was drawing towards midnight, and all but herself had retired. Sheknew she ought to bolt the window and go to rest also; only she knew, too, that no rest awaited her. The silver peace into which she gazed waslike balm to her tired spirit, but yet she could only stand, as it were, upon the edge. 

A great longing was upon her, a voiceless, indescribable desire, thatmade within her so deep a restlessness that no outside influence seemedable to touch it. She leaned her head against the window-frame, consciousof suffering but scarcely aware of thought. 

With no effort of hers the events of that afternoon passed before her. She heard again the ardent voice of the friend who had become the lover. He had loved her from the first, it seemed, and she had not known it. Could it be that she had loved him also, all unknowing?

There came again to her the memory of those fierce, compelling eyes, thedogged mastery with which he had fought her resolution, the sudden magicsoftening of the harsh face when he smiled. There came again thepassionate thrilling of his voice; again her hands tingled in that closegrip; again she thought she felt the beating of the savage heart. 

She raised her arms above her head with the gesture of one who wards offsomething immense, but they fell almost immediately. She was so tired--sotired. She had fought so hard and so long. Oh, why was there no peace forher? What had she done to be thus tortured? Why had love come to her atall? In all her barren life she had never asked for love. 

And now that it had come it was only to be ruthlessly dashed against thestones. What had she to do with love--love, moreover, for a man who couldoffer her but the fiery passion of a savage, a man from whom her everyinstinct shrank, who mocked at holy things and overthrew all barriers ofconvention with a cynicism that silenced all protest. What--ah, whatindeed!--had she to do with love?

She had lived a pure life. She had put out the fires of youth long ago, with no hesitating hand. She had dwelt in the desert, and made of it herhome. Was it her fault that those fires had been kindled afresh? Was sheto blame because the desert had suddenly blossomed? Could she be heldresponsible for these things, she who had walked in blindness till thetransforming miracle had touched her also and opened her eyes?

She shivered a little. Oh, for a helping hand! Oh, for a deliverer fromthis maze of misery!

She saw again the quiet garden lying sleeping before her in themoonlight, and felt as if God must be very far away. She was veryterribly alone that night. 

The impulse came to her to pass out into the dewy stillness, and sheobeyed it, scarcely knowing what she did. Over the silver grass, ghost-like, she moved. It was as if a voice had called her. On to thelilac trees with their burden of fragrant blossoms, where the thrushhad raised his song of rapture, where she had faced that first fieryordeal of love. 

She reached the bench where she had sat that afternoon. There was not aleaf that stirred. The nightingale's song sounded away in the distance. The midnight peace lay like a shroud upon all things. But suddenly fearstabbed her, piercing every nerve to quivering activity. She knew--how, she could not have said--that she was no longer alone. 

She stood quite still, but the beating of her heart rose quick andinsistent in her ears, like the beat of a drum. Swift came the convictionthat it was no inner impulse that had brought her hither. She had obeyeda voice that called. 

For many seconds she stood motionless, not breathing, not daring to turnher head. Then, as her strength partially returned, she took two stepsforward to the seat under the lilac tree, and, her hand upon the back ofit, she spoke. 

"Nap!"

He came, gliding like a shadow behind her. Slowly she turned andfaced him. 

He was still in riding-dress. She heard again the faint jingle of hisspurs. Yet the moonlight shone strangely down upon him, revealing in himsomething foreign, something incongruous, that she marvelled that she hadnever before noticed. The fierce, dusky face with its glittering eyes andsavage mouth was oddly unfamiliar to her, though she knew it all byheart. In imagination she clothed him with the blanket and moccasins ofCapper's uncouth speech; and she was afraid. 

She did not know how to break the silence. The heart within her wasleaping like a wild thing in captivity. 

"Why are you here?" she said at last, and she knew that her voice shook. 

He answered her instantly, with a certain doggedness. "I want to knowwhat Capper has been saying to you. "

She started almost guiltily. Her nerves were on edge that night. 

"You may as well tell me, " he said coolly. "Sooner or later I ambound to know. "

With an effort she quieted her agitation. "Then it must be later, " shesaid. "I cannot stay to talk with you now. "

"Why not?" he said. 

Desperately she faced him, for her heart still quaked within her. Theshock of Capper's revelation was still upon her. He had come to her toosoon. "Nap, " she said, "I ask you to leave me, and I mean it. Please go!"

But he only drew nearer to her, and she saw that his face was stern. Hethrust it forward, and regarded her closely. 

"So, " he said slowly, "he has told you all about me, has he?"

She bent her head. It was useless to attempt to evade the matter now. 

"I am mightily obliged to him, " said Nap. "I wanted you to know. "

Anne was silent. 

After a moment he went on. "I meant to have told you myself. I even beganto tell you once, but somehow you put me off. It was that night atBaronmead--you remember?--the night you wanted to help me. "

Well she remembered that night--the man's scarcely veiled despair, hisbitter railing against the ironies of life. So this had been the meaningof it all. A thrill of pity went through her. 

"Yes, " he said. "I knew you'd be sorry for me. I guess pity is about thecheapest commodity on the market. But--you'll hardly believe it--I don'twant your pity. After all, a man is himself, and it can't be of muchimportance where he springs from--anyway, to the woman who loves him. "

He spoke recklessly, and yet she seemed to detect a vein of entreatyin his words. She steeled her heart against it, but it affected hernone the less. 

"Nap, " she said firmly, "there must be no more talk of love between us. Itold you this afternoon that I would not listen, and I will not. Do youunderstand me? It must end here and now. I am in earnest. "

"You don't say!" said Nap. 

He was standing close to her, and again fear stabbed her--fear that wasalmost abhorrence. There was something about him that was horriblysuggestive of a menacing animal. 

"I am in earnest, " she said again. But she could not meet his eyes anylonger. She dared not let him read her soul just then. 

"I am in earnest too, " said Nap. "But you needn't be afraid of me on thataccount. I may be a savage, but I'm not despicable. If I take more thanyou are prepared to offer it's only because I know it to be my own. " Hebent towards her, trying to see her face. "My own, Anne!" he said againvery softly. "My own!"

But at his movement she drew back sharply, with a gesture of suchinstinctive, such involuntary recoil, that in an instant she knew thatshe had betrayed that which she had sought to hide. 

He stiffened as if at a blow, and she saw his hands clench. In thesilence that followed she stood waiting for the storm to burst, waitingfor his savagery to tear asunder all restraining bonds and leap forth indevilish fury. But--by what means she knew not--he held it back. 

"So, " he said at last, his voice very low, "the Queen has no further usefor her jester!"

Her heart smote her. What had she done? She felt as if she had cruellywounded a friend. But because he demanded of her more than friendship, she dared not attempt to allay the hurt. She stood silent. 

"Can't you find another _rôle_ for me?" he said. "You will find itdifficult to exclude me altogether from the cast. "

Something in his tone pierced her, compelled her. She glanced up swiftly, met his eyes, and was suddenly caught, as it were, in fiery chains, sothat she could not look away. And there before her the gates of hellopened, and she saw a man's soul in torment. She saw the flames mounthigher and higher, scorching and shrivelling and destroying, till at lastshe could bear the sight no longer. She covered her face with her handsand blotted it out. 

"Oh, Nap, " she moaned, "if you love me--if you love me--"

"If I love you--" he said. 

He put his hand on her shoulder and she trembled from head to foot. 

"Prove your love!" she whispered, her face still hidden. 

He stood awhile motionless, still with his hand upon her. But at last itfell away. 

"You doubt my love then?" he said, and his voice sounded strange toher, almost cold. "You think my love is unworthy of you? You have--lostfaith in me?"

She was silent. 

"Is it so?" he persisted. "Tell me the truth. I may as well know it. Youthink--because I am not what Capper would, term a thoroughbred--that Iam incapable of love. Isn't that so?"

But still she did not answer him. Only, being free, she turned to thegarden-seat and sank down upon it, her arms stretched along the back, her head bowed low. 

He began to pace up and down like a caged animal, pausing each time hepassed her, and each time moving on again as if invisibly urged. At lastvery suddenly he stopped with his back to her, and stood like a statue inthe moonlight. 

She did not look at him. She was too near the end of her strength. Herheart was beating very slowly, like a run-down watch. She felt like anold, old woman, utterly tired of life. And she was cold--cold fromhead to foot. 

Minutes passed. Somewhere away in the night an owl hooted, and Napturned his head sharply, as one accustomed to take note of every sound. A while longer he stood, seeming to listen, every limb alert and tense, then swiftly he wheeled and gazed full at the drooping woman's figure onthe bench. 

Slowly his attitude changed. Something that was bestial went out of it;something that was human took its place. Quietly at length he crossedthe moonlit space that intervened between them, reached her, kneltbeside her. 

"Anne, " he said, and all her life she remembered the deep melancholy ofhis voice, "I am a savage--a brute--a devil. But I swear that I have itin me to love you--as you deserve to be loved. Won't you have patiencewith me? Won't you give me a chance--the only chance I've ever had--ofgetting above myself, of learning what love can be? Won't you trust mewith your friendship once more? Believe me, I'm not all brute. "

She thrilled like a dead thing waked to life. Her dread of the man passedaway like an evil dream, such was the magic he had for her. She slippedone of her cold hands down to him. 

He caught it, bowed his head upon it, pressed it against his eyes, thenlifted his face and looked up at her. 

"It is not the end then? You haven't given me up in disgust?"

And she answered him in the only way possible to her. "I will beyour friend still, only--only let there never again be any talk oflove between us. That alone will end our friendship. Can I trustyou? Nap, can I?"

He jerked back his head at the question, and showed her his face in thefull moonlight. And she saw that his eyes were still and passionless, unfathomable as a mountain pool. 

"If you can bring yourself--if you will stoop--to kiss me, " he said, "Ithink you will know. "

She started at the words, but she knew instantly that she had nought tofear. His voice was as steady as his eyes. He asked this thing of her asa sign of her forgiveness, of her friendship, of her trust; and everygenerous impulse urged her to grant it. She knew that if she refused hewould get up and go away, cut to the heart. She seemed to feel himpleading with her, earnestly beseeching her, reasoning against prejudice, against the shackles of conventionality, against reason itself. Andthrough it all her love for the man throbbed at the very heart of her, overriding all doubt. 

She leaned towards him; she laid her hands upon his shoulders. 

"In token of my trust!" she said, and bent to kiss his forehead. 

But he gave her his lips instead--the thin, cynical lips that were wontto smile so bitterly. There was no bitterness about them now. They wereonly grave to sternness. And so, after a moment, she kissed him as hewished, and he kissed her in return. 

Afterwards, he rose in unbroken silence, and went away. 

CHAPTER VI

THE BURIAL OF A HATCHET

During the weeks that followed, something of her former tranquillity cameback to Anne. It was evident that Nap was determined to show himselfworthy of her trust, for never by word or look did he make the slightestreference to what had passed between them. He came and went after hiscustomary sudden fashion. He never informed any one of his movements, nordid even Lucas know when he might be expected at Baronmead. But hisabsences were never of long duration, and Anne met him fairly frequently. 

She herself was more at leisure now than she had been for years, forLucas had found an agent for her and the sole care of her husband'sestate no longer lay upon her. She spent much of her time with Mrs. Errol. Her happiest hours were those she spent with Lucas and his motherin the great music-room at Baronmead. It was here also that she learnedto know of that hidden, vital quantity, elusive as flame, that was NapErrol's soul. For here he would often join them, and the music he drewfrom his violin, weirdly passionate, with a pathos no words could everutter, was to Anne the very expression of the man's complex being. Therewere times when she could hardly hear that wild music of his withouttears. It was like the crying of something that was lost. 

Often, after having accompanied him for a long time, she would take herhands from the piano and sit silent with a strange and bitter sense ofimpotence, as if he were leading whither she could not follow. And Napwould play on and on in the quiet room, as though he played for heralone, with the sure hand of a master upon the quivering strings of herwoman's heart. 

But he never spoke to her of love. His eyes conveyed no message at anytime. His straight gaze was impenetrable. He never even touched her handunless she offered it to him. And gradually her confidence in him grewstronger. The instinct that bade her beware of him ceased to disquiether. She found herself able to meet him without misgiving, believing thathe had conquered himself for her sake, believing that he bowed to theinevitable and was willing to content himself with her friendship. 

Undoubtedly a change had passed over him. Lucas was aware of it also, felt it in his very touch, marked it a hundred times in the gentleness ofhis speech and action. He attributed it to the influence of a good woman. It seemed that Nap had found his soul at last. 

Bertie alone marked it with uneasiness, but Bertie was no impartialcritic. He had distrusted Nap, not without reason, from his boyhood. Butmatters of a more personal nature were occupying his attention at thattime, and he did not bestow much of it upon home affairs. For some reasonhe had begun to study in earnest, and was reading diligently for theEnglish Bar. 

Perhaps Mrs. Errol could have pierced the veil of civilisation in whichNap had wrapped himself had she desired to do so, but she was the lastperson in the world to attempt such an invasion. There never had been thefaintest streak of sympathy between them. Neither was there any tangibleantagonism, for each by mutual consent avoided all debatable ground. Butthere existed very curiously a certain understanding each of the otherwhich induced respect if it did not inspire confidence. Withoutdeliberately avoiding each other they yet never deliberately came incontact, and, though perfectly friendly in their relations, neither everoffered to cross the subtle dividing line that stretched between them. They were content to be acquaintances merely. 

Anne often marvelled in private at Mrs. Errol's attitude towards heradopted son, but the subject was never mentioned between them. Often shewould recall Capper's words and wonder if they had expressed the literaltruth. She wondered, too, what Capper would say to his ally when hereturned at the end of the summer and found the charge he had laid uponher unfulfilled. But, after all, Capper was scarcely more than astranger, and it seemed to her, upon mature reflection, that he had beeninclined to exaggerate the whole matter. She did not believe that Lucas'swelfare depended upon Nap's absence. Indeed, there were times when itactually seemed to her that he relied upon Nap for support that noneother could give. Moreover, he was growing daily stronger, and this ofitself seemed proof sufficient that Nap was at least no hindrance to hisprogress. She knew also that Nap was using his utmost influence topersuade him to undergo the operation when Capper should return inSeptember; but she had no opportunity for furthering his efforts, forLucas never referred to the matter in her hearing. If he had yet made hisdecision he imparted it to none. He seemed to her to be like a soldierawaiting orders to move, with that steadfast patience which had becomehis second nature. She knew that he would never act upon impulse, and sheadmired him for it. 

Dot, who heard all from Bertie, wondered how he could ever hesitate. ButDot was young and possessed of an abundant energy which knew no flagging. Her vigorous young life was full of schemes, and she knew not what it wasto stand and wait. She was keenly engaged just then in company with Mrs. Damer, Mrs. Randal, and a few more, in organising an entertainment insupport of the Town Hall and Reading Club, to which Lucas Errol hadpromised his liberal support. It was no secret that he had offered tosupply the whole of the necessary funds, but, as Dot remarked, it was notto be a charity and Baronford was not so poor-spirited as to be entirelydependent upon American generosity. So Lucas was invited to give hissubstantial help after Baronford had helped itself, which Dot was fullydetermined it should do to the utmost of its capacity. 

Many schemes were in consequence discussed and rejected before the TownHall Committee finally decided in favour of amateur theatricals. 

Here again Lucas Errol's assistance was cordially invited, since no placesuitable for such an entertainment existed in Baronford. It was naivelyintimated to him by Dot that he might provide the theatre and thescenery, so that the profits might be quite unencumbered. 

Lucas forthwith purchased an enormous marquee (the cost of which farexceeded any possible profits from the projected entertainment), whichhe had erected upon his own ground under Dot's superintendence, andthenceforth preparations went gaily forward; not, however, withoutmany a hitch, which Lucas generally managed directly or indirectly tosmooth away. 

It was Lucas who pressed Nap into the service as stage-manager, a postwhich had been unanimously urged upon himself, but for which he declaredhimself to be morally and physically unfit. It was Lucas who persuadedAnne to accept a minor _rôle_ though fully aware that she would haveinfinitely preferred that of onlooker. He had taken her under hisprotection on that night in March, and he had never relinquished theresponsibility then assumed. With a smile, as was his wont with all, heasserted his authority, and with a smile, in common with all who knewhim, she yielded even against her own strong inclination. 

Nap laughed when he heard of it, despite the fact that he had himselfyielded to the same power. 

"You seem to find Luke irresistible, " he said. 

"I do, " she admitted simply. "He is somehow too magnificent to refuse. Surely you have felt the same?"

"I?" said Nap. "Oh, I always do what I am told. He rules me with arod of iron. "

Glancing at him, she had a momentary glimpse of a curious, wistfulexpression on his face that made her vaguely sorry. 

Instinctively she went on speaking as if she had not seen it. "I thinkwith Bertie that he is a born king among men. He is better than good. Heis great. One feels it even in trifles. He has such an immense patience. "

"Colossal, " said Nap, and smiled a twisted smile. "That is why he iseverybody's own and particular pal. He takes the trouble to find outwhat's inside. One wonders what on earth he finds to interest him. There's so mighty little in human nature that's worthy of study. "

"I don't agree with you, " Anne said in her quiet, direct way. 

He laughed again and turned the subject. He was always quick to divineher wishes, and to defer to them. Their intercourse never led themthrough difficult places, a fact which Anne was conscious that she owedto his consideration rather than to her own skill. 

She was glad for more than one reason that Lucas had not pressed a veryonerous part upon her. She had a suspicion, very soon confirmed, that Napas stage-manager would prove no indulgent task-master. He certainly wouldnot spare himself, nor would he spare anyone else. 

Disputes were rife when he first assumed command, and she wondered muchif he would succeed in establishing order, for he possessed none of hisbrother's winning charm of manner and but a very limited popularity. ButNap showed himself from the outset fully equal to his undertaking. Hegrappled with one difficulty after another with a lightning alertness, aprompt decision, which soon earned for him the respect of his unrulysubordinates. He never quarrelled, neither did he consider the feelingsof any. A cynical comment was the utmost he ever permitted himself inthe way of retaliation, but he held his own unerringly, evolving orderfrom confusion with a masterly disregard of opposition that carried allbefore it. 

Dot, who was not without a very decided prejudice in favour of her ownway, literally gasped in astonishment at his methods. She would haveliked to defy him openly a dozen times in a day, but Nap simply wouldnot be defied. He looked over her head with disconcerting arrogance, andDot found herself defeated and impotent. Dot had been selected for animportant part, and it was not very long before she came bitterly toregret the fact. He did not bully her, but he gave her no peace. Over andover again he sent her back to the same place; and over and over again hefound some fresh fault, till there came at length a day when Dot, wearyand exasperated, subsided suddenly in the midst of rehearsal intoindignant tears. 

Nap merely raised his eyebrows and turned his attention elsewhere, whileAnne drew the sobbing girl away, and tried to soothe her back tocomposure in privacy. 

But it was some time before Dot would be comforted. Her grievance againstNap was very deeply rooted, and it needed but this additional provocationto break its bounds. It was not long before, clinging very tightly toAnne, the whole story came out; how she and Bertie loved each other"better than best, " how no one was to know of it and they scarcely daredto exchange a glance in public in consequence, how there could never, never be any engagement, all because that horrid, horrid Nap had dared tohint that she was pursuing Bertie for his money. 

"I hate him!" sobbed Dot. "I do hate him! He's cruel and malicious andvindictive. I know he means to prevent our ever being happy together. And--and I know Bertie's afraid of him--and so am I!"

To all of which Anne listened with grave sympathy and such words ofcomfort as seemed most likely to induce in Dot a calmer and morereasonable state of mind. 

But Dot was not to be reassured quickly. It was very seldom that herequanimity was disturbed, only in fact when her deepest feelings wereconcerned, and this made her breakdown the more complete. Sheapologised tearfully for her foolishness at rehearsal, which she setdown to bodily fatigue. She had been to see poor Squinny that morning, and she thought he really was dying at last. He had cried so, and shehadn't known how to comfort him, and then when she had got home therehad been no time for luncheon, so she had just changed and come awaywithout it. And oh, --this with her arms tightly about Anne's neck--shedid wish she had a mother to help her. Poor Dad was very sweet, but hedidn't understand a bit. 

Anne sat with her for the greater part of an hour, comforting her with agrave tenderness that Dot found infinitely soothing. It might have beenhalf a lifetime instead of a brief seven years that stretched betweenthem. For Anne had been a woman long before her time, and Dot for all herself-reliance was still but a child. 

She grew calm at last, and presently reverted to the theatricals. DidLady Carfax think she might withdraw? Nap made her so nervous. She wassure she could never be successful under his management. 

Anne strongly advised her not to think of such a thing. In considerationof the fact that Dot had been the moving spirit of the whole scheme sucha proceeding would be little short of disastrous. No doubt a substitutecould be found, but it would mean an open breach with Nap. Bertie wouldquarrel with him in consequence, and Lucas would be grievouslydisappointed. 

"We mustn't hurt Lucas, " Anne urged. "He has so much to bear already. And--and he has been so much happier about Nap lately. "

"Does Nap worry him too, then?" asked Dot, quickly. "Isn't he hateful?He upsets everybody. "

"No--no!" Anne said. "Nap would do anything for Lucas. It is his onesolid virtue. "

It was at this point that the door opened with a noiseless swing, andNap himself entered. He advanced with the assured air of one whosewelcome is secure. 

"Give the devil his due, Lady Carfax!" he drawled. "He has oneother anyway. "

Even Anne was for the moment disconcerted by the abruptness of hisentrance. Dot sprang to her feet with burning cheeks. It was her evidentintention to escape, but he intercepted her. 

"My business is with you, " he said, "not with Lady Carfax. Do you mindwaiting a minute?"

Dot waited, striving for dignity. Nap was looking at her narrowly. 

In the pause that ensued, Anne rose and passed her arm reassuringlythrough Dot's. 

Nap glanced at her. "That's rather shabby of you, " he declared. "I wasjust going to ask for your support myself. "

She smiled at him faintly. "I think you can manage without it. Dot willnot refuse her forgiveness if you ask for it properly. "

"Won't she?" said Nap, still keenly watching the girl's half-avertedface. "I should if I were Dot. You see our feud is of very long standing. We always cut each other when we meet in the street--very pointedly sothat no one could possibly imagine for a moment that we were strangers. We don't like doing it in the least, but we are both so infernally proudthat there is no alternative. And so we have got to keep it up all ourdays, long after the primary reason for it all has sunk into oblivion. Bythe way, I have forgotten already what the primary reason was. "

"I--haven't, " said Dot, in a very low voice. Her lower lip was quivering. She bit it desperately. 

"No?" said Nap. 

"No!" Dot turned her flushed face suddenly upon him. "You never meant meto forget, " she said, in a voice that shook beyond control. 

"It must have been something very venomous, " he said. 

"It was!" she answered, fighting with, herself. "You--you know it was!"

"It's not worth crying about anyway, " said Nap. "My sting may bepoisonous, but it has never yet proved fatal. Tell me where the mischiefis, and p'r'aps I can remove it. "

He was smiling as he made the suggestion, smiling without malice, and, though Dot could not bring herself to smile in return, she was none theless mollified. 

"What was it?" he persisted, pressing his advantage. "Something beastlyI said or looked or did? I often do, you know. It's just my way. Do youknow what it was, Lady Carfax?"

She nodded. "And I think you do too, " she said. 

"I don't, " he asserted, "on my honour. "

Dot looked incredulous. "Don't you remember that day in February, " shesaid, "the first day I ever came here--the day you accused me of--ofrunning after Bertie for--his money?"

"Great Christopher!" said Nap. "You don't say you took me seriously?"

"Of course I did, " she said, on the verge of tears. "You--you wereserious too. "

"Ye gods!" said Nap. "And I've been wondering why on earth you and Bertiecouldn't make up your minds! So I've been the obstacle, have I? Andthat's why you have been hating me so badly all this time--as if I werethe arch-fiend himself! By Jove!" He swung round on his heel. "We'll putthis right at once. Where's Bertie?"

"Oh, no!" Dot said nervously. "No! Don't call him! He'll see I've beencrying. Nap--please!"

She disengaged herself from Anne, and sprang after him, seizing himimpetuously by the arm. 

"I mean--Mr. Errol!" she substituted in confusion. 

He clapped his hand upon hers and wheeled. "You can call me anythingunder the sun that occurs to you as suitable, " he said. "You may kick mealso if you like--which is a privilege I don't accord to everybody. Youwon't believe me, I daresay. Few people do. But I'm sorry I was a beastto you that day. I don't deal in excuses, but when I tell you that I wasrather badly up against something, p'r'aps you'll be magnanimous enoughto forgive me. Will you?"

He looked her straight in the face with the words. There was little ofhumility about him notwithstanding them, but there was something ofmelancholy that touched her warm heart. 

"Of course I will!" she said impulsively. "Let's be friends, shall we?"

He gripped her hand till she felt the bones crack. "Suppose we go and getsome tea, " he said. "Are you coming, Lady Carfax?"

"I'm not fit to be seen, " objected Dot, hanging back. 

He drew her on, her hand still fast in his. "Don't be shy, my deargirl! You look all right. Will you lead the way, Lady Carfax? In thehall, you know. "

Very reluctantly Dot submitted. She had not the faintest inkling of hisintentions or her docility would have vanished on the instant. As it was, fortified by Anne's presence, she yielded to his insistence. 

The hall was full of people to whom Mrs. Errol was dispensing tea, assisted by Bertie, who had emerged from his den for the purpose. Bertie's studies did not permit him to take any part in the theatricals. Possibly Nap's position at the head of affairs had assisted hisresolution in this respect. 

He was sitting on the arm of Lucas's chair, hastily gulping some tea inan interval snatched from his ministrations, when Anne entered, closelyfollowed by Dot and his brother. Some instinct moved him to turn andlook, for in the general buzz of talk and laughter around him he couldhave heard nothing of their approach. He looked, then stared, finallystood up and set down his cup abruptly. 

As Nap came towards him, still holding Dot by the hand, he turned whiteto the lips and moved forward. 

A sudden silence fell as they met. They were the centre of the crowd, thecentre of observation, the centre of an unseen whirlpool of emotions thatthreatened to be overwhelming. 

And then with a smile Nap put an end to a tension of expectancy that hadbecome painful. 

"Hullo, Bertie!" he said, and smote him on the shoulder with avigorous hand. "I've just been hearing about your engagement, my dearfellow. Congratulations! May you and Dot have the best of everythingall your lives!"

Poor Dot would have fled had that been possible, but she was hedged intoo closely for that. Moreover, Nap had transferred her hand to Bertie's, and the boy's warm grasp renewed her fainting courage. She knew he was asamazed as she was herself at Nap's sudden move, and she determined thatshe would stand by him at whatever cost. 

And after all, the difficult moment passed very quickly. People crowdedround them with kindly words, shook hands with them, chaffed them both, and seemed to be genuinely pleased with the turn of events. Mrs. Errolcame forward in her hearty way and kissed them; and in the end Dot foundherself in Bertie's vacated place on the arm of Lucas's chair, with hissteady hand holding hers, and his quiet, sincere voice telling her thathe was "real glad that the thing was fixed up at last. "

Later Bertie took her home in the motor, and explained the situation tothe rector, who was mildly bewildered but raised no definite objection tothe announcement of the engagement. He was something of a philosopher, and Bertie had always been a favourite of his. Nap in fact was the onlymember of the Errol family for whom he did not entertain the mostsincere esteem; but, as Dot remarked that night, Nap was a puzzle toeverybody. It seemed highly probable after all that he carried a kindheart behind his cynical exterior. She was sure that Lady Carfax thoughtso, since she invariably treated him as an intimate friend. 

The rector admitted that she might be right, but after Dot had gone tobed he leaned his elbow on his writing-table and sat long in thought. 

"I wonder, " he murmured to himself presently, "I wonder if Lady Carfaxknows what she is doing. She really is too young, poor girl, to be somuch alone. "

CHAPTER VII

A QUESTION OF TRUST

The theatricals were arranged to take place on an evening in thebeginning of July, and for that one night Mrs. Errol persuaded Anne tosleep at Baronmead. She would not consent to leave the Manor for longer, for she still superintended much of the management of the estate andoverlooked the agent's work. She had begun to wonder if all her dayswould be spent thus, for the reports which reached her regularly of herhusband's state of health were seldom of a hopeful nature. In fact theyvaried very little, and a brain specialist had given it as his opinionthat, though it was impossible to speak with certainty, Sir Giles mightremain in his present condition of insanity for years, even possibly foras long as he lived. He was the last of his family, and the title woulddie with him. And Anne wondered--often she wondered--if it were to be herlot to live out the rest of her life alone. 

She did not mind solitude, nor was she altogether unhappy, but she wastoo young not to feel now and then the deep stirrings of her youth. Andshe had lived so little in all her twenty-five years of life. Yet withthat habit of self-control which had grown up with her, and which mademany think her cold, she would not suffer her thoughts to dwell upon pastor future. Her world was very small, and, as she had once told Nap, shecontented herself with "the work that was nearest". If it did not greatlywarm her heart, it kept her from brooding over trouble. 

On the morning of the day fixed for the theatricals he came over in themotor to fetch her. It was a glorious day of summer, and Anne was in thegarden. He joined her there, and they walked for awhile in the greensolitudes, talking of the coming entertainment. 

They came in their wanderings to the seat under the lilac trees. Shewondered afterwards if he had purposely directed their steps thither. They had not been together there since that night when the lilac had beenin bloom, that night of perfect spring, the night when their compact hadbeen made and sealed. Did he think of it, she wondered as they passed. Ifso, he made no sign, but talked on in casual strain as if she were nomore than the most casual of friends. Very faithfully he had kept hispart of the compact, so faithfully that when they were past she wasconscious of a sense of chill mingling with her relief. He had stifledhis passion for her, it seemed, and perhaps it was only by comparisonthat his friendship felt so cold and measured. 

She was glad when they reached Baronmead at length. It was like goinginto sudden sunshine to enter Lucas's presence and feel the warmth of hiswelcome about her heart. She stayed long talking with him. Here was afriend indeed, a friend to trust, a friend to confide in, a friend tolove. He might be "everybody's own and particular pal, " as Nap had said, but she knew intuitively that this friend of hers kept a corner for herthat was exclusively her own, a safe refuge in which she had foundshelter for the first time on that night that seemed so long ago when hehad held her in his arms and comforted her as though he had been a woman, and which she knew had been open to her ever since. 

There was a final rehearsal in the afternoon which went remarkablysmoothly. Anne's part was not a lengthy one, and as soon as it was overshe went back to the house in search of Mrs. Errol. She had leftdirections for her letters to be sent after her, and she found two orthree awaiting her in the hall. She picked them up, and passed into themusic-room. 

Here she found Lucas reading some correspondence of his own. 

He looked up with a smile. "Oh, Lady Carfax! I was just thinking of you. I have a letter here from my friend Capper. You remember Dr. Capper?"

"Very well indeed, " she said, stifling a sudden pang at the name. 

He lay motionless in his chair, studying her with those shrewd blue eyesthat she never desired to avoid. "I believe Capper took you more or lessinto his confidence, " he said. "It's a risky thing for a doctor to do, but he is a student of human nature as well as human anatomy. Hegenerally knows what he is about. Won't you sit down?"

She took the seat near him that he indicated. Somehow the mention ofCapper had made her cold. She was conscious of a shrinking that wasalmost physical from the thought of ever seeing him again. 

"Capper wants to have the shaping of my destiny, " Lucas went onmeditatively. "In other words, he wants to pull me to pieces and make anew man of me. Sometimes I am strongly tempted to let him try. At othertimes, " he was looking at her fully, "I hesitate. "

She put her shrinking from her and faced him. "Will you tell me why?"

"Because, " he said slowly, "I have a fear that I might be absentwhen wanted. "

"But you are always wanted, " she said quickly. 

He smiled. "Thank you, Lady Carfax. But that was not my meaning. I thinkyou understand me. I think Capper must have told you. I am speaking withregard to--my brother Nap. "

He spoke the last words very deliberately. He was still looking at herkindly but very intently. She felt the blood rush to her heart. For thefirst time her eyes fell before his. 

He went on speaking at once, as if to reassure her, to give her time. "You've been a stanch friend to him, I know, and you've done a big thingfor him. You've tamed him, shaped him, made a man of him. I felt yourinfluence upon him before I ever met you. I sensed your courage, yoursteadfastness, your goodness. But you are only a woman, eh, Lady Carfax?And Rome wasn't built in a day. There may come a time when the savagegets the upper hand of him again. And then, if I were not by to hold himin, he might gallop to his own or someone else's destruction. That iswhat I have to think of before I decide. "

"But--can you always hold him?" Anne said. 

"Always, Lady Carfax. " Very quietly, with absolute confidence, came thereply. "You may put your last dollar on that, and you won't lose it. Wesettled that many years ago, once and for all. But I've been askingmyself lately if I need be so anxious, if possibly Rome may be nearercompletion than I imagine. Is it so? Is it so? I sometimes think you knowhim better than I do myself. "

"I!" Anne said. 

"You, Lady Carfax. "

With an effort she looked up. His eyes were no longer closely studyingher. He seemed to be looking beyond. 

"If you can trust him, " he said quietly, "I know that I can. The questionis--Can you?"

He waited very quietly for her answer, still not looking at her. But itwas long in coming. 

At last. "I do not feel that I know him as I once did, " she said, hervoice very low, "nor is my influence over him what it was. But I think, if you trust him, he will not disappoint you. "

The kindly eyes rested upon her again for a moment, but he made nocomment upon the form in which she had couched her reply. 

He merely, after the briefest pause, smiled and thanked her. 

CHAPTER VIII

A SUDDEN BLOW

Anne found herself the first to enter the drawing room that night beforedinner. It was still early, barely half-past seven. The theatricals wereto begin at nine. 

She had her unopened letters with her, and she sat down to peruse them byan open window. The evening sun poured full upon her in fiery splendour. She leaned her head against the woodwork, a little wearied. 

She opened the first letter mechanically. Her thoughts were wandering. Without much interest she withdrew it from the envelope, saw it to beunimportant, and returned it after the briefest inspection. The next wasof the same order, and received a similar treatment. The third and lastshe held for several seconds in her hand, and finally opened with obviousreluctance. It was from a doctor in the asylum in which her husband hadbeen placed. Slowly her eyes travelled along the page. 

When she turned it at length her hands were shaking, shaking so muchthat the paper rattled and quivered like a living thing. The writingended on the further page, but before her eyes reached the signature theletter had fallen from her grasp. Anne, the calm, the self-contained, thestately, sat huddled in her chair--a trembling, stricken woman, with herhands pressed tightly over her eyes, as if to shut out some dread vision. 

In the silence that followed someone entered the room with a light, cat-like tread, and approached the window against which she sat. But sooverwhelmed was she for the moment that she was unaware of any presencetill Nap's voice spoke to her, and she started to find him close to her, within reach of her hand. 

She lifted her white face then, while mechanically she groped for theletter. It had fallen to the ground. He picked it up. 

"What is it?" he said, and she thought his voice sounded harsh. "You havehad bad news?"

She held out her hand for the letter. "No, it is good. I--am a littletired, that's all. "

"That is not all, " he said, and she heard the dogged note in hisvoice that she had come to know as the signal of indomitableresolution. He sat down on the window seat close to her, stillkeeping the letter in his hand. 

She made a little hopeless gesture and sat silent, striving forcomposure. She knew that during the seconds that followed, his eyes neverstirred from her face. It was his old trick of making her feel thecompulsion of his will. Often before she had resisted it. To-night shewas taken at a disadvantage. He had caught her unarmed. She waspowerless. 

She turned her head at last and spoke. "You may read that letter, " shesaid. 

The thin lips smiled contemptuously for an instant. "I have read italready, " he said. 

She started slightly, meeting his eyes. "You have read it?"

"In your face, " he told her coolly. "It contains news of the man you callyour husband. It is to say he is better--and--coming--home. "

He spoke the last words as though he were actually reading them one byone in her tragic eyes. 

"It is an experiment, " she whispered. "He wishes it himself, it seems, and they think the change might prove beneficial. He is decidedlybetter--marvellously so. And he has expressed the desire to see me. Ofcourse"--she faltered a little--"I should not be--alone with him. Therewould be an attendant. But--but you mustn't think I am afraid. It wasn'tthat. Only--only--I did not expect it. It has come rather suddenly. I amnot so easily upset as a rule. "

She spoke hurriedly, almost as though she were pleading with him tounderstand and to pardon her weakness. 

But her words quivered into silence. Nap said nothing whatever. Hesat motionless, the letter still in his hand, his eyes unswervinglyfixed upon her, That sphinx-like stare became unbearable at last. She gathered herstrength and rose. 

"You came upon me at an unlucky moment, " she said. "Please forget it. "

He still stared at her stonily without moving or speaking. Something thatwas almost fear gripped her. The very stillness of the man was in afashion intimidating. 

She stood before him, erect, and at least outwardly calm. "May I have myletter?" she said. 

The words were a distinct command, and after a very decided pause heresponded to it. He rose with a quick, lithe movement, and handed her theletter with a brief bow. 

An instant later, while she still waited for him to speak, he turned onhis heel and left her. 

Very soon after, Mrs. Errol came in, and then one after another those whowere staying in the house for the entertainment. But Anne had commandedherself by that time. No one noticed anything unusual in her demeanour. 

Nap was absent from the dinner--table. Someone said that he wassuperintending some slight alteration on the stage. It was so ordinary anoccurrence for him to fail to appear at a meal that no one was surprised. Only Anne covered a deep uneasiness beneath her resolute serenity ofmanner. She could not forget that basilisk stare. It haunted her almostto the exclusion of everything else. She had no thought to spare for theletter regarding her husband. She could only think of Nap. What had thatstare concealed? She felt that if she could have got past those baffling, challenging eyes she would have seen something terrible. 

Yet when she met him again she wondered if after all she had disquietedherself for nought. He was standing at the stage-entrance to themarquee, discussing some matter with one of the curtain-pullers when shearrived. He stood aside for her to pass, and she went by quickly, avoiding his eyes. 

She kept out of his way studiously till her turn came, then perforce shehad to meet him again, for he was stationed close to the opening on tothe stage through which she had to pass. For the moment there was no oneelse at hand, and she felt her heart beat thick and fast as she waitedbeside him for her cue. 

He did not speak to her, did not, she fancied, even look at her; butafter a few dumb seconds his hand came out to hers and held it in aclose, sinewy grip. Her own was nerveless, cold as ice. She could nothave withdrawn it had she wished. But she did not wish. That action ofhis had a strange effect upon her, subtly calming her reawakened doubts. She felt that he meant to reassure her, and she suffered herself to bereassured. 

Later, she marvelled at the ingenuity that had so successfully blindedher, marvelled at herself for having been so blinded, marvelled most ofall at the self-restraint that could so shackle and smother the fiercepassion that ran like liquid fire in every vein as to make her fancy thatit had ceased to be. 

When her turn came at length she collected herself and left himwith a smile. 

She went through her part very creditably, but she was unspeakablythankful when it was over. 

"You are tired, Lady Carfax, " Lucas murmured, when at length she foundher way to the seat beside him that he had been reserving for her. 

"A little, " she admitted. 

And then suddenly the impulse to tell him the primary cause of hertrouble came upon her irresistibly. She leaned towards him and spokeunder cover of the orchestra. 

"Mr. Errol, I have had news of--my husband. He wants to come home. No, heis not well yet, but decidedly better, well enough to be at liberty inthe charge of an attendant. And so--and so--"

The whispered words failed. She became silent, waiting for the steadysympathy for which she knew she would never wait in vain. 

But he did not speak at once. It almost seemed as if he were at a loss. It almost seemed as if he realised too fully for speech that leadenweight of despair which had for a space so terribly overwhelmed her. 

And then at last his voice came to her, slow and gentle, yet with a vitalnote in it that was like a bugle-call to her tired spirit. "Stick to it, Lady Carfax! You'll win out. You're through the worst already. "

Desperately, as one half-ashamed, she answered him. "I wish with all myheart I could think so. But--I am still asking myself if--if there is noway of escape. "

He turned his head in the dim light and looked at her, and shame stabbedher deeper still. Yet she would not recall the words. It was better thathe should know, better that he should not deem her any greater orworthier than she was. 

Then, "Thank you for telling me, " he said very simply. "But you'll winout all the same. I have always known that you were on the winning side. "

The words touched her in a fashion not wholly accountable. Her eyesfilled with sudden tears. 

"What makes you have such faith in me?" she said. 

The light was too dim for her so see his face, but she knew that he wassmiling as he made reply. 

"That's just one of the things I can't explain, " he said. "But I thinkGod made you for a spar for drowning men to cling to. "

She smiled with him in spite of the tears. "May the spar never failyou!" she said. 

"I am not afraid, " he answered very steadily. 

CHAPTER IX

THE BOON

It was long before Anne slept that night, but yet though restless she wasnot wholly miserable. Neither was she perplexed. Her duty lay before herclearly defined, and she meant to fulfil it. Those few words with LucasErrol had decided her beyond all hesitancy, so completely was she insympathy with this strong friend of hers. Perhaps her wavering had onlybeen the result of a moment's weakness, following upon sudden strain. Butthe strain had slackened, and the weakness was over. She knew that evenNap had not the power to move her now. With the memory of his firmhand-grip came the conviction that he would not seek to do so. Likeherself he had been momentarily dismayed it might be, but he had takenhis place among her friends, not even asking to be foremost, andremembering this, she resolutely expelled any lingering doubt of him. Hadshe not already proved that she had but to trust him to find himtrustworthy? What tangible reason had he given her for withdrawing hertrust even for a moment? She reproached herself for it, and determinedthat she would never doubt him again. 

But yet sleep was long in coming to her. Once when it seemed near, thehooting of an owl near the open window drove it away; and once in thevague twilight before the dawn she started awake to hear the sharpthudding of a horse's hoofs galloping upon the turf not very far away. That last set her heart a-beating, she could not have said wherefore, save that it reminded her vaguely of a day in the hunting-field that hadended for her in disaster. 

She slept at last and dreamed--a wild and fearful dream. She dreamed thatshe was on horseback, galloping, galloping, galloping, in headlong flightfrom someone, she knew not whom, but it was someone of whom she wasunspeakably afraid. And ever behind her at break-neck speed, gainingupon her, merciless as fate, galloped her pursuer. It was terrible, itwas agonising, yet, though in her heart she knew it to be a dream, shecould not wake. And then, all suddenly, the race was over. Someone drewabreast of her. A sinewy hand gripped her bridle-rein. With a gasping cryshe turned to face her captor, and saw--a Red Indian! His tigerish eyesgazed into hers. He was laughing with a fiendish exultation. The eaglefeathers tossed above his swarthy face. It came nearer to her; it glaredinto her own. And suddenly recognition stabbed her like a sword. It wasthe face of Nap Errol.... 

He was on the stairs talking to Hudson, the valet, when she descended tobreakfast, but he turned at once to greet her. 

"I am sorry to say Lucas has had a bad night. He will keep his roomto-day. How have you slept, Lady Carfax?"

She answered him conventionally. They went downstairs together. 

Bertie was in the hall studying a newspaper. He came forward, scowlingheavily, shook hands with Anne, and immediately addressed his brother. 

"I've just come in from the stable. Have you been out all night? You'venearly ridden the mare to death. "

Anne glanced at Nap instinctively. He was smiling. "Don't vex yourself, my good Bertie, " he said. "The mare will be all right after a feed. "

"Will she?" growled Bertie. "She is half dead from exhaustion anyway. "

"Oh, skittles!" said Nap, turning to go. 

The boy's indignation leaped to a blaze. "Skittles to you! I know whatI'm saying. And if you're not ashamed of yourself, you damned wellought to be!"

Nap stopped. "What?" he drawled. 

Bertie glared at him and subsided. The explosion had been somewhat moreviolent than he had intended. 

Very quietly Nap stepped up to him. "Will you repeat that last remarkof yours?"

Bertie was silent. 

"Or do you prefer to withdraw it?"

Bertie maintained a dogged silence. He was fidgeting with the paper in afashion that seemed to indicate embarrassment. 

"Do you withdraw it?" Nap repeated, still quiet, still slightly drawling. 

Bertie hunched his shoulders like a schoolboy. "Oh, get away, Nap!" hegrowled. "Yes--sorry I spoke. Now clear out and leave me alone!"

Anne was already at the further end of the hall, but Nap overtook herbefore she entered the breakfast room. He opened the door for her, and asshe passed him she saw that he was still faintly smiling. 

"Pardon the _contretemps_!" he said. "You may have noticed before that Iam not particularly good at swallowing insults. "

"I wonder if there was a cause for it, " she said, looking at himsteadily. "Remember, I know what your riding is like. "

He raised his eyebrows for a moment, then laughed. The room they enteredwas empty. 

"No one down yet!" he observed. "Take a seat by the window. What willyou have?"

He attended to her wants and his own, and finally sat down facing her. Heseemed to be in excellent spirits. 

"Please don't look so severe!" he urged. "Just as I am going to ask afavour of you, too!"

She smiled a little but not very willingly. "I don't like cruel people, "she said. "Cruelty is a thing I can never forget because I abhor it so. "

"And are you never cruel?" said Nap. 

"I hope not. "

"I hope not, too, " he rejoined, giving her a hard look. "But I sometimeshave my doubts. "

Anne looked out of the window in silence. 

The sharp rapping of his knuckles on the table recalled her. She turned, slightly startled, and met his imperious eyes. He smiled at her. 

"Queen Anne, I crave a boon. "

Almost involuntarily she returned his smile. "So you said before. "

"And you don't even ask what it is. "

"I am not quite sure that I want to know, Nap, " she said. 

"You are not liking me this morning, " he observed. 

She made no answer. 

"What is it?" he said. "Is it the mare?"

She hesitated. "Perhaps, in part. "

"And the other part?" He leaned forward, looking at her keenly. "Are youafraid of me, Anne?" he said. 

His voice was free from reproach, yet her heart smote her. She remindedherself of how he had once pleaded with her for her trust. 

"I'm sorry I pressed the mare, " he said, "but it was quite as much herfault as mine. Moreover, the cub exaggerated. I will fetch him in andmake him own it if you like. "

She stayed him with a gesture. "No, don't, please! I think Bertie wasprobably in the right. "

"Do you, though?" Nap leaned back again, regarding her with superciliousattention. "It's rather--daring of you to say so. "

"Do you really think I stand in awe of you?" she said. 

"You are such a truly remarkable woman, " he made answer, "that I scarcelyknow what to think. But since you are not afraid of me--apparently, perhaps I may venture to come to the point. Do you know I have beenlaying plans for a surprise picnic for you and--one other? It's such agorgeous day. Don't refuse!"

The boyish note she liked to hear sounded suddenly in his voice. Hediscarded his cynicism and leaned towards her again, eager, persuasive. 

"Don't refuse, " he reiterated. "Look at the sunshine, listen to thebirds, think of a whole day in the open! I'll take you to the loveliestplace I know in this quaint little island, and I'll be your slave all daylong. Oh, I promise you won't find me in the way. Now don't look prudish. Be a girl for once. Never mind the rest of creation. No one else willknow anything about it. We leave Baronmead this morning in the motor, andwho cares what time we reach the Manor? It can't matter to you or anyone. Say you'll come! Say it!"

"My dear Nap!" Anne looked at him dubiously, uncertain whether to takehim seriously. 

"Say it!" he repeated. "There is no earthly reason why you shouldn't. AndI'll take such care of you. Why shouldn't you have a real good time foronce? You never have had in all your life. "

True, only too true! But it was not that fact that made her waver. 

"Will you tell me what plans you have made for this picnic?" she askedat length. 

He began to smile. "My plans, Lady Carfax, are entirely subject to yourapproval. About forty miles from here there is a place calledBramhurst--a place after your own heart--a paradise. With judiciousdriving we could be there by one or soon after--in time for luncheon. "

"Yes?" she said, as he stopped. 

"That's all, " said Nap. 

"But--afterwards?" she hazarded. 

"My dear Lady Carfax, if it is to be a surprise picnic, where's the useof settling all the details beforehand?" Nap's tone was one of indulgentprotest; he was eating and drinking rapidly, as if he had an appointmentto keep. "My suggestion is that we then follow our inclinations--yourinclinations. " He smiled at her again. "I am your slave till sunset. "

"Could we be back at the Manor by then?" she asked. 

"Of course we could. "

"Will you promise that we shall be?" She looked up at him seriously. 

He was still smiling. "If you ordain it, " he said. 

"I must be back by dinner-time, " she asserted. 

"And you dine?"

"At eight. "

He pushed back his chair and rose. "Very discreet of you! The sun sets ateight-ten. At what hour will you deign to be ready?"

"At eleven, " said Anne. 

He glanced at his watch. "I am afraid you can't see Lucas to saygood-bye. Hudson has just given him morphia. "

"Is he so bad then?" she asked quickly. 

"No worse than he has been before. Bad pain all night. He always fightsagainst taking the stuff. I persuaded him. " He spoke shortly, as if thesubject were distasteful to him. "No doubt he is easier by this time, " headded. "Eleven o'clock then! I will go and get ready. " But even then hepaused, his hand on the back of her chair. "Can you keep a secret?" heasked lightly. 

She glanced up at him. "A secret?"

"An it please you, " he said, "let this be a secret between yourself andyour humble slave!"

And with the words he turned with an air of finality and went away. 

CHAPTER X

A DAY IN PARADISE

It was a day in the very heart of the summer, a day of cloudless skiesand wonderful, magic breezes, a day for the dreaming--and perchance forthe fulfilment--of dreams. Swift and noiseless as the swoop of a monsterbird the motor glided on its way; now rushing, now slackening, but neverhalting. Sometimes it seemed to Anne that she sat motionless while theworld raced by her. She had often seen herself thus. And then with athrill of the pulses came the exultation of rapid movement, banishing theillusion, while the very heart of her rejoiced in the knowledge thereof. For this one day--for this one day--she had left the desert behind her. She had yielded half against her judgment, but she knew no regret. On themorrow she would be back in the waste places where, during all herwomanhood, she had wandered. But for this one day the roses bloomed forher and she drank deep of their fragrance. It had come to her sounexpectedly, so dazzlingly, this brief and splendid hour. She marvelledat herself that she had hesitated even for a moment to accept it. 

Perhaps memories of another day came now and again to her as she leanedback on the cushions and opened her soul to the sunshine, memories of aday of sparkling winter which had begun in much the same genialatmosphere and had ended in most hideous disaster. But if they came sheput them resolutely from her. There was no time to waste upon past orfuture. For this one day she would drink the wine of the gods; shewould live. 

Nap drove in almost unbroken silence. He was wearing a mask, and she hadno clue to his thoughts; but she scarcely speculated about him. She didnot want to talk. She only desired to give herself up to the purepleasure of rapid movement. She had complete faith in his driving. Ifdaring, he was never reckless, with her beside him. 

The meadows were full of hay, and the scent of it lay like a spell uponthe senses. The whirr of the mowing machine filled the air with a lazydroning. It was like a lullaby. And ever they sped on, through towns andvillages and hamlets, through woods and lanes and open country, sure andswift and noiseless save for the cheery humming of the motor, which sangsoftly to itself like a spinning top. 

They went through country of which Anne had no knowledge, but Nap seemedfully acquainted with it; for he never paused to ask the way, neverraised his eyes to the finger-posts that marked the cross-roads. Shemarvelled at his confidence, but asked no questions. It was not a day forquestions. 

Only when they emerged at last upon a wide moor, where the early heathergrew in tufts of deepest rose, she cried to him suddenly to stop. 

"I must get some of it. It is the first I have seen. Look! Howexquisite!"

He drew up at the side of the long white road that zigzagged over themoor, and they went together into the springy heath, wading in it afterthe waxen flowers. 

And here Anne sat down in the blazing sunshine and lifted her clear eyesto his. "I won't thank you, because we are friends, " she said. "But thisis the best day I have ever had. "

He pushed up his goggles and sat down beside her. "So you are not sorryyou came?" he said. 

"I could not be sorry to-day, " she answered. "How long have you knownthis perfect place?"

He lay back in the heather with his arms flung wide. "I came here firstone day in the spring, a day in May. The place was a blaze of gorse andbroom--as if it were on fire. It suited me--for I was on fire too. "

In the silence that succeeded his words he turned and leisurelyscrutinised her. She was snapping a stalk of heather with minute care. Adeep flush rose and spread over her face under his eyes. 

"Why don't you look at me?" he said. 

Very slowly her eyes came down to him. He was smiling in a secretfashion, not as if he expected her to smile in return. The sunlight beatdown upon his upturned face. He blinked at her lazily and stretched everylimb in succession, like a cat. 

"Let me know when you begin to feel bored, " he said. "I am quite ready toamuse you. "

"I thought it was only the bores who were ever bored, " she said. 

He opened his eyes a little. "Did I say that or did you?"

She returned to her heather-pulling. "I believe you said it originally. "

"I remember, " he returned composedly. "It was on the night you bestowedupon me the office of court-jester, the night you dreamed I was the Knaveof Diamonds, the night that--"

She interrupted very gently but very resolutely; "The night that webecame friends, Nap. "

"A good many things happened that night, " he remarked, pulling off hiscap and pitching it from him. 

"Is that wise?" she said. "The sun is rather strong. "

He sat up, ignoring the warning. "Anne, " he said, "have you ever dreamedabout me since that night?"

She was silent, all her attention concentrated upon her bunch of heather. His eyes left her face and began to study her hands. 

After a moment he pulled a bit of string out of his pocket and withouta word proceeded to wind it round the stalks she held. As he knottedit he spoke. 

"So that is why you were afraid of me to-day. I knew there was something. I winded it the moment we met. Whenever I hold your hand in mine I cansee into your soul. What was it, Anne? The Knave of Diamonds on a blackmare--riding to perdition?"

He laughed at her softly as though she had been a child. He was stillwatching her hands. Suddenly he laid his own upon them and lookedinto her face. 

"Or was it just a savage?" he asked her quietly. 

Against her will, in spite of the blaze of sunshine, she shivered. 

"Yes, " he said. "But isn't it better to face him than to run away?Haven't you always found it so? You kissed him once, Anne. Do youremember? It was the greatest thing that ever happened to him. "

He spoke with a gentleness that amazed her. His eyes held hers, butwithout compulsion. He was lulling her fear of him to rest, as healone knew how. 

She answered him with quivering lips. "I have wondered since if Idid wrong. "

"Then don't wonder, " he said. "For I was nearer to the God you worshipat that moment than I had ever been before. I never believed in Him tillthen, but that night I wrestled with Him--and got beaten. " He droppedsuddenly into his most cynical drawl, so that she wondered if, afterall, he were mocking her. "It kind of made an impression on me. Ithought it might interest you to know. Have you had enough of this yet?Shall we move on?"

She rose in silence. She was very far from certain, and yet she fanciedthere had been a ring of sincerity in his words. 

As they reached the car she laid her hand for an instant on his arm. "Ifit did that for you, Nap, " she said, "I do not regret it. "

He smiled in his faint, cynical fashion. "I believe you'll turn me out agood man some day, " he said. "And I wonder if you will like me any whenit's done. "

"I only want you to be your better self, " she answered gently. 

"Which is a myth, " he returned, as he handed her in, "which exists onlyin your most gracious imagination. "

And with that he pulled the mask over his face once more and turned tothe wheel. 

CHAPTER XI

THE RETURN TO EARTH

It was nearly two before they reached Bramhurst and drew up before theone ancient inn the place possessed. Upstairs, in a lattice-windowed roomwith sloping floor and bulging ceiling, a room that was full of the scentof honeysuckle, Anne washed away the dust of the road. Turning to themirror on the dressing-table when this was over, she stood a momentwide-eyed, startled. Through her mind there swept again the memory of aday that seemed very far away--a day begun in sunshine and ended instorm, a day when she had looked into the eyes of a white-faced woman inthe glass and had shrunk away in fear. It was a very different visionthat now met her gaze, and yet she had a feeling that there was somethingin it that remained unaltered. Was it in the eyes that shone from a faceso radiant that it might have been the face of a girl?

She could not have said. Only after that one brief glimpse shelooked no more. 

Descending, she found Nap waiting for her in the oak-beamed coffee-room. He made her sit facing the open window, looking forth upon hill andforest and shallow winding river. 

The stout old English waiter who attended to their wants veryspeedily withdrew. 

"He thinks we are on our wedding-trip, " said Nap. 

She glanced at him sharply. 

"Yes, I let him have it so, " he returned. "I never destroy a prettyillusion if I can help it. "

"What time do we start back?" said Anne, aware of burning cheeks, whichhe was studying with undisguised amusement. 

"Would you like some ice?" he suggested. 

She laughed, with something of an effort. "Don't be ridiculous, Nap!"

"I am sure you have never done anything so improper in all your lifebefore, " he went on. "What must it feel like? P'r'aps you would havepreferred me to explain the situation to him in detail? I will have himin and do it now--if you really think it worth while. I shouldn't myself, but then I seldom suffer from truthfulness in its most acute form. It's atiresome disease, isn't it? One might almost call it dashed inconvenienton an occasion such as this. There is only one remedy that I can suggest, and that is to pretend it's true. "

"I am not good at pretending, " Anne answered gravely. 

He laughed. "Very true, O Queen! Horribly true! But I am, you know, apositive genius in that respect. So I'm going to pretend I'm anEnglishman--of the worthy, thick-headed, bulldog breed. (I am sure youadmire it; you wouldn't be an Englishwoman if you didn't). And you are mydevoted and adorable wife. You needn't look shocked. It's all for thesake of that chap's morals. Do you think I can do it?"

"I don't want you to do it, Nap, " she said earnestly. 

He dropped the subject instantly. "Your wish is law. There is only oneother person in this world who can command my implicit obedience in thisfashion. So I hope you appreciate your power. "

"And that other is Lucas?" said Anne. 

He nodded. "Luke the irresistible! Did you ever try to resist him?"

She shook her head with a smile. 

"Take my advice then, " he said. "Never do! He could whip creation withhis hands tied behind him. Oh, I know you all think him mild-tempered andeasy-going, more like a woman than a man. But you wait till you're hardup against him. Then you'll know what I mean when I tell you he'scolossal. " There was a queer ring of passion in his voice as he ended. Itsounded to Anne like the half-stifled cry of a wounded animal. 

Because of it she repressed the impulse to ask him what he meant. Nevertheless, after a moment, as if impelled by some hidden force, hecontinued. 

"There was a time when I thought of him much as you do. And then one daythere came a reckoning--an almighty big reckoning. " He leaned back in hischair and stared upwards, while the grim lines of his mouth tightened. "It was down in Arizona. We fought a duel that lasted a day and a night. He was a worse cripple in those days than he is now, but he won out--hewon out. " Again came the cynical drawl, covering his actual feelings aswith an impenetrable veil. "I've had a kind of respect for him eversince, " he said. "One does, you know. "

"One would, " said Anne, and again refrained from asking questions. 

She was thinking of the complete confidence with which Lucas had spokenof his ascendency over this man. 

Finishing luncheon they went out over the common that stretched from thevery door, down the hill-side of short, sun-baked grass, passing betweenmasses of scorched broom, whose bursting pods crackled perpetually in thesunshine, till they came to the green shade of forest trees and the gleamof a running stream. 

The whirr of grasshoppers filled the air and the humming of insectsinnumerable. Away in the distance sounded the metal clang of a cow-bell. It was the only definite sound that broke the stillness. The heat wasintense. A dull, copper haze had risen and partially obscured the sun. 

Anne stopped on the edge of the stream. Wonderful dragon-flies such asshe had never seen before, peacock, orange and palest green, darted toand fro above the brown water. Nap leaned against a tree close to her andsmoked a cigarette. 

She spoke at last without turning. "Am I in fairyland, I wonder?"

"Or the Garden of Eden, " suggested Nap. 

She laughed a little, and stooping tried to reach a forget-me-not thatgrew on the edge of the water. 

"Beware of the serpent!" he warned. "Anyway, don't tumble in!"

She stretched back a hand to him. "Don't let me go!"

His hand closed instantly and firmly upon her wrist. In a moment shedrew back with the flower in her hand, to find his cigarette smoulderingon a tuft of moss. He set his foot upon it without explanation andlighted another. 

"Ought we not to be starting back?" she asked. 

"It won't be so hot in half-an-hour, " he said. 

"But how long will it take?"

"It can be done in under three hours. If we start at half-past-four youshould be home well before sunset. "

He smiled with the words, and Anne suffered herself to be persuaded. Certainly the shade of the beech trees was infinitely preferable to theglare of the dusty roads, and the slumberous atmosphere made her feelundeniably languorous. 

She sat down therefore on the roots of a tree, still watching thedragon-flies flitting above the water. 

Nap stripped off his coat and made it into a cushion. "Lean back on this. Yes, really. I'm thankful for the excuse to go without it. How is that?Comfortable?"

She thanked him with a smile. "I mustn't go to sleep. "

"Why not?" said Nap. "There is nothing to disturb you. I'm going back tothe inn to order tea before we start. "

He was off with the words with that free, agile gait of his that alwaysmade her think of some wild creature of the woods. 

She leaned back with a sense of complete well-being and closed hereyes.... 

When she opened them again it was with a guilty feeling of having beenasleep at a critical juncture. With a start she sat up and lookedaround her. The sun-rays were still slanting through the wood, butdully, as though they shone through a sheet of smoked glass. Thestillness was intense. 

A sharp sense of nervousness pricked her. There seemed to be somethingominous in the atmosphere; or was it only in her own heart that itexisted? And where was Nap? Surely he had been gone for a very long time!

She rose stiffly and picked up his coat. At the same instant a shrillwhistle sounded through the wood, and in a moment she saw him comingswiftly towards her. 

Quietly she moved to meet him. 

He began to speak before he reached her. "I was afraid you would be tiredof waiting and wander about till you got frightened and lost yourself. Doyou ever have hysterics?"

"Never, " said Anne firmly. 

He took his coat and began to wriggle into it, surveying her meantimewith a smile half-speculative, half-rueful. 

"Well, that's a weight off my mind, anyway, " he remarked at length. "For I have a staggering piece of news for you which I hardly dare toimpart. Oh, it's no good looking at your watch. It's hopelessly late, nearly six o'clock, and in any case I can't get you home to-night. There's no petrol. "

"Nap!" Anne's voice was a curious compound of consternation and relief. Somehow--doubtless it was the effect of thunder in the atmosphere--shehad expected something in the nature of tragedy. 

Nap put on his most contrite air. "Do be a brick and take it nicely!" hepleaded. "I know I was an all-fired fool not to see to it for myself. ButI was called away, and so I had to leave it to those dunderheads at thegarage. I only made the discovery when I left you a couple of hours ago. There was just enough left to take me to Rodding, so I pelted off at onceto some motorworks I knew of there, only to find the place was empty. It's a hole of a town. There was some game on, and I couldn't get aconveyance anywhere. So I just put up the motor and came back acrosscountry on foot. I don't see what else I could have done, do you?"

Anne did not for the moment, but she was considering the situation toorapidly to answer him. 

"My only consolation, " he went on, "is that you have got a change ofraiment, which is more than I have. Oh, yes, I had the sense to think ofthat contingency. Your bag is at the inn here, waiting for you. "

"You had better have taken me back with you to Rodding, " Anne said. 

"Yes, I know. But I expected to be back in half an hour if all went well. It's easy to be wise after the event, isn't it? I've thought of thatmyself since. " Nap picked up a twig and bit it viciously. "Anyway, thereis some tea waiting for us. Shall we go back?"

Anne turned beside him. "Then what do you propose to do?"

He glanced at her. "Nothing before morning, I'm afraid. There is novehicle to be had here. I will send someone down to Rodding in themorning for a conveyance. We can take the train from there to Staps, where I can get some petrol. We ought by that means to reach homesometime in the afternoon. It is the only feasible plan, I am afraid;unless you can suggest a better. "

He looked at her keenly, still biting at the twig between his teeth. 

Anne walked for several seconds in silence. At last, "Would it be quiteimpossible to walk to Rodding now?" she asked. 

"Not at all, " said Nap. "It is about eight miles through the woods. Weshould be benighted, of course. Also I fancy there is a storm coming up. But if you wish to make the attempt--"

"I was only wondering, " she said quietly, "if we could get an eveningtrain to Staps. That, I know, is on the main line. You could put upthere, and I could take the night train to town. "

"Oh, quite so, " said Nap. "Shall we have tea before we start?"

They had emerged from the wood and were beginning to climb the hill. Theveiled sunlight gave an unreal effect to the landscape. The broom busheslooked ghostly. 

Anne gave an uneasy glance around. "I believe you are right about thestorm, " she said. 

"I generally am right, " observed Nap. 

They walked on. "I shouldn't like to be benighted in the woods, " she saidpresently. 

His scoffing smile showed for an instant. "Alone with me too! Mostimproper!"

"I was thinking we might miss the way, " Anne returned with dignity. "Iwonder--shall we risk it?"

She turned to him as if consulting him, but Nap's face was to the sky. "That is for you to decide, " he said. "We might do it. The storm won'tbreak at present. "

"It will be violent when it does, " she said. 

He nodded. "It will. "

She quickened her steps instinctively, and he lengthened his stride. Thesmile had ceased to twitch his lips. 

"Have you decided?" he asked her suddenly, and his voice soundedalmost stern. 

They were nearing the top of the hill. She paused, panting a little. "Yes. I will spend the night here. "

He gave her a glance of approval. "You are a wise woman. "

"I hope so, " said Anne. "I must telegraph at once to Dimsdale and tellhim not to expect me. "

Nap's glance fell away from her. He said nothing whatever. 

CHAPTER XII

IN THE FACE OF THE GODS

"Thank the gods, we are the only guests!" said Nap that evening, as theysat down to dine at the table at which they had lunched. 

The glare of a lurid sunset streamed across the sky and earth. There wasa waiting stillness upon all things. It was the hush before the storm. 

An unwonted restlessness had taken possession of Anne. She did not echohis thanksgiving, an omission which he did not fail to note, but uponwhich he made no comment. 

It was in fact scarcely a place for any but day visitors, being someconsiderable distance from the beaten track. The dinner placed beforethem was not of a very tempting description, and Anne's appetite dwindledvery rapidly. 

"You must eat something, " urged Nap. "Satisfy your hunger withstrawberries and cream. "

But Anne had no hunger to satisfy, and she presently rose from the tablewith something like a sigh of relief. 

They went into the drawing-room, a room smelling strongly of musk, andlittered largely with furniture of every description. Nap opened wide adoor-window that led into a miniature rosegarden. Beyond stretched thecommon, every detail standing out with marvellous vividness in the weirdstorm-light. 

"St. Christopher!" he murmured softly. "We are going to catch it. "

Anne sat down in a low chair near him, gazing forth in silence, her chinon her hand. 

He turned a little and looked down at her, and thus some minutes slippedaway, the man as tensely still as the awe-stricken world without, thewoman deep in thought. 

He moved at last with a curious gesture as if he freed and restrainedhimself by the same action. 

"Why don't you think out loud?" he said. 

She raised her eyes for a moment. "I was thinking of my husband, " shesaid. 

He made a sharp movement--a movement that was almost fierce--and againseemed to take a fresh grip upon himself. His black brows met above hisbrooding eyes. "Can't you leave him out of the reckoning for this onenight?" he asked. 

"I think not, " she answered quietly. 

He turned his face to the sinking sun. It shone like a smoulderingfurnace behind bars of inky cloud. 

"You told me once, " he said, speaking with obvious constraint, "that youdid not think you would ever live with him again. "

She stifled a sigh in her throat. "I thought so then. "

"And what has happened to make you change your mind?"

Anne was silent. She could not have seen the fire that leapt and dartedin the dusky eyes had she been looking at him, but she was not looking. Her chin was back upon her hand. She was gazing out into the darkeningworld with the eyes of a woman who sees once more departed visions. 

"I think, " she said slowly at length, as he waited immovably for heranswer, "that I see my duty more clearly now than then. "

"Duty! Duty!" he said impatiently. "Duty is your fetish. You sacrificeyour whole life to it. And what do you get in return? A sense of virtueperhaps, nothing more. There isn't much warming power in virtue. I'vetried it and I know!" He broke off to utter a very bitter laugh. "And soI've given it up, " he said. "It's a trail that leads to nowhere. "

Anne's brows drew together for an instant. "I hoped you might come tothink otherwise, " she said. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "How can I? I've lived the life of a saint forthe past six months, and I am no nearer heaven than when I began. It'stoo slow a process for me. I wasn't made to plough an endless furrow. "

"We all of us say that, " said Anne, with her faint smile. "But do weany of us really know what we were made for? Are we not all in themaking still?"

He thrust out his chin. "I can't be abstruse tonight. I know what Iwas made for, and I know what you were made for. That--anyway fortonight--is all that matters. "

He spoke almost brutally, yet still he held himself as it were aloof. Hewas staring unblinking into the sunset. Already the furnace was dyingdown. The thunder-clouds were closing up. The black bars had drawntogether into one immense mass, advancing, ominous. Only through a singlenarrow slit the red light still shone. 

Mutely they watched it pass, Anne with her sad eyes fixed and thoughtful, Nap still with that suggestion of restrained activity as if he watchedfor a signal. 

Gradually the rift closed, and a breathless darkness came. 

Anne uttered a little sigh. "I wish the storm would break, " she said. "Iam tired of waiting. "

As if in answer, out of the west there rose a long low rumble. 

"Ah!" she said, and no more. 

For as if the signal had come, Nap turned with a movementincredibly swift, a movement that was almost a spring, and caught herup into his arms. 

"Are you tired of waiting, my Queen--my Queen?" he said, and there was anote of fierce laughter in his words. "Then--by heaven--you shall waitno longer!"

His quick breath scorched her face, and in a moment, almost before sheknew what was happening, his lips were on her own. He kissed her as shehad never been kissed before--a single fiery kiss that sent all the bloodin tumult to her heart. She shrank and quivered under it, but she waspowerless to escape. There was sheer unshackled savagery in the holdingof his arms, and dismay thrilled her through and through. 

Yet, as his lips left hers, she managed to speak, though her voice was nomore than a gasping whisper. "Nap, are you mad? Let me go!"

But he only held her faster, faster still. 

"Yes, I am mad, " he said, and the words came quick and passionate, thelips that uttered them still close to her own. "I am mad for you, Anne. Iworship you. And I swear that while I live no other man shall ever holdyou in his arms again. Anne--goddess--queen--woman--you are mine--youare mine--you are mine!"

Again his lips pressed hers, and again from head to foot she felt as if aflame had scorched her. Desperately she began to resist him thoughterribly conscious that he had her at his mercy. But he quelled herresistance instantly, with a mastery that made her know more thoroughlyher utter impotence. 

"Do you think that you can hold me in check for ever?" he said. "I tellyou it only makes me worse. I am a savage, and chains of that sort won'thold me. What is the good of fighting against fate? You have done it aslong as I have known you; but you are beaten at last. Oh, you may turnyour face from me. It makes no difference now. I've played for this, andI've won! You have been goddess to me ever since the day I met you. To-night--you shall be woman!"

He broke into a low, exultant laugh. She could feel the fierce beating ofhis heart, and her own died within her. The blaze of his passion ringedher round like a forest fire in which all things perish. 

But even then she knew that somewhere, somewhere, there was a way ofescape, and with the instinct of the hunted creature she sought it. 

"To-night, " she said, "I shall know whether you have ever reallyloved me. "

"What?" he said. "You dare to question that now? Do you want to put me tothe proof then? Shall I show you how much I love you?"

"No, " she said. "Take your arms away!"

She did not expect his obedience, but on the instant he spread them wideand released her. 

"And now?" he said. 

She almost tottered, so amazing had been his compliance. And then asswiftly--came the knowledge that he had not really set her free. It hadpleased him to humour her, that was all. He stood before her with all thearrogance of a conqueror. And through the gathering darkness his eyesshone like the eyes of a tiger--two flames piercing the gloom. 

She mustered all her strength to face him, confronting him with thatunconscious majesty that first had drawn him to her. 

"And now, " she said, "let us once and for all understand one another. "

"What?" he said. "Don't you understand me yet? Don't yourealise--yet--that when a man of my stamp wants a woman he--takes her?"

Again there throbbed in his voice that deep note of savagery, suchsavagery as made her quail. But it was no moment for shrinking. She knewinstinctively that at the first sign of weakness he would take her backinto his arms. 

She straightened herself therefore, summoning all her pride. "Do youreally think I am the sort of woman to be taken so?" she asked. "Do youreally think I am yours for the taking? If so, then you have never knownme. Nor--till this moment--have I known you. "

He heard her without the faintest hint of astonishment or shame, standingbefore her with that careless animal grace of his that made him in somefashion superb. 

"Yes, " he said, "I really do think you are mine for the taking this time, but you will admit I've been patient. And I've taken the trouble to makethings easy for you. I've spirited you away without putting you throughany ordeals of hesitation or suspense. I've done it all quiteunobtrusively. To-morrow we go to London, after that to Paris, and afterthat--whithersoever you will--anywhere under the sun where we can bealone. As to knowing each other"--his voice changed subtly, became soft, with something of a purring quality--"we have all our lives before us, and we shall be learning every day. "

His absolute assurance struck her dumb. There was something implacableabout it, something unassailable--a stronghold which she felt powerlessto attack. 

"Doesn't that programme attract you?" he said, drawing nearer to her. "Can you suggest a better? The whole world is before us. Shall we goexploring, you and I, alone in the wilds, and find some Eden that no manhas ever trodden before? Shall we, Anne? Shall we? Right away fromeverywhere, somewhere in the sun, where I can teach you to be happy andyou can teach me to be--good. "

But at his movement she moved also, drawing back. "No!" she said. Hervoice was low, but not lacking in strength. Having spoken, she went onalmost without effort. "You are building upon a false foundation. If itwere not so, I don't think I could possibly forgive you. As it is, Ithink when you realise your mistake you will find it hard to forgiveyourself. I have treated you as a friend because I thought I could do sowith safety. I thought for the sake of my friendship you had given up allthought of anything else. I thought you were to be trusted and I trustedyou. Oh, I admit I ought to have known you better. But I shall nevermake that mistake again. "

"No, " Nap said. "I don't think you will. "

He spoke deliberately; he almost drawled. Yet a sense of danger stabbedher. His sudden coldness was more terrible than his heat. 

"But why say this to me now?" he said. "Do you think it will make anydifference?"

He had not moved as he uttered the words, and yet she felt as if hemenaced her. He made her think of a crouching tiger--a tiger whosedevotion had turned to sudden animosity. 

She did not shrink from him, but her heart quickened. "It must make adifference, " she said. "You have utterly misunderstood me, or you wouldnever have brought me here. "

"Don't be too sure of that, " he returned. "It may be that you can deceiveyourself more easily than you can deceive me. Or again, it may be that Ihave come to the end of my patience and have decided to take by stormwhat cannot be won by waiting. "

She drew herself up proudly. "And you call that--love!" she said, with ascorn that she had never before turned against him. "You dare to callthat--love!"

"Call it what you will!" he flashed back. "It is something that can crushyour cold virtue into atoms, something that can turn you from a marblesaint into a living woman of flesh and blood. For your sake I'vetried--I've agonised--to reach your level. And I've failed because Ican't breathe there. To-night you shall come down from your heights tomine. You who have never lived yet shall know life--as I knowit--to-night!"

Fiercely he flung the words, and the breath of his passion was like afiery blast blown from the heart of a raging furnace. But still she didnot shrink before him. Proud and calm she waited, bearing herself with aqueenly courage that never faltered. 

And it was as if she stood in a magic circle, for he raised no hand totouch her. Without word or movement she kept him at bay. Erect, unflinching, regal, she held her own. 

He caught his breath as he faced her. The beast in him slunk back afraid, but the devil urged him forward. He came close to her, peering into herface, searching for that weak place in every woman's armour which thedevil generally knows how to find. But still he did not offer to touchher. He had let her go out of his arms when he had believed her his own, and now he could not take her again. 

"Anne, " he said suddenly, "where is your love for me? I will swear youloved me once. "

"I never loved you, " she answered, her words clear-cut, cold as steel. "Inever loved you. Once, it is true, I fancied that you were such a man asI could have loved. But that passed. I did not know you in those days. Iknow you now. "

"And hate me for what you know?" he said. 

"No, " she answered. "I do not even hate you. "

"What then?" he gibed. "You are--sorry for me perhaps?"

"No!" Very distinct and steady came her reply. "I only despise you now. "

"What?" he said. 

"I despise you, " she repeated slowly, "knowing what you might be, andknowing--what you are. "

The words passed out in silence--a silence so tense that it seemed as ifthe world itself had stopped. Through it after many seconds came Nap'svoice, so softly that it scarcely seemed to break it. 

"It is not always wise to despise an enemy, Lady Carfax--especially ifyou chance to be in that enemy's power. "

She did not deign to answer; but her gaze did not flinch from his, nordid her pride waver. 

He drew something abruptly from his pocket and held it up before her. "Doyou see this?"

She stirred then, ever so slightly, a movement wholly involuntary, instantly checked. "Are you going to shoot me?" she asked. 

"I thought that would make you speak, " he remarked. "And you stilldespise me?"

Her breathing had quickened, but her answer was instant; for the firsttime it held a throb of anger. "I despise you for a coward. You are evenviler than I thought. "

He returned the weapon to his pocket. "It is not for you, " he said. "I ammore primitive than that. It is for the man who stands between us, forthe man who thought he could whip Nap Errol--and live. I have never goneunarmed since. "

He paused a moment, grimly regarding her. Then, "There is only onething I will take in exchange for that man's life, " he said. "Only--one--thing!"

But she stood like a statue, uttering no word. 

A sudden gust of passion swept over him, lashing him to headlong fury. "And that one thing I mean to have!" he told her violently. "No power inheaven or hell shall keep you from me. I tell you"--his voice rose, andin the darkness those two flames glowed more redly, such flames as hadsurely never burned before in the face of a man--"whatever you may say, you are mine, and in your heart you know it. Sooner or later--sooner orlater--I will make you own it. " His voice sank suddenly to a whisper, nolonger passionate, only inexpressibly evil. "Will you despise me then, Queen Anne? I wonder!--I wonder!"

She moved at last, raised her hand, stiffly pointed. "Go!" shesaid. "Go!"

Yet for a space he still stood in the doorway, menacing her, a vitalfigure, lithe, erect, dominant. The tension was terrible. It seemed to bestrained to snapping point, and yet it held. 

It was the fiercest battle she had ever known--a battle in which his willgrappled with hers in a mighty, all-mastering grip, increasing everyinstant till she felt crushed, impotent, lost, as if all the powers ofevil were let loose and seething around her, dragging her down. 

Her resolution began to falter at last. She became conscious of a numbingsense of physical weakness, an oppression so overwhelming that shethought her heart would never beat again. Once more she seemed to totteron the edge of a depth too immense to contemplate, to hover above thevery pit of destruction... 

And then suddenly the ordeal was over. A blinding flash of lightning litthe room, glimmered weirdly, splitting the gloom as a sword rending acurtain, and was gone. There came a sound like the snarl of a startledanimal, and the next instant a frightful crash of thunder. 

Anne reeled back, dazed, stunned, utterly unnerved, and sank into achair. 

When she came to herself she was alone. 

CHAPTER XIII

AN APPEAL AND ITS ANSWER

A puff of rain-washed air wandered in through the wide-flung window, andLucas Errol turned his head languidly upon the pillow to feel it on hisface. He sighed as he moved, as if even that slight exertion cost himsome resolution. His eyes had a heavy, drugged look. They seemed moredeeply sunken than usual, but there was no sleep in them, only the utterweariness that follows the sleep of morphia. 

At the soft opening of the door a faint frown drew his forehead, but itturned to a smile as Bertie came forward with cautious tread. 

"That you, dear fellow? I am awake. "

Bertie came to his side, his brown face full of concern. "Are you better, old chap?"

"Yes, better, thanks. Only so dog-tired. Sit down. Have you broughtthe budget?"

"There's nothing much to-day. Only that chap Cradock writing again forinstructions about the Arizona ranch, and a few Wall Street tips fromMarsh by cable. Say, Luke, I don't think Cradock is overweighted withspunk, never have thought so. Guess that ranch wants a bigger man. "

"I'll see his letter, " said Lucas. "Presently will do. What about Marsh?"

"Oh, he's behind the scenes as usual. You'd better read him now. The restwill keep. When you've done that I want to talk to you. "

"So I gathered. Stuff in another pillow behind me, will you? I can thinkbetter sitting up. "

"I shouldn't, old chap, really. You're always easier lying down. "

"Oh, shucks, Bertie! Do as you're told. And don't look at me like that, you old duffer. It's a mean advantage to take of a sick man. Steadynow, steady! Go slow! You mustn't slam a creaking gate. It's bad forthe hinges. "

But notwithstanding Bertie's utmost care there were heavy drops on hisbrother's forehead as he sank again upon his pillows. Bertie wiped themaway with a hand that trembled a little, and Lucas smiled up at him withtwitching lips. 

"Thanks, boy! It was only a twinge. Sit down again, and give me Marsh'scipher and the morning papers. The letters you shall read to mepresently. "

He straightway immersed himself in business matters with the shrewdnessand concentration that ever aroused his young brother's deepestadmiration. 

"What a marvellous grip you've got on things, Luke!" he exclaimed at theend of it. "No wonder you are always on the top! You're great, man, you're great!"

"I guess it's just my speciality, " the millionaire said, with his wearysmile. "I must be getting another secretary soon, boy. It's a shame toeat up your time like this. What is it you want to talk to me about?Going to get married?"

Bertie shook his head. "The padre won't hear of it yet, and Dotherself--well, you know, I said I'd wait. "

"Don't wait too long, " said Lucas quietly. "You shall have the old DowerHouse to live in. Tell the padre that. It's only a stone's throw from theRectory. We'll build a garage too, eh, Bertie? The wife must have hermotor. And presently, when you are called to the Bar, you will want aflat in town. "

"You're a brick, Luke!" the boy declared, with shining eyes. "Betweenourselves, I don't expect to do much at the Bar, but I'm sticking to itjust to show 'em I can work like the rest of creation. I'd sooner be yoursecretary for all time, and you know it. "

"That so?" Lucas stretched a hand towards him. "But I guess you're right. I don't want you to depend on me for employment. If I were to go out oneof these days you'd feel rather left. It's better you should have otherresources. "

"Luke, I say! Luke!"

But the quick distress of the words was checked by the gentle restraintof Lucas's hand. "I know! I know! But we've all got to die sooner orlater, and one doesn't want to tear a larger hole than one need. That'sall right, Bertie boy. We'll shunt the subject. Only, if you want toplease me, get that nice little girl to marry you soon. Now what was ityou wanted to say? Something about Nap?"

"Yes. How did you know? It's an infernal shame to worry you when you'renot fit for it. But the mother and I both think you ought to know. "

"Go ahead, dear fellow! I'm tougher than you think. What hasbecome of Nap?"

"That's just the question. You know he went off in the car with LadyCarfax yesterday morning?"

"I didn't know, " murmured Lucas. "That's a detail. Go on. "

"Late last night the car had not returned, and the mother began towonder. Of course if Lady Carfax hadn't been there it wouldn't havemattered much, but as it was we got anxious, and in the end I posted offto the Manor to know if she had arrived. She had not. But while I wasthere a wire came for the butler from a place called Bramhurst, which isabout fifty miles away, to say that the car had broken down and theycouldn't return before to-day. Well, that looked to me deuced queer. I'mconvinced that Nap is up to some devilry. What on earth induced her togo there with him anyway? The mother was real bothered about it, and sowas I. We couldn't rest, either of us. And in the end she ordered the bigDaimler and went off to Bramhurst herself. I wanted to go with her, butshe wouldn't have me at any price. You know the mother. So I stopped tolook after things here. Everyone cleared off this morning, thank thegods. I don't think anyone smelt a rat. I told them the mother had goneto nurse a sick friend, and it seemed to go down all right. "

Lucas had listened to the recital with closed eyes and a perfectlyexpressionless face. He did not speak for a few moments when Bertieended. At length, "And the mother is not back yet?" he asked. 

"No. But I'm not afraid for her. She knows how to hold her own. "

"That's so, " Lucas conceded; and fell silent again. 

He was frowning a little as if in contemplation of some difficulty, buthis composure was absolute. 

"There may be nothing in it, " he said at last. 

Bertie grunted. "I knew he was in a wild beast mood before they started. He nearly rode the black mare to death in the early morning. "

"Why wasn't I told of that?" Lucas opened his eyes with the question andlooked directly at his brother's worried countenance. 

"My dear fellow, you were too sick to be bothered. Besides, you weretaking morphia. He saw to that. "

Lucas closed his eyes again without comment, A long pause ensued beforehe spoke again. 

Then: "Bertie, " he said, "go down to the garage and leave word that assoon as Nap returns I want to speak to him. "

"He won't return, " said Bertie, with conviction. 

"I think he will. It is even possible that he has returned already. Inany case, go and tell them. Ah, Tawny, what is it?"

The valet came to his master's side. His hideous features wore anexpression that made them almost benign. The dumb devotion of an animallooked out of his eyes. 

"A note, sir, from the Manor. "

"Who brought it?" asked Lucas. 

"A groom, sir. "

"Waiting for an answer?"

"Yes, sir. "

Lucas opened the note. It was from Anne. 

He read a few lines, then glanced at Bertie. "It's all right, Bertie. Goand give that message, will you? Say it's important--an urgent matter ofbusiness. "

Bertie departed, and Lucas's eyes returned to the sheet he held. 

Tawny Hudson stood motionless beside him, and several silent secondsticked away. His master spoke at length. 

"Pen and paper, Tawny. Yes, that's right. Now put your arm behind thepillows and give me a hoist. Slowly now, slowly!"

And then, as the man supported him, very slowly and unsteadily he traceda few words. 

"Don't worry. All's well. --Lucas. "

Abruptly the pen fell from his fingers; his head dropped back. His facewas drawn and ghastly as he uttered a few gasping whispers. "Tawny, giveme something--quick! This pain is--killing me!"

The man lowered him again, and took a bottle from a side-table. As hemeasured some drops into a glass the only sound in the room was hismaster's agonised breathing. 

Yet he knew without turning that someone had entered, and he betrayed nosurprise when Nap's hand suddenly whisked the glass from his hold andheld it to the panting lips. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE IRRESISTIBLE

The first words Lucas uttered when utterance became possible to him were, "No morphia!"

Nap was deftly drawing away the pillows to ease his position. "All right, old fellow, " he made answer. "But you know you can't sit up when you arelike this. What possessed you to try?"

"Business, " murmured Lucas. "Don't go again, Boney. I want you. "

"So I've been told. I am quite at your service. Don't speak till youfeel better. "

"Ah! I am better now. There's magic about you, I believe. Or is itelectricity?" Lucas's eyes rested on the grim face above him with acertain wistfulness. 

Nap only smiled cynically. "Is Hudson to take this note? Can I addressit for you?"

If he expected to cause any discomfiture by the suggestion he wasdisappointed. Lucas answered him with absolute composure. 

"Yes; to Lady Carfax at the Manor. It is to go at once. "

Nap thrust it into an envelope with a perfectly inscrutable countenance, scrawled the address, and handed it to the valet. "You needn't come backtill you are rung for, " he said. 

And with that he calmly seated himself by his brother's side with the airof a man with ample leisure at his disposal. 

As the door closed he spoke. "Hadn't you better have a smoke?"

"No. I must talk first. I wish you would sit where I can see you. "

Nap pulled his chair round at once and sat in the full glare of thenoonday sun. "Is that enough lime-light for you? Now, what ails the greatchief? Does he think his brother will run away while he sleeps?"

There was a hint of tenderness underlying the banter in his voice. Hestooped with the words and picked up a letter that lay on the floor. "This yours?"

Lucas's half-extended hand fell. "And you may read it, " he said. 

"Many thanks! I don't read women's letters unless they chance to beaddressed to me--no, not even if they concern me very nearly. " Nap'steeth gleamed for a moment. "I'm afraid you must play off your own bat, my worthy brother, though if you take my advice you'll postpone it. You're about used up, and I'm deuced thirsty. It's not a peacefulcombination. "

Again, despite the nonchalance of his speech, it was not without acertain gentleness. He laid the letter on the bed within reach of hisbrother's hand. 

"I won't leave the premises till you have had your turn, " he said. "Iguess that's a fair offer anyway. Now curl up and rest. "

But Lucas negatived the suggestion instantly though very quietly. "I'lltake my turn now if you've no objection. That ranch in Arizona, Boney, isbeginning to worry me some. I want you to take it in hand. It's a littlejob peculiarly suited to your abilities. "

Nap jerked up his head with an odd gesture, not solely indicative ofsurprise. "What do you know of my abilities?"

"More than most. " Very steadily Lucas made answer. "I depend on you in afashion you little dream of, and I guess you won't fail me. "

Nap's jaw slowly hardened. "I'm not very likely to disappoint you, " heobserved, "more especially as I have no intention of removing to Arizonaat present. "

"No?"

"No. "

"Not if I make a point of it?" Lucas spoke heavily, as if the effort ofspeech were great. His hand had clenched upon Anne's letter. 

Nap leaned forward without replying, the sunlight still shining upon hisface, and looked at him attentively. 

"Yes, " Lucas said very wearily. "It has come to that. I can't have youhere disturbing the public peace. I won't have my own brother arraignedas a murderer. Nor will I have Anne Carfax pilloried by you for allEngland to throw mud at. I've stood a good deal from you, Boney, but I'mdamned if I'm going to stand this. "

"The only question is, Can you prevent it?" said Nap, without thefaintest change of countenance. 

"I am going to prevent it. "

"If you can. "

"I am going to prevent it, " Lucas repeated. "Before we go any further, give me that shooter of yours. "

Nap hesitated for a single instant, then, with a gesture openlycontemptuous, he took the revolver from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. 

Lucas laid his hand upon it. He was looking full into Nap's face. "Now, Iwant you to tell me something, " he said. "I seem to remember your sayingto me once in this very room that you and Lady Carfax were friends, nomore, no less. You were mighty anxious that I shouldn't misunderstand. Remember that episode?"

"Perfectly, " said Nap. 

"I surmised that you told me that because you honestly cared for her as afriend. Was that so?"

Nap made a slight movement, such a movement as a man makes when hecatches sight of a stone to his path too late to avoid it. 

"You may say so if you wish, " he said. 

"Meaning that things have changed since then?" questioned Lucas, in histired drawl. 

Nap threw up his head with the action of a jibbing horse. "You can put ithow you like. You can say--if you like--that I am a bigger blackguard nowthan I was then. It makes no difference how you put it. "

"But I want to know, " said Lucas quietly. "Are you a blackguard, Boney?"

His eyes were fixed steadily upon the dusky face with its prominentcheek-bones and mocking mouth. Perhaps he knew, what Anne had discoveredlong before, that those sensitive lips might easily reveal what thefierce eyes hid. 

"A matter of opinion, " threw back Nap. "If I am, Anne Carfax hasmade me so. "

"Anne Carfax, " said Lucas very deliberately, "has done her best to make aman of you. It is not her fault if she has failed. It is not her faultthat you have chosen to drag her friendship through the mire. "

"Friendship!" broke in Nap. "She gave me more than that. "

Lucas's brows contracted as if at a sudden dart of pain, but his voicewas perfectly level as he made reply: "Whatever she gave you was the giftof a good woman of which you have proved yourself utterly unworthy. "

Nap sprang to his feet. "Be it so!" he exclaimed harshly. "I am unworthy. What of it? She always knew I was. "

"Yet she trusted you. "

"She trusted me, yes. Having cast out the devil she found in possession, she thought there was nothing more to me. She thought that I should becontent to wander empty all my days through dry places, seeking rest. Sheforgot the sequel, forgot what was bound to happen when I found none. Youseem to have forgotten that too. Or do you think that I am indeed thatinteresting vacuum that you are pleased to call a gentleman?" He flunghis arms wide with a sudden, passionate laugh. "Why, my good fellow, I'dsooner rank myself with the beasts that perish. And I'd sooner perishtoo; yes, die with a rope round my throat in the good old Englishfashion. There's nothing in that. I'd as soon die that way as any other. It may not be so artistic as our method, but it's quite a clean process, and the ultimate result is the same. "

"Do you mind sitting down?" said Lucas. 

Nap looked at him sharply. "In pain again?"

"Sit down, " Lucas reiterated. "You can't do anything more than that. Nowwill you take the trouble to make me understand what exactly are yourpresent intentions, and why?"

"Doesn't that letter tell you?" said Nap. 

"This letter, " Lucas answered, "is the desperate appeal of a very unhappywoman who is in mortal dread of your murdering her husband. "

"That all?" said Nap. The red glare of savagery flickered for an instantin his eyes. "She has no fears on her own account then?"

"Will you explain?"

"Oh, certainly, if you need explanation. I mean that the death of SirGiles Carfax is no more than a stepping-stone, a means to an end. So longas he lives, he will stand in my way. Therefore Sir Giles will go. Andmark me, any other man who attempts to come between us I will kill also. Heaven knows what there is in her that attracts me, but there issomething--something I have never seen in any other woman--something thatgoes to my head. Oh, I'm not in love with her. I'm long past that stage. One can't be in love for ever, and she is as cold as the North Staranyway. But she has driven me mad, and I warn you--I warn you--you hadbetter not interfere with me!"

He flung the words like a challenge. His lower jaw was thrust forward. Helooked like a savage animal menacing his keeper. 

But Lucas lay without moving a muscle, lay still and quiet, withouttension and without emotion of any description, simply watching, as adisinterested spectator might watch, the fiery rebellion that had kindledagainst him. 

At length very deliberately he held out the revolver. 

"Well, " he drawled, "my life isn't worth much, it's true. And you arequite welcome to take your gun and end it here and now if you feel sodisposed. For I warn you, Nap Errol, that you'll find me considerablymore in your way than Sir Giles Carfax or any other man. I stand betweenyou already, and while I live you won't shunt me. "

Nap's lips showed their scoffing smile. "Unfortunately--or otherwise--youare out of the reckoning, " he said. 

"Am I? And how long have I been that?"

Nap was silent. He looked suddenly stubborn. 

Lucas waited. There was even a hint of humour in his steady eyes. 

"And that's where you begin to make a mistake, " he said presently. "You're a poor sort of blackguard at best, Boney, and that's why youcan't break away. Take this thing! I've no use for it. But maybe inArizona you'll find it advisable to carry arms. Come over here and readCradock's letter. "

But Nap swung away with a gesture of fierce unrest. He fell to prowlingto and fro, stopping short of the bed at each turn, refusing doggedly toface the quiet eyes of the man who lay there. 

Minutes passed. Lucas was still watching, but he was no longer at hisease. His brows were drawn heavily. He looked like a man undergoingtorture. His hand was still fast closed upon Anne's letter. 

He spoke at last, seeming to grind out the words through clenched teeth. "I guess there's no help for it, Boney. We've figured it out before, youand I. I'm no great swell at fighting, but--I can hold my own againstyou. And if it comes to a tug-of-war--you'll lose. "

Nap came to his side at last and stood there, still not looking at him. "You seem almighty sure of that, " he said. 

"That's so, " said Lucas simply. "And if you care to know why, I'll tellyou. It's just because your heart isn't in it. One half of you is on myside. You're just not blackguard enough. "

"And so you want to send me to Arizona to mature?" suggested Nap grimly. 

"Or to find yourself, " Lucas substituted. "Say, Boney, if you don't givein pretty soon I'll make you take me along. "

"You!" Nap's eyes came down at last to the drawn face. He gave a slightstart, and the next moment stooped to lift the tortured frame to anotherposition. "If Capper were here he'd say I was killing you, " he said. "ForHeaven's sake, man, rest!"

"No, " gasped Lucas. "No! I haven't finished--yet. Boney, you--you've gotto listen. There's no quarrel between us. Only if you will be so damnedheadstrong, I must be headstrong too. I mean what I say. If you won't goto Arizona alone, you will go with me. And we'll start to-night. "

Nap's thin lips twitched, but with no impulse to ridicule. He rearrangedthe pillows with his usual dexterous rapidity, then deliberately laid hishand upon the lined forehead and stood so in utter silence, staringunblinking straight before him. 

For many seconds Lucas also lay passive. His eyelids drooped heavily, but he would not suffer them to close. He was yet watching, watchingnarrowly, the flame that still smouldered and might blaze afresh atany moment. 

"Give it up, Boney!" he said at last. "I'll go with you to the ends ofthe earth sooner than let you do this thing, and you'll find me a veryconsiderable encumbrance. Do you honestly believe yourself capable ofshunting me at will?"

"I honestly believe you'll kill yourself if you don't rest, " Nap said. 

He looked down suddenly into the tired eyes. The fierce glare had goneutterly out of his own. His very pose had altered. 

"Then I shall die in a good cause, " Lucas murmured, with the ghost of asmile. "You needn't say any more, Boney. I guess I shall rest now. "

"Because you think you've beaten me, " Nap said curtly. 

"Guess it's your victory, dear fellow, not mine, " Lucas answeredvery gently. 

A gleam that was not a smile crossed the harsh face, softening but notgladdening. "It's a mighty hollow one anyway. And I'm not going fornothing--not even to please you. "

"Anything--to the half of my kingdom, " Lucas said. 

Nap sat down on the edge of the bed. The madness had passed, or he hadthrust it back out of sight in the darkest recesses of his soul. He laida hand upon his brother's arm and felt it speculatively. 

"No sinew, no flesh, and scarcely any blood!" he said. "And yet"--hismouth twisted a little--"my master! Luke, you're a genius!"

"Oh, shucks, Boney! What's brute strength anyway?"

"Not much, " Nap admitted. "But you--you haven't the force of a day-oldpuppy. Maybe, when I'm out of the way fighting my devils in the desert, you'll give Capper a free hand, and let him make of you what you werealways intended to be--a human masterpiece. There won't be any obstacleswhen I'm out of the way. "

Lucas's hand felt for and closed upon his. "If that's your condition, it's a bargain, " he said simply. 

"And you'll put up a fight for it, eh, Luke? You're rather apt to slackwhen I'm not by. " Was there a hint of wistfulness in the words? It almostseemed so. 

A very tender look came into the elder man's eyes. "With God's help, Boney, " he said, "I'll pull through. "

Nap rose as if that ended the interview. Yet, rising, he still grippedthe weak hand of the man who was his master. 

A moment he stood, then suddenly bent very low and touched it withhis forehead. 

"I leave to-night, " he said, and turning went very quickly andnoiselessly from the room. 

CHAPTER XV

ON THE EDGE OF THE PIT

It was a very cheery Dot Waring who ran across the wet fields thatafternoon to the Manor to acquaint Lady Carfax with the gratifyingintelligence that the proceeds of the great entertainment at which shehad so kindly assisted actually amounted to close upon thirty pounds. Baronford had done its humble best towards providing itself with a TownHall, had in fact transcended all expectations, and Dot was in highspirits in consequence. 

It was something of a disappointment to be met by old Dimsdale with theintelligence that her ladyship was very tired and resting. He added, seeing Dot's face fall, that Mrs. Errol was spending a few days at theManor and would no doubt be very pleased to see her. 

So Dot entered, and was presently embraced by Mrs. Errol and invited totake tea with her in the conservatory. 

"Yes, dear Anne's in bed, " she said. "She and Nap went for a motor rideyesterday, and broke down and were benighted. Nap always was sort ofreckless. We had a message late last night telling us what had happened, and I went off at once in the big car and brought Anne back. Nap had towait for his own car, but I guess he's back by this time. And poor Annewas so worn out when we got back that I persuaded her to go to bed rightaway. And I stopped to take care of her. "

In view of the fact that Mrs. Errol was never happier than when she hadsomeone to take care of, this seemed but natural, and Dot'sstraightforward mind found nothing unusual in the story. 

She remained for nearly an hour, chattering gaily upon a thousand topics. She was always at her ease with Mrs. Errol. 

At parting, the latter held her for a moment very closely. "Happy, dearie?" she asked. 

"Oh, ever so happy, " said Dot, with warm arms round her friend's neck. 

Mrs. Errol sighed a little, smiled and kissed her. "God keep you so, child!" she said. 

And Dot went forth again into the hazy summer sunshine with a vaguewonder if dear Mrs. Errol were quite happy too. Somehow she had notliked to ask. 

Her way lay over the shoulder of a hill, that same hill on which SirGiles Carfax had once wreaked his mad vengeance upon his enemy. 

A mist lay along the valley, and Dot kept on the ridge as long as shecould. She was essentially a creature of sunshine. 

She was obliged, however, at last to strike downwards, and with regretshe left the sunshine behind. 

The moment it was out of her eyes she caught sight of something she hadnot expected to see in the valley below her. It was not a hundred yardsaway, but the mist rising from the marshy ground partially obscured it. Adark object, curiously shapeless, that yet had the look of an animal, waslying in a hollow, and over it bent the figure of a man. 

Dot's heart quickened a little. Had there been an accident, she askedherself? She hastened her steps and drew near. 

As she did so, the man straightened himself suddenly, and turned round, and instantly a thrill of recognition and of horror went through thegirl. It was Nap Errol, and the thing on the ground was his black mare. 

She knew in a flash what had happened. Bertie had predicted disaster toooften for her not to know. A great wave of repulsion surged through her. She was for the moment too horrified for speech. 

Nap stood, erect, motionless, waiting for her. There was a terrible setsmile on his face like the smile on a death-mask. He did not utter a wordas she came up. 

The mare was quite dead. The starting, bloodshot eyes were alreadyglazing. She lay in a huddled heap, mud-stained, froth-splashed, withblood upon her flanks. White-faced and speechless, Dot stood and looked. It was the first time that tragedy had ever touched her gay young life. 

She stooped at last, and with trembling, pitiful fingers touched thevelvet muzzle. Then suddenly indignation, fierce, overwhelming, headlong, swept over her, crowding out even her horror. She stood up and faced Napin such a tornado of fury as had never before shaken her. 

"You brute!" she said. "You fiend! You--you--"

"Devil, " said Nap. "Why not say it? I shan't contradict you. "

He spoke quite quietly, so quietly that, even in the wild tempest of heranger she was awed. There was something unfathomable about him, somethingthat nevertheless arrested her at the very height of her fury. His mannerwas so still, so deadly still, and so utterly free from cynicism. 

She stood and stared at him, a queer sensation of dread making her veryheart feel cold. 

"I should go if I were you, " he said. 

But Dot stood still, as if struck powerless. 

"You can't do any good, " he went on, his tone quite gentle, even remotelykind. "I had to kill something, but it was a pity you chanced to see it. You had better go home and forget it. "

Dot's white lips began to move, but it was several seconds before anysound came from them. "What are you going to do?"

"That's my affair, " said Nap. 

He was still faintly smiling, but his smile appalled her. It was socold, so impersonal, so void of all vitality. 

"Really, you had better go, " he said. 

But Dot's dread had begun to take tangible form. Perhaps the very shockshe had undergone had served to awaken in her some of the dormantinstincts of her womanhood. 

She stood her ground, obedient to an inner prompting that she dared notignore. "Will you--walk a little way with me?" she said at last. 

For the first time Nap's eyes looked at her intently, searched herclosely, unsparingly. She faced the scrutiny bravely, but shetrembled under it. 

At the end of a lengthy pause he spoke. "Are you going to faint?"

"No, " she answered quickly. "I never faint. Only--only--I dofeel--rather sick. "

He put his hand under her arm with a suddenness that allowed of noprotest and began to march her up the hill. 

Long before they reached the top Dot's face was scarlet with exertionand she was gasping painfully for breath; but he would not let her resttill they were over the summit and out of sight of the valley and whatlay there. 

Then, to her relief, he stopped. "Better now?"

"Yes, " she panted. 

His hand fell away from her. He turned to go. But swiftly she turned alsoand caught his arm "Nap, please--" she begged, "please--"

He stood still, and again his eyes scanned her. "Yes?"

The brief word sounded stern, but Dot was too anxious to take anynote of that. 

"Come a little farther, " she urged. "It--it's lonely through the wood. "

"What are you afraid of?" said Nap. 

She could not tell him the truth, and she hesitated to lie. But hiseyes read her through and through without effort. When he turned andwalked beside her she was quite sure that he had fathomed theunspeakable dread which had been steadily growing within her since themoment of their meeting. 

He did not say another word, merely paced along with his silent treadtill they reached the small wood through which her path lay. Dot's angerhad wholly left her, but her fear remained. A terrible sense ofresponsibility was upon her, and she was utterly at a loss as to how tocope with it. Her influence over this man she believed to be absolutelynil. She had not the faintest notion how to deal with him. Lady Carfaxwould have known, she reflected, and she wished with all her heart thatLady Carfax had been there. 

He vaulted the stile into the wood, and held up his hand to her. As sheplaced hers within it she summoned her resolution and spoke. 

"Nap, I'm sorry I said what I did just now. "

He raised his brows for the fraction of a second. "I forget whatyou said. "

She flushed a little. "Because you don't choose to remember. But I amsorry I spoke all the same. I lost my temper, and I--I suppose I had noright to. "

"Pray don't apologise, " he said. "It made no difference, I assure you. "

But this was not what Dot wanted. She descended to the ground and triedagain. It was something at least to have broken the silence. 

"Nap, " she said, standing still with her hands nervously clasped behindher, "please don't think me--impertinent, or anything of that sort. But Ican't help knowing that you are feeling pretty bad about it. And--and"she began to falter--"I know you are not a brute really. You didn't meanto do it. "

A curious little smile came into Nap's face. "It's good of you to makeexcuses for me, " he observed. "You happen to know me rather well, don't you?"

"I know you are in trouble, " she answered rather piteously. "And--I'm sorry. "

"Thanks!" he said. "Do we part here?"

She thrust out her hand impulsively. "I thought we decided tobe--friends, " she said, a sharp quiver in her voice. 

"Well?" said Nap. He did not touch her hand. His fingers were wound inthe thong of his riding-crop and strained at it incessantly as if seekingto snap it asunder. 

Dot was on the verge of tears. She choked them back desperately. "Youmight behave as if we were, " she said. 

He continued to tug grimly at the whip-lash. "I'm not friends with anyoneat the present moment, " he said. "But it isn't worth crying over anyway. Why don't you run home and play draughts with Bertie?"

"Because I'm not what you take me for!" Dot suddenly laid trembling handson the creaking leather and faced him with all her courage. "I can't helpwhat you think of me, " she said rather breathlessly. "But I'm not goingto leave you here by yourself. You may be as furious as you like. Isimply won't!"

He pulled the whip sharply from her grasp. She thought for the momentthat he actually was furious and braced herself to meet the tempest ofhis wrath. And then to her amazement he spoke in a tone that held neithersarcasm nor resentment, only a detached sort of curiosity. 

"Are you quite sure I'm worth all this trouble?"

"Quite sure, " she answered emphatically. 

"And I wonder how you arrived at that conclusion, " he said with a twistof the mouth that was scarcely humorous. 

She did not answer, for she felt utterly unequal to the discussion. 

They began to walk on down the mossy pathway. Suddenly an idea came toDot. "I only wish Lady Carfax were here, " she exclaimed impetuously. "She would know how to convince you of that. "

"Would she?" said Nap. He shot a swift look at the girl beside him, then:"You see, Lady Carfax has thrown me over, " he told her very deliberately. 

Dot gave a great start. "Oh, surely not! She would never throw overanyone. And you have always been such friends. "

"Till I offended her, " said Nap. 

"Oh, but couldn't you go and apologise?" urged Dot eagerly. "She is sosweet. I know she would forgive anybody. "

He jerked up his head. "I don't happen to want her forgiveness. Andeven if I did, I shouldn't ask for it. I'm not particularly great athumbling myself. "

"Isn't that rather a mistake?" said Dot. 

"No, " he rejoined briefly. "Not when I'm despised already for a savageand the descendant of savages. "

"I am afraid I don't understand, " she said. 

He uttered a sudden harsh laugh. "I see you don't. Or you would bedespising me too. "

"I shall never do that, " she said quickly. 

He looked at her again, still with a mocking smile upon his lips. He borehimself with a certain royal pride that made her feel decidedly small. 

"You will never say that again, " he remarked. 

"Why not?" she demanded. 

"Because, " he answered, with a drawling sneer, "you are like the rest ofcreation. You put breed before everything. Unless a man has what you arepleased to term pure blood in his veins he is beyond the pale. "

"Whatever are you talking about?" said Dot, frankly mystified. 

He stopped dead and faced her. "I am talking of myself, if you want toknow, " he told her very bitterly. "I am beyond the pale, an illegitimateson, with a strain of Red Indian in my veins to complete my damnation. "

"Good gracious!" said Dot. 

She stared at him for a few seconds mutely, as if the sudden announcementhad taken her breath away. 

At last: "Then--then--Mrs. Errol--" she stammered. 

"Is not my mother, " he informed her grimly. "Did you ever seriously thinkshe was?" He flung back his shoulders arrogantly. "You're almighty blind, you English. "

Dot continued to contemplate him with her frank eyes, as if viewing forthe first time a specimen of some rarity. 

"Well, I don't see that it makes any difference, " she said at length. "You are you just the same. I--I really don't see quite why you told me. "

"No?" said Nap, staring back at her with eyes that told her nothing. "P'r'aps I just wanted to show you that you are wasting your solicitudeon an object of no value. "

"How--funny of you!" said Dot. 

She paused a moment, still looking at him; then with a quick, childishmovement she slipped her hand through his arm. Quite suddenly she knewhow to deal with him. 

"You seem to forget, " she said with a little smile, "that I'm going to beyour sister one day. "

He stiffened at her action, and for a single moment she wondered if shecould have made a mistake. And then as suddenly he relaxed. He took thehand that rested on his arm and squeezed it hard. 

And Dot knew that in some fashion, by a means which she scarcelyunderstood, she had gained a victory. 

They went on together along the mossy, winding path. A fleeting showerwas falling, and the patter of it sounded on the leaves. 

Nap walked with his face turned up to the raindrops, sure-footed, withthe gait of a panther. He did not speak a word to the girl beside him, but his silence, did not disconcert her. There was even something in itthat reassured her. 

They were approaching the farther end of the wood when he abruptly spoke. 

"So you think it makes no difference?"

Was there a touch of pathos in the question? She could not have said. But she answered it swiftly, with all the confidence--andignorance--of youth. 

"Of course I do! How could it make a difference? Do you suppose--if ithad been Bertie--I should have cared?"

"Bertie!" he said. "Bertie is a law-abiding citizen. And you--pardon mefor saying so--are young. "

"Oh, yes, I know, " she admitted. "But I've got some sense all the same. And--and--Nap, may I say something rather straight?"

The flicker of a smile shone and died in his eyes. "Don't mind me!" hesaid. "The role of an evangelist becomes you better than some. "

"Don't!" said Dot, turning very red. 

"I didn't, " said Nap. "I'm only being brotherly. Hit as straight asyou like. "

"I was going to say, " she said, taking him at his word, "that if a man isa good sort and does his duty, I don't believe one person in a millioncares a rap about what his parents were. I don't indeed. "

She spoke with great earnestness; it was quite obvious that she meantevery word. It was Dot's straightforward way to speak from her heart. 

"And I'm sure Lady Carfax doesn't either, " she added. 

But at that Nap set his teeth. "My child, you don't chance to know LadyCarfax as I do. Moreover, suppose the man doesn't chance to be a goodsort and loathes the very word 'duty'? It brings down the house of cardsrather fast, eh?"

An older woman might have been discouraged; experience would probablyhave sadly acquiesced. But Dot possessed neither age nor experience, andso she only lost her patience. 

"Oh, but you are absurd!" she exclaimed, shaking his arm withcharacteristic vigour. "How can you be so disgustingly flabby? You'reworse than old Squinny, who sends for Dad or me every other day to seehim die. He's fearfully keen on going to heaven, but that's all he everdoes to get there. "

Nap broke into a brief laugh. They had reached the stile and he facedround with extended hand. "After that--good-bye!" he said. "With yourpermission we'll keep this encounter to ourselves. But you certainly area rousing evangelist. When you mount the padre's pulpit I'll come and situnder it. "

Dot's fingers held fast for a moment. "It'll be all right, will it?" sheasked bluntly. "I mean--you'll be sensible?"

He smiled at her in a way she did not wholly understand, yet which wentstraight to her quick heart. 

"So long, little sister!" he said. "Yes, it will be quite all right. I'llcontinue to cumber the ground a little longer, if you call that beingsensible. And if you think my chances of heaven are likely to be improvedby your kind intervention, p'r'aps you'll put up a prayer now and then onmy behalf to the Power that casts out devils--for we are many. "

"I will, Nap, I will!" she said very earnestly. 

When he was gone she mounted the stile and paused with her face to thesky. "Take care of him, please, God!" she said. 

CHAPTER XVI

DELIVERANCE

Notwithstanding her largeness of heart, Mrs. Errol was something of adespot, and when once she had assumed command she was slow torelinquish it. 

"I guess you must let me have my own way, dear Anne, " she said, "for I'venever had a daughter. "

And Anne, to whom the burden of life just then was more than ordinarilyheavy, was fain to submit to the kindly tyranny. Mrs. Errol had found heralone at the inn at Bramhurst on the night of the storm, and in responseto her earnest request had taken her without delay straight back to herhome. Very little had passed between them on the circumstances that hadresulted in this development. Scarcely had Nap's name been mentioned byeither. Mrs. Errol seemed to know him too well to need an explanation. And Anne had noted this fact with a sick heart. 

It meant to her the confirmation of what had already become a practicalconviction, that the man she had once dreamed that she loved was nomore than a myth of her own imagination. Again and yet again she hadbeen deceived, but her eyes were open at last finally and for all time. No devil's craft, however wily, however convincing, could ever closethem again. 

Lying in her darkened room, with her stretched nerves yet quivering atevery sound, she told herself over and over that she knew Nap Errol nowas others knew him, as he knew himself, a man cruel, merciless, unscrupulous, in whose dark soul no germ of love had ever stirred. 

Why he had ever desired her she could not determine. Possibly her veryfaith in him--that faith that he had so rudely shattered--had been theattraction; possibly only her aloofness, her pride, had kindled in himthe determination to conquer. But that he had ever loved her, as sheinterpreted love, she now told herself was an utter impossibility. Sheeven questioned in the bitterness of her disillusionment if Love, thatTrue Romance to which she had offered sacrifice, were not also a myth, the piteous creation of a woman's fond imagination, a thing non-existentsave in the realms of fancy, a dream-goal to which no man might attainand very few aspire. 

All through the long day she lay alone with her problem, perpetuallyturning it in her mind, perpetually asking by what tragic influence shehad ever been brought to fancy that this man with his violent, unrestrained nature, his fierce egoism, his murderous impulses, had everbeen worthy of the halo her love had fashioned for him. No man wasworthy! No man was worthy! This man least of all! Had not he himselfwarned her over and over again, and she had not listened? Perhaps he hadnot meant her to listen. Perhaps it had only been another of his devilishartifices for ensnaring her, that attitude of humility, half-scoffing, half-persuasive, with which he had masked his inner vileness. 

Oh, she was sick at heart that day, sick with disappointment, sick withhumiliation, sick with a terrible foreboding that gave her no rest. Slowly the hours dragged away. She had despatched her urgent message toLucas immediately upon her arrival at the Manor, and his prompt reply hadin a measure reassured her. But she knew that he was ill, and she couldnot drive from her mind the dread that he might fail her. How could he inhis utter physical weakness hope to master the demons that tore NapErrol's turbulent soul? And if Lucas failed her, what then? What then?She had no city of refuge to flee unto. She and her husband were at themercy of a murderer. For that he would keep his word she did not for amoment doubt. Nap Errol was not as other men. No second thoughts woulddeter him from his purpose. Unless Lucas by some miracle withheld him, noother influence would serve. He would wreak his vengeance with nohesitating hand. The fire of his savagery was an all-consuming flame, and it was too strongly kindled to be lightly quenched. 

Her thoughts went back to her husband. The date of his return had notbeen definitely fixed. The letter had suggested that it should take placesome time in the following week. She had not yet replied to thesuggestion. She put her hand to her head. Actually she had forgotten!Ought she not to send a message of warning? But in what terms could shecouch it? Lucas might even yet succeed. It might be that even now he wasfighting the desperate battle. 

Inaction became intolerable. She had promised Mrs. Errol that she wouldtake a long rest, but there was no rest for her. She knew that she wouldhear from Lucas the moment he had anything definite to report; but a newand ghastly fear now assailed her. What if Nap had not returned toBaronmead? What if he had gone direct to the asylum, there to snatch hisopportunity while his fury was at its height?

The thought turned her sick. She rose, scarcely knowing what she did, andmoved across the room to her escritoire. The vague idea of penning somesort of warning was in her mind, but before she reached it the convictionstabbed her that it would be too late. No warning would be of any avail. If that had been Nap Errol's intention, by this time the deed was done. And if that were so, she was in part guilty of her husband's murder. 

Powerless, she sank upon her knees by the open window, strivingpainfully, piteously, vainly, to pray. But no words came to her, noprayer rose from her wrung heart. It was as though she knelt in outerdarkness before a locked door. 

In that hour Anne Carfax went down into that Place of Desolation whichsome call hell and some the bitter school of sorrow--that place in whicheach soul is alone with its agony and its sin, that place where no lightshines and no voice is heard, where, groping along the edge ofdestruction, the wanderer seeks its Maker and finds Him not, where eventhe Son of God Himself once lost His faith. 

And in that hour she knew why her love lay wounded unto death, though notthen did she recognise the revelation as a crowning mercy. She sawherself bruised and abased, humbled beyond belief. She saw her proudpurity brought low, brought down to the very mire which all her life shehad resolutely ignored, from the very though of which she had alwayswithdrawn herself as from an evil miasma that bred corruption. She sawherself a sinner, sunk incredibly low, a woman who had worshipped Loveindeed, but at a forbidden shrine, a woman moreover bereft of all things, who had seen her sacrifice crumble to ashes and had no more to offer. 

Through her mind flashed a single sentence that had often and often sether wondering: "From him that hath not shall be taken away even thatwhich he seemeth to have. " She knew its meaning now. It scorched herinmost soul. Such an one was she. No effort had she ever made to possessher husband's love. No love had she ever offered to him; duty andsubmission indeed, but love--never. Her heart had been unwarmed, nor hadshe ever sought to kindle within it the faintest spark. She had hated himalways. She knew it now. Or perhaps her feeling for him had beensomething too cold for even hatred. If he had made her drink the watersof bitterness, she had given him in return the icy draught of contempt. 

There had been a time when his passion for her might have turned to love, but she had let it slide. She had not wanted love. Or else--like so manyfevered souls--she had yearned for the full blossom thereof, neglectingto nourish the parched seed under her feet. 

She had committed sacrilege. That was why Love had come to her at lastwith a flaming sword, devastating her whole life, depriving her of eventhat which she had seemed to have. That was why she now knelt impotentbefore a locked door. That was why God was angry. 

A long, long time passed. She did not hear the rain pattering upon thegreen earth, nor feel the soft breeze on her neck. She had lost touchwith things physical. She was yet groping in outer darkness. 

A hand very softly turned the handle of her door, and a motherly facelooked in. 

"Why, Anne, dear child, I thought you were asleep!" the deep voicesaid reproachfully. "I've been listening outside for ages, and you wereso quiet!"

She raised her head quickly, and in a moment rose. Her eyes were deeplyshadowed, but they bore no trace of tears. 

"I could not sleep, " she said. "But you mustn't trouble about me. I amquite well. I will dress and come down. "

Mrs. Errol came forward, shaking her head disapprovingly. "I have anote from Lucas, " she said. "It arrived a quarter of an hour ago, butthere was no answer, so I thought it would be real wicked to wake youup to read it. "

Anne stretched out a hand that shook. "Please!" she said almostinarticulately. 

With the note open in her hand she turned and sat down suddenly as ifincapable of standing. The clumsy, uneven writing danced before her eyes. One sentence only, but it took her many seconds to read!

"My brother Nap leaves to-night for Arizona. --Lucas. "

She raised her face with a deep, deep breath. She felt as if she had notbreathed for hours. Silently, after a moment, she held out the briefmessage to Mrs. Errol. 

"My!" said the latter. "Well, thank the Lord for that!"

And then very tenderly she laid her hand upon Anne's shoulder. "Mydearie, would it help you any to speak of him?"

Anne leaned her weary head against her. "I don't know, " she said. 

"I often wanted to warn you, " Mrs. Errol said. "But I thought--Ihoped--it was unnecessary. You were always so kind of frank with him thatI thought maybe it would be an impertinence to say anything. It wasn't asif you were an inexperienced girl. If you had been--but to give him hisdue, Nap never tried to trap inexperience. He's got some morals, knave ashe is. Say, Anne dear, you know he is no son of mine?"

"Yes, " whispered Anne, gently drawing her friend's hand round her neck. 

"And I sometimes wonder, " Mrs. Errol went on, in her deep sing-song voicethat yet somehow held a note of pathos, "if I did wrong to take him as Idid. He was the quaintest baby, Anne--the cutest morsel you ever saw. Hisdying mother brought him to me. She was only a girl herself--abroken-hearted girl, dying before her time. I couldn't refuse. I felt hehad a sort of claim upon us. Maybe I was wrong. My husband didn't view itthat way, but at that time I hadn't much faith in his judgment. So I tookthe boy--his boy--and he was brought up as one of my own. But he wasalways unaccountable. He had queer lapses. I tried to be kind to him. Iguess I always was kind. But I surmise that he always suspected me ofresenting his existence. Lucas was the only one who ever had anyinfluence over him. Latterly I've thought you had some too, but I guessthat was where I went wrong. He and Bertie never got on. P'r'aps it wasmy fault. P'r'aps he inherited some of my antagonism. The Lord knows Itried to suppress it, but somehow it was always there. "

"Dear Mrs. Errol!" Anne murmured softly. "Not one woman in a thousandwould have done as much. "

"Oh, you mustn't say that, dearie. I'm a very poor specimen. I gave himwhat advantages I could, but I never loved him. P'r'aps if I had, he'dhave been a better boy. It's only love that counts for anything in God'ssight, and I never gave him any. Lucas did. That's how it is he knows howto manage him. It isn't personal magnetism or anything of that sort. It'sjust love. He can't help answering to that, because it's Divine. "

"Ah!" breathed Anne. "You think him capable of love then?"

"I guess so, dear. He's raw and undeveloped, but like the rest ofcreation he has his possibilities. You've seen him in his better moodsyourself. I always thought he kept his best side for you. "

"I know, " Anne said. She leaned slowly back, looking up into the kindlyeyes above her. "But it was only a mask. I see it now. I think there aremany men like that, perhaps all are to a certain extent. They are onlythemselves to one another. No woman would ever love a man if she saw himas he is. "

"My dear! My dear!" Mrs. Errol said. "That's a bitter thing to say. Andit isn't true either. You'll see better by-and-by. Men are contemptible, I own--the very best of them; but they've all got possibilities, and it'sjust our part to draw them out. It's the divine foolishness of women'slove that serves their need, that makes them feel after better things. Nowoman ever won a man by despising him. He may be inferior--he is--but hewants real love to bolster him up. I guess the dear Lord thought of thatwhen He fashioned women. "

But Anne only smiled, very sadly, and shook her head. It might be true, but she was in no state to judge. She was blinded by present pain. Shefelt she had given her love to the wrong man, and though it hadflourished like a tropical flower in the fiery atmosphere of his passion, it had been burnt away at last by the very sun that had called it intobeing. And she would love in that way no more for ever. There was onlyduty left down all the long grey vista of her life. 

PART III

CHAPTER I

THE POWER DIVINE

"Well, if this isn't a pleasure!"

Thus Lucas Errol, sitting on the terrace on a certain hot afternoonearly in August, greeted Dot, whose multifarious duties did not permither to be a very frequent visitor. He smiled at her with that cordialitywhich even on his worst days was never absent, but she thought himlooking very ill. 

"Are you sure I shan't tire you too much?" she asked him, as he invitedher to sit down. 

"Quite sure, my dear Dot!" he answered. "It does me good to see people. Lady Carfax is coming presently. The mother has gone to fetch her. Itwill be her last appearance, I am afraid, for the present. She isexpecting her husband home to-morrow. But I'm glad you are here first. Iwas just wishing I could see you. "

"Were you really?" said Dot. 

"Yes, really. No, you needn't look at me like that. I'm telling thetruth. I always do, to the best of my ability. Is that chair quitecomfortable? Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I don't mind anything, " Dot said. "And I'm so comfortable that I want totake off my hat and go to sleep. "

"You may do the first, " said Lucas. "But not the second, because I wantto talk, and it's sort of uninteresting not to have an audience, especially when there is something important to be said. "

"Something important!" echoed Dot. "I hope it's something nice. "

"Oh, quite nice, " he assured her. "It's to do with Bertie. " He wassmiling in his own peculiarly kindly fashion. "By the way, he's stewingindoors, studying for that exam, which he isn't going to pass. "

"Not going to pass?" Dot looked up in swift anxiety. "Oh, don't youthink he will?"

Lucas shook his head. "What's success anyway? I guess the Creator findsthe failures just as useful to Him in the long run. "

"But I don't want him to fail!" she protested. 

"In my opinion, " Lucas said slowly, "it doesn't matter a single red cent, so long as a man does his best. Believe me, it isn't success that counts. We're apt to think it's everything when we're young. I did myselfonce--before I began to realise that I hadn't come to stay. " The shrewdblue eyes smiled at her under their heavy lids. "Now I don't want todistress you any, " he said, "but I'm going to say something that p'r'apsyou'll take to heart though you mustn't let it grieve you. Capper iscoming here next month to perform an operation on me. It may besuccessful, and on the other hand--it may not. The uncertainty worries mesome. I'm trying to leave my affairs in good order, but--there are somethings beyond my scope that I'd like unspeakably to see settled before Itake my chances. You can understand that?"

Dot's hand, warm, throbbing with life, slipped impulsively into his. "Dear Lucas, of course--of course I understand. "

"Thanks! That's real nice of you. I always knew you were a womanof sense. I wonder if you can guess what it is I've set my hearton, eh, Dot?"

"Tell me, " murmured Dot. 

His eyes still rested upon her, but they seemed to be looking atsomething beyond. "P'r'aps I'm over fond of regulating other folks'affairs, " he said. "It's a habit that easily grows on the head of afamily. But I've a sort of fancy for seeing you and Bertie married beforeI go out. If you tell me it's quite impossible I won't say any more. Butif you could see your way to it--well, it would be a real kindness, and Ineedn't say any more than that. "

The weary, rather droning voice ceased to speak. The eyelids drooped moreheavily. It seemed to Dot that a grey shadow lay upon the worn face. Helooked so unutterably tired, so ready for the long, long sleep. 

She sat quite still beside him, turning the matter in her mind. 

After a little he went on speaking, with eyes half-closed. "It would hithim hard if I went under, but he wouldn't feel so badly if you werethere. The mother too--she wants someone to lean on. There's Lady Carfax, but she has her own burden. And there'd be a lot for Bertie to see to, Nap being away. Besides--"

"Oh, Luke, " Dot broke in, her eyes full of tears, "I--I can't imaginethis place without you. "

"No? Well, you mustn't let it distress you any. We've all got to go, sooner or later. There isn't anything in that. The main thing is to getit over, when it comes, with as little fuss as possible. Life isn't longenough for grieving. It's just a mortal waste of time. And what is Deathanyway?" He raised his eyes with what seemed an effort. "You won't blameme, " he said, "for wanting to close up the ranks a bit before I go. Ofcourse I may live as long as any of you. God knows I shall do my best. Iwant to pull through--for several reasons. But if I've got to go, I'dlike to feel I've left things as ship-shape as possible. Bertie will tellyou what provision I desire to make for you. P'r'aps you and he will talkit over, and if you're willing I'll see the padre about it. But I kind offelt the first word ought to be with you. Bertie didn't like to speakbecause he'd promised to wait. You'll find he's a man of his word. That'swhy I've butted in. Say, child, I didn't mean to make you cry. That wasclumsy of me. "

He patted her hand gently, while Dot blinked away her tears. 

"Don't let us talk about it any more now, " she besought him. "Oh, Lucas--I do want you to live, more--more than anything. "

"That's real kind of you, " he said. "I'll do my best, you may be sure. I can hear Lady Carfax talking in the drawing-room. Won't you go andbring her out?"

He made no effort to rise when Anne came on to the terrace, but he gaveher so vivid a smile of welcome that she scarcely noted the omission. Itwas their first meeting since Nap's departure, for Lucas had beenconfined to his bed for days. But that smile of his banished any sense ofembarrassment from her mind. He was so candidly, so unaffectedly, pleasedto see her. 

She sat down in the riotous sunshine and gave herself up unreservedly tothe pleasure of being with her friends. They were all congenial to her. Mrs. Errol, Dot, Lucas, but most especially Lucas, who occupied a uniqueposition in her heart and in her thoughts. He had always been soperfectly her friend in need. 

As the long, sunny afternoon wore away, she found herself watching himand in silence marvelling. How was it that this man in his utter, piteous weakness accomplished so much, ruled thus supreme? Wherein laythat potent charm of his which neither devil nor brute could effectivelyresist? Whence came it, this power of the soul, this deliberate andconscious mastery?

She watched Bertie waiting on him, hovering about him, ready to spring upat his lightest word to execute his scarcely-uttered wish. Othermen--even great men--did not command this personal homage, this complete, incessant devotion. Undoubtedly there was something kingly about him; butwherein did it lie? Not in the impotent, unwieldy figure, not in thepleasant, emotionless drawl, not even in the friendly quiet of his eyes, the kindly sympathy of his smile. In none of these lay his power, and yetin all of them it was in some fashion apparent. No great force ofpersonality characterised him, and yet his monarchy was absolute. Nosplendour of intellect, no keenness of wit, no smartness of repartee werehis. Only a shrewdness of understanding that was never cruel, a humourthat had no edge. 

And presently Anne remembered that his own mother had given her the keyto the problem, and she doubted not that it solved the whole. "It isn'tpersonal magnetism, " Mrs. Errol had said, "nor anything of that sort. It's just love. "

That was the magic to which even Nap, the fierce, the passionate, thetreacherous, had been forced to bow. In the midst of his weakness thisman wielded an all-potent power--a power before which they allinstinctively did homage--before which even devils humbledthemselves--because it was Divine. 

That was the secret of his strength. That was the weapon by which heconquered. She wondered if it had always been so, or if his physicalweakness had tended to develop in him a greatness of heart of which moreactive men were quite incapable. It might be true, as Mrs. Errol hadcontended, that all men had their possibilities, but, this was the onlyman she had ever met who had turned them to account. All unconsciously, perhaps in response to a reaction which had been necessarily violent, Anne yielded herself that day for the first time in her life to a speciesof hero-worship that could not but beautify her own sad life. 

When later she found herself alone with him, they talked for a space uponindifferent things, and then they did not talk at all. The intimacybetween them made conversation unnecessary, and Lucas Errol's silence wasas easy as his speech. 

"You'll take care of yourself, " he said once, "or I shan't be easyabout you. "

And, when she had promised that: "And you'll look us up as often asyou find you can. P'r'aps if you can't come very often you'll manageto write. "

But he made no direct reference to her husband's return. His sympathyneither sought nor needed expression in words. 

Neither did he speak of himself. He only at parting held her hand veryclosely for several silent seconds. And Anne went away with a hushedfeeling at her heart as if he had invoked a benediction. 

Back to her home she went, strangely quiet and at peace. She had thoughtthat visit to Baronmead would have been painful to her. She had expectedto suffer afresh. But it was instead as if a healing hand had been laidupon her, and as she went she thought no more of Nap, the savage, thesudden, the terrible; but of Lucas, the gentle, the patient, thechivalrous, who had won and would for ever keep her perfect trust. 

The light of a golden evening lay upon the Manor as she entered. It waswonderfully quiet. She went in by the French windows that led into thedrawing-room, and here, tempted by an impulse that had not moved her forlong, she sat down at the piano and began very softly to play. 

She had not touched the keys since her last visit to Baronmead. Shewondered, as idly she suffered her fingers to wander, how long it wouldbe before she played again. 

Yet it was hard to believe, sitting there in the quiet evening light, that the next day would witness her return to bondage, that bondage thathad so cruelly galled her, the very thought of which had at one timefilled her with repulsion. But her feelings had undergone a change oflate. She could not feel that the old burden would ever return upon her. She had been emancipated too long. Her womanhood had developed too muchduring those months of liberty. No, it could never be the same. Patientand faithful wife she would still be. She was ready to devote herselfungrudgingly, without reservation, to her invalid husband. But his slaveshe would never be again. She had overcome her repugnance; she waswilling to serve. But never again would he compel. The days of histyranny were for ever gone. 

It was no easy path that lay before her, but she had not forgotten hownarrowly she had escaped the precipice. Even yet she still trembled whenshe remembered the all-engulfing pit of destruction that had openedbefore her, and the anguish of fear that had possessed her untildeliverance had come. Lucas Errol had been her deliverer. She rememberedthat also, and a faint, sad smile touched her lips--Lucas Errol, kingand cripple, ruler and weakling. 

Softly the sunset faded. Anne's fingers ceased to roam over the keys. Sheclasped them in her lap and sat still. 

All at once a quiet voice spoke. "My lady!"

With a start she turned. "Dimsdale! How you startled me!"

"I beg your ladyship's pardon, " the old man said. 

He was standing close behind her. There was an air of subdued importanceabout him. He was grave to severity. 

But Anne did not look at him very critically. "I shall not want anytea, " she said. "I will dine at eight in my sitting-room as usual. Iseverything in readiness, Dimsdale? Is Sir Giles's room just as itshould be?"

"Yes, my lady. "

Anne rose and quietly closed the piano. She wondered why Dimsdalelingered, and after a moment it struck her that he had something to say. She took up her gloves and turned round to him. 

"No one has been, I suppose?"

"No one, my lady. "

"Are there any letters?"

"No letters, my lady. "

"Then--" Anne paused, and for the first time looked at the old servantattentively. "Is anything the matter, Dimsdale?" she asked. 

He hesitated, the fingers of one hand working a little, an unusual signof agitation with him. 

With an effort at last he spoke. "Your ladyship instructed me to open anytelegram that might arrive. "

Her heart gave a great throb of foreboding. "Certainly, " she said. "Hasthere been a telegram then?"

Dimsdale's hand clenched. He looked at her anxiously, rather piteously. 

"My lady--" he said, and stopped. 

Anne stood like a statue. She felt as if her vitality were suddenlyarrested, as if every pulse had ceased to beat. 

"Please go on, " she said in a whisper. "There has been a telegram. Eithergive it to me, or--tell me what was in it. "

Dimsdale made a jerky movement, as if pulling himself together. He put anunsteady hand into his breast-pocket. "It came this afternoon, my lady, about an hour ago. I am afraid it's bad news--very bad news. Yes, mylady, I'm telling you, I'm telling you. I regret to say Sir Giles hasbeen took worse, took very sudden like, and--and--"

"He is dead, " Anne said very clearly, very steadily, in a tone that wasneither of question nor of exclamation. 

Dimsdale bent his head. "He died at half-past three, my lady. "

He had the telegram in his hand. Anne took it from him and moved veryquietly to the window. 

Mutely the old man stood and watched her in the silence, thankful for hercomposure. He was himself severely shaken, and the ordeal of telling herhad been no light one. 

But as the silence still continued he began to grow uneasy again. Hewondered if he ought to go, if she had forgotten to dismiss him. Herstately head was bent over the paper, which never crackled or stirred inher hand. There began to be something terrible, something fateful, inher passivity. Old Dimsdale shivered, and took the liberty of breakingthe silence. 

"Would your ladyship wish a message to be sent to Baronmead?"

She stirred at that, moved sharply as one suddenly awakened. Her face wasquite white, but her eyes were alight, curiously vital, with a glitterthat was almost of horror. 

"To Baronmead!" she said, a queer note of sharpness in her voice. "No, certainly not, most certainly not!"

And there she stopped, stopped dead as though struck dumb. In the gardenbehind her, down among the lilac trees, a bird had begun to sing, eagerly, voluptuously, thrillingly, with a rapture as of the fullspring-tide of life. 

Anne stood for a space of many seconds and listened, her white faceupraised, her eyes wide and shining. 

And then suddenly her attitude changed. She put her hands over her faceand tottered blindly from the open window. 

Dimsdale started to support her, but she needed no support. In amoment she was looking at him again, but with eyes from which alllight had faded. 

"I must write some messages at once, " she said. "One of the grooms musttake them. No, I shall not send to Mrs. Errol to-night. I wish to bealone--quite alone. Please admit no one. And--yes--tell them to pull downthe blinds, and--shut all the windows!"

Her voice quivered and sank. She stood a moment, collecting herself, then walked quietly to the door. 

"Come to me in ten minutes for those telegrams, " she said. "And afterthat, remember, Dimsdale, I am not to be disturbed by anyone. "

And with that she passed out, erect and calm, and went up to her room. 

CHAPTER II

THE WORKER OF MIRACLES

"I want to know!" said Capper. 

He had said it several times during a muddy two-mile tramp from BaronfordStation, and he said it again as he turned up the hill that was crownedby the old grey church, whose two cracked bells had just burst into ascheerful a marriage peal as they could compass. 

"Sounds frisky!" he commented to himself, as he trudged up the steeplane. "My! What an all-fired fuss! Guess these muddy boots aren't exactlywedding-guesty. But that's their lookout for monopolising every vehiclein the place. I wonder if I'll have the audacity to show after all. Orshall I carry this almighty thirst of mine back to the Carfax Arms andquench it in British ale?"

But this latter idea did not apparently greatly lure him, for hecontinued to plod upwards, even while considering it, to the tune of theclamouring bells. 

Arriving finally at the top of the hill and finding there a crowd ofvehicles of all descriptions, he paused to breathe and to search for theBaronmead motors. 

He found them eventually, but there was no one in attendance. Theservants were all herded in the churchyard for a view of the bridalprocession, for which a passage across the road to the Rectory groundswas being kept. 

Capper stationed himself, with another rueful glance as his boots, asnear as he could get to the open lych-gate, and there stood grimlyconspicuous, watching the scene with his alert green eyes, that held theglint of a tolerant smile, and cracking his thin, yellow fingers one byone. No one gave him a second glance, or dreamed for an instant that oneof the greatest men in the Western Hemisphere was standing on the edge ofthe crowd. 

They came at last--bride and bridegroom--flushed and hastening through ashower of rose petals. 

Bertie was laughing all over his brown face. He was holding Dot's handvery fast, and as they descended the red-carpeted steps into the road heleaned to her, whispering. She laughed back at him with shining eyes, herround face radiant beneath the orange blossom. Neither of them glanced toright or left. Swiftly through the fallen rose leaves they crossed to theRectory gateway and were lost to view. 

A bevy of bridesmaids ran laughing after them, and then came a pause. 

Capper edged a little nearer to the churchyard steps and waited. Theclamour of bells was incessant, wholly drowning the clamour of voices. Everyone was craning forward to see the crowd of guests. The longprocession had already begun to issue from the church porch. It movedvery slowly, for at the head of it, his hand on his mother's arm, cameLucas Errol. 

He walked with extreme difficulty, leaning on a crutch. His head wasuncovered, and the glare of the September sunlight smote full upon it. The hair was turning very grey. 

He was smiling as he came, but his brows were slightly drawn, his eyessunk in deep hollows. 

Swiftly and comprehensively the man at the foot of the steps scannedevery detail, marked the halting, painful progress, the lined forehead. And the next moment, as Lucas paused, preparatory to descending, hepushed forward with characteristic decision of movement and moved upwardsto his side. 

"I guess you'll find me useful at this juncture, " he said. 

Lucas's start of surprise was instantly followed by a smile of welcome. He gripped Capper's hand warmly. 

"The very man I want! But how in wonder did you get here? You neverwalked all the way from the station?"

"I did, " said Capper. 

"You don't say! Why didn't you let me know? I guess we must move on. Weare blocking the gangway. "

"Easy does it, " said Capper. "It won't hurt 'em any to wait. Getyour arm over my shoulder. That's the way. These steps are the verydevil for you. "

He bent his wiry frame to Lucas Errol's need, and helped him to descend. At the foot he paused a moment and looked at him keenly. 

"All serene, " smiled Lucas. "I'll take your arm now, if it's all thesame to the mother. You didn't expect to find us plunged in weddinggaieties, I guess. "

"Wish it had been your own, " said Capper. 

At which Lucas turned up his face to the sky and laughed. 

They crossed the flag-decked garden and entered by the conservatory door. People were beginning to crowd about them. 

"We must find you a seat somehow, " said Capper. 

"I must have a word with the bride and bridegroom first, " Lucas declared. 

But the bride and bridegroom were for the moment inaccessible, beingcompletely surrounded by well-wishers. 

Capper seized upon the first chair he came upon and put Lucas into it. 

"I seem to have come in the nick of time, " he observed drily. "Why is noone detailed to look after you? Where is that tiger's whelp Nap?"

"Nap's in America, been gone two months or more. "

"That so?" There was keen satisfaction in Capper's tone. "That clears theground for action. And Lady Carfax? Is she here?"

"No. " There was a hint of reserve in the quiet reply. "Lady Carfax is indeep mourning for her husband. "

"That so?" said Capper again. He seemed to take but casual note of theinformation. He was pulling absently at his pointed yellow beard. 

Lucas lay back in his chair and suffered himself to relax with a sigh. Capper's eyes darted lizard-like over him, taking in every line of him, keenly alive to each detail. 

"If I were you I should shunt as soon as possible, " he said. "Since itisn't your own show unfortunately, I should imagine you are notindispensable. "

But at this point the throng parted, and Dot, looking very young in herbridal white, and supremely happy, burst eagerly through, "Oh, here you are!" she cried. "Your mother said you were close by, but Icouldn't see you anywhere. It's been too much for you. You're tired. "

She bent over him in quick solicitude, then, as he smiled and drew herdown to him, stooped and kissed him, whispering a few words for hisear alone. 

Bertie was close behind her, but he had caught sight of Capper and hadstopped short with a queer expression on his boyish face, a look that wasa curious blend of consternation and relief. 

A moment and he stepped up to the great doctor and took him by the elbow. "You here already!" he said. "I didn't expect you so soon. "

"I have only run down to have a look at things, " said Capper. "I seem tohave pitched on a busy day. I hope you are enjoying yourself. "

"Thanks!" said Bertie, with a brief laugh. "Say, Doctor, you'll let meknow your plans?"

"Certainly--when they are ripe. " The green eyes gleamed humorously. "Aren't you thinking of introducing me to Mrs. Bertie?" he suggested. 

"Yes, yes, of course. But you won't do anything without me?" urgedBertie. "I should greatly like a talk with you, but I'm afraid it can'tbe managed. "

"I mightily doubt if you could tell me anything that I don't knowalready, " said Capper, "on any subject. "

"It's about Luke, " said Bertie anxiously. 

"Just so. Well, I guess I know more about Luke than any other person onthis merry little planet. "

"Do you think he looks worse?" whispered Bertie. 

Capper's long, yellow hand fastened very unobtrusively and very forciblyupon his shoulder. "One thing at a time, good Bertie!" he said. "Weren'tyou going to present me to--your wife?"

CHAPTER III

THE WOMAN'S PART

It was on a day of wild autumnal weather, when the wind moaned like aliving thing in torture about the house, and the leaves eddied anddrifted before the scudding rain, that they turned Tawny Hudson out ofhis master's room, and left him crouched and whimpering like a dogagainst the locked door. Save for his master's express command, no poweron earth would have driven him away, not even Capper of the curt speechand magnetic will. But the master had spoken very definitely anddistinctly, and it was Tawny Hudson's to obey. Therefore he huddled onthe mat, rocking to and fro, shivering like some monstrous animal inpain, while within the room Capper wrought his miracles. 

Downstairs Mrs. Errol sat holding Anne's hand very tightly, and talkingincessantly lest her ears should be constrained to listen. And Anne, paleand still, answered her as a woman talking in her sleep. 

Bertie and his young bride were still absent on their honeymoon; thisalso by Lucas's express desire. 

"It won't help me any to have you here, boy, " he had said at parting. "Acertain fuss is inevitable, but I want you out of it. I am looking toAnne Carfax to help the dear mother. "

He had known even then that he would not look in vain, and he had notbeen disappointed. So, sorely against his will, Bertie had submitted, with the proviso that if things went wrong he should be sent forimmediately. 

And thus Anne Carfax, who had lived in almost unbroken seclusion sinceher husband's death, now sat with Mrs. Errol's hand clasped in hers, andlistened, as one listens in a nightmare, to the wailing of the wind aboutthe garden and house, and the beat, beat, beat of her heart when the windwas still. 

"Could you say a prayer, dear?" Mrs. Errol asked her once. 

And she knelt and prayed, scarcely knowing what she said, but with apassion of earnestness that left her weak, quivering in every limb. 

The wind was rising. It roared in the trees and howled against the panes. Sometimes a wild gust of rain lashed the windows. It made her think of anunquiet spirit clamouring for admittance. 

"Anne dear, play to me, play to me!" besought Mrs. Errol. "If I listen Ishall go mad! No one will hear you. We are right away from his part ofthe house. "

And though every nerve shrank at the bare suggestion, Anne rose withouta single protest and went to the piano. She sat down before it, andblindly, her eyes wide, fixed, unseeing, she began to play. 

What she played she knew not. Her fingers found notes, chords, melodiesmechanically. 

Once she paused, but, "Ah, go on, dear child! Go on!" urged Mrs. Errol. And she went on, feeling vaguely through the maze of suspense thatsurrounded them, longing inarticulately to cease all effort, but spurredonward because she knew she must not fail. 

And gradually as she played there came to her a curious sense of duality, of something happening that had happened before, of a record repeatingitself. She turned her head, almost expecting to hear a voice speaksoftly behind her, almost expecting to hear a mocking echo of the wordsunspoken. "Has the Queen no further use for her jester?" No further use!No further use! Oh, why was she tortured thus? Why, when her whole soulyearned to forget, was she thus compelled to remember the man whosebrutal passion and insatiable thirst for vengeance had caught and crushedher heart?

And still she played on as one beneath a spell, while the memory of himforced the gates of her consciousness and took arrogant possession. Shesaw again the swarthy face with its fierce eyes, the haughty smile, whichfor her was ever tinged with tenderness. Surely--oh, surely he had lovedher once! She recalled his fiery love-making, and thrilled again to theeager insistence of his voice, the mastery of his touch. And then sheremembered what they said of him, that women were his slaves, hisplaythings, the toys he broke in wantonness and carelessly tossed aside. She remembered how once in his actual presence she had overheard wordsthat had made her shrink, a wonder as to who was his latest conquest, thecynical remark: "Anyone for a change and no one for long is his motto. "What was he doing now, she asked herself, and trembled. He had gonewithout word or message of any sort. Her last glimpse of him had been inthat violet glare of lightning, inexpressibly terrible, with tigerisheyes that threatened her and snarling lips drawn back. Thus--thus had sheseen him many a time since in the long night-watches when she had lainsleepless and restless, waiting for the dawn. 

Some such vision came to her now, forcing itself upon her shrinkingimagination. Vividly there rose before her his harsh face alert, cruel, cynical, and the sinewy hands that gripped and crushed. And suddenly ashuddering sense of nausea overcame her. She left the piano as oneseeking refuge from a horror unutterable. Surely this man had never lovedher--was incapable of love! And she had almost wished him back!

"There is someone in the entry, dear child, " whispered Mrs. Errol. "Goand see--go and see!"

She went, moving as one stricken blind. But before she reached the doorit opened and someone entered. She saw Capper as through a mist in whichbodily weakness and anguished fear combined to overwhelm her. And thenvery steadily his arm encircled her, drew her tottering to a chair. 

"It's all right, " he said in his expressionless drawl. "The patient hasregained consciousness, and is doing O. K. Are you ladies thinking oflunch? Because if so, I guess I'll join you. No, Mrs. Errol, you can'tsee him before to-night at the earliest. Lady Carfax, I have a messagefor you--the first words he spoke when he came to. He was hardlyconscious when he uttered them, but I guess you'll be kind of interestedto hear what they were. 'Tell Anne, ' he said, 'I'm going to get well. '"

The intense deliberation with which he spoke gave her time to collectherself, but the words affected her oddly. After a moment she rose, wentto Mrs. Errol, who had covered her face with both hands while he wasspeaking, and knelt beside her. Neither of them uttered a sound. 

Capper strolled to the window, his hands deep in his pockets, and lookedout upon the wind-swept gardens. He whistled very softly to himself, as aman well satisfied. 

He did not turn his head till at the end of five minutes Anne came to hisside. She was very pale but quite self-possessed. 

"Mrs. Errol has gone to her room, " she said. "She wished to be alone. "

"Gone to have a good cry, eh?" said Capper. "Healthiest thing she coulddo. And what about you?"

She smiled with lips that faintly quivered. "I am quite all right, Doctor. And--I have ordered luncheon. "

He turned fully round and looked her up and down with lightningswiftness. "You're a very remarkable woman, Lady Carfax, " he saidafter a moment. 

"I hope you may never be disappointed in me, " she answered gravely. 

"I hope so too, " he said, "for there is a good deal dependent upon you. "

"What do you mean?" She raised her clear eyes interrogatively. 

But he baffled her, as he baffled everyone, with the very keenness of hisown scrutiny. He began to crack all his fingers in turn. 

"I mean, " he said, "that even I can't work miracles by myself. I can dothe elementary part. I can cut and saw and sew, but I can't heal. I can'tgive life. That's the woman's part. That's where I count on you. And Idon't think you are going to fail me, Lady Carfax. "

"I promise you I will do my utmost, " she said very earnestly. 

He nodded. "I believe you will. But even so, you can't do too much. It'sa serious case, even more serious than I expected. I don't say this toalarm you, but I guess you had better know it. It'll be a tough, uphillfight, and he'll need a deal of pushing behind. It may entail more thanyou dream of--a big sacrifice perhaps; who knows? But you women don't shyat sacrifices. And, believe me, he's worth a sacrifice. "

"He deserves the best, " she said warmly. 

"Yes, but you don't take me, " said Capper. 

He paused a moment, then suddenly laid a quiet hand on her shoulder. "Imay be a wise man, " he said, "and again I may be a meddling fool. You andthe gods must decide between you. But I'm old enough to be your fatheranyway. So p'r'aps you'll bear with me. Lady Carfax, hasn't it struck youthat a time will come--probably pretty soon--when he will begin to reachout for something that you--and you alone--can give?"

Anne's quick gesture of protest was his answer. She stood motionless, hereyes still raised, waiting for him to continue. But he felt her trembleunder his hand. He knew that inwardly she was not so calm as she wouldhave had him think. 

He went on in his precise, emotionless fashion, as though he perceivednothing. "He won't ask for it--anyway till he feels he can make a fairreturn. He will never ask a sacrifice of you. He will break his heartsooner. The point is, Are you capable of offering the sacrifice unasked?For that is what it amounts to, now that the gods have cleared the way. "

"Ah!" Anne said. "And--if--not?"

She spoke rather as if to gain time than because she desired an answer. 

But he answered her nevertheless very quietly, without a shade ofemotion, as if he were discussing some technical matter of no personalinterest to him. Only as he answered he took his hand from her shoulderand thrust it back into his pocket. 

"In that case he will die, having nothing left to live for. He probablywon't suffer much, simply go out like a candle. He hasn't much vitality. He may die either way. There is no responsibility attached--onlypossibilities. "

He turned with the words, and walked across the room with the air of aman who has said his say. 

She uttered no word to stop him, nor did she move to follow. She stoodalone with her face to the grey storm-clouds that drifted perpetuallyoverhead. Somehow she did not for a moment doubt the truth of whatCapper had just told her. She even felt sub-consciously that she hadknown it for some time. Neither did she ask herself what she was goingto do. For deep in the heart of her she knew already. Deep in the heartof her she knew that when Lucas Errol began to reach out for somethingwhich she alone could give, it would not be in vain. He had given of hisbest to her, and she was ready to give of her best in return. If shecould not give him passion, she could give him that which wasinfinitely greater--a deep, abiding love, a devotion born of completesympathy. She could give him happiness, and in the giving she might findit for herself. 

Over in the west the clouds were breaking, and a shaft of pale sunshinestreamed upon the distant hills, turning the woods to living gold. Hereyes brightened a little as they caught the radiance. It seemed as if thedoor before which she had knelt so long in impotence were opening to herat last, as if one more opportunity were to be given her even yet afterlong and bitter failure of turning her corner of the desert into a gardenof flowers and singing birds. 

CHAPTER IV

THE MESSAGE

It was nearly a month after Lucas Errol's operation that Bertie and hisbride came home from their honeymoon and began the congenial task ofsetting their house in order. 

Dot was thoroughly in her element. The minutest details were to hermatters of vital importance. 

"We must make it comfy, " she said to Bertie, and Bertie fully agreed. 

He had relinquished his study of the law, and had resumed his secretarialduties, well aware that Lucas could ill spare him. He was in fact Lucas'sright hand just then, and the burden that devolved upon him was no lightone. But he bore it with a cheerful spirit, for Lucas was makingprogress. Despite his utter helplessness, despite the inevitableconfinement to one room, despite the weariness and the irksomeness whichday by day were his portion, Lucas was very gradually gaining ground. Already he suffered less severely and slept more naturally. 

His last words to Capper at parting had been, "Come again in the springand complete the cure. I shall be ready for you. "

And Capper had smiled upon him with something approaching geniality andhad answered, "You'll do it, and so shall I. So long then!"

But the months that intervened were the chief stumbling-block, and Capperknew it. He knew that his patient would have to face difficulties anddrawbacks that might well dismay the bravest. He knew of the reactionthat must surely come when the vitality was low, and progress becameimperceptible, and the long imprisonment almost unendurable. He knew ofthe fever that would lurk in the quickening blood, of the torturing crampthat would draw the unused muscles, of the depression that was its mentalcounterpart, of the black despair that would hang like a paralysingweight upon soul and body, of the _ennui_, of the weariness of life, ofthe piteous weakness that nothing could alleviate. 

He had to a certain extent warned Lucas what to expect; but the time forthese things had not yet arrived. He was hardly yet past the first stage, and his courage was buoyed up by high hopes as yet undashed. He had facedworse things without blenching, and he had not begun to feel the monotonythat Capper had dreaded as his worst enemy. 

He took a keen interest in the doings of the young couple at the DowerHouse, and Dot's breezy presence was ever welcome. 

As for Anne, she went to and fro between Baronmead and the Manor, ofwhich her husband's will had left her sole mistress, no longer leading ahermit's life, no longer clinging to her solitude, grave and quiet, butnot wholly unhappy. Those few words Capper had spoken on the day ofLucas's operation had made a marvellous difference to her outlook. Theyhad made it possible for her to break down the prison-walls thatsurrounded her. They had given her strength to leave the past behind her, all vain regrets and cruel disillusionments, to put away despair and riseabove depression. They had given her courage to go on. 

Of Nap no word was ever spoken in her presence. He might have been dead, so completely had he dropped out of her life. In fact, he was scarcelyever mentioned by anyone, a fact which aroused in Dot a curiously keenindignation, but upon which a certain shyness kept her from commenting. She kept him faithfully in mind, praying for him as regularly as sheprayed for old Squinny, who still lingered on with exasperating tenacity, and continued to enjoy such help, spiritual or otherwise, as he couldextract from the parson's daughter. 

That Bertie strongly disapproved of his brother she was aware, but sheheld no very high opinion of Bertie's judgment, though even he couldscarcely have forbidden her to pray for the black sheep of the family. She had not been brought up to rely upon anyone's judgment but her own, and, deeply as she loved him, she could not help regarding her husbandas headlong and inclined to prejudice. He was young, she reflected, anddoubtless these small defects would disappear as he grew older. True, hewas nearly four years her senior; but Dot did not regard years as in anydegree a measure of age. It was all a question of development, she wouldsay, and some people--women especially--developed much more quickly thanothers. She herself, for instance--At which stage of the argument Bertieinvariably said or did something rude, and the rest of her logic becamesomewhat confused. He was a dear boy and she couldn't possibly be crosswith him, but somehow he never seemed to realise when she was in earnest. Another of the deficiencies of youth!

Meanwhile she occupied herself in her new home with all the zest of theyoung housewife, returned calls with commendable punctuality, and settleddown once more to the many parochial duties which had been herever-increasing responsibility for almost as long as she could remember. 

"You are not going to slave like this always, " Bertie said to her oneevening, when she came in late through a November drizzle to find himwaiting for her. 

"I must do what I've got to do, " said Dot practically, suffering him toremove her wet coat. 

"All very well, " said Bertie, whose chin looked somewhat more square thanusual. "But I'm not going to have my wife wearing herself out over whatafter all is not her business. "

"My dear boy!" Dot laughed aloud, twining her arm in his. "I think youforget, don't you, that I was the rector's daughter before I was yourwife? I must do these things. There is no one else to do them. "

"Skittles!" said Bertie rudely. 

"Yes, dear, but that's no argument. Let's go and have tea, and forgoodness' sake don't frown at me like that. It's positively appalling. Put your chin in and be good. "

She passed her hand over her husband's face and laughed up at himmerrily. But Bertie remained grave. 

"You're wet through and as cold as ice. Come to the fire and let's getoff your boots. "

She went with him into the drawing-room, where tea awaited them. 

"I'm not wet through, " she declared, "and I'm not going to let you takeoff my boots. You may, if you are very anxious, give me some tea. "

Bertie pulled up a chair to the fire and put her into it; then turnedaside and began to make the tea. 

Dot lay back with her feet in the fender and watched him. She was lookingvery tired, and now that the smile had faded from her face this was themore apparent. 

When he brought her her tea she reached up, caught his hand, and held itfor a moment against her cheek. 

"One's own fireside is so much nicer than anyone else's, " she said. "We'll have a nice cosy talk presently. How is Luke to-day?"

"Not quite so flourishing. A brute of a dog howled in the night and wokehim up. He didn't get his proper sleep afterwards. "

"Poor old Luke! What a shame!"

"Yes, it made a difference. He has been having neuralgia down his spinenearly all day. I believe he's worrying too. I'm going back after dinnerto see if I can do anything. I manage to read him to sleep sometimes, you know. "

"Shall I come too?" said Dot. 

"No. " Bertie spoke with decision. "You had better go to bed yourself. "

She made a face at him. "I shall do nothing of the sort. I shall sit upand do the Clothing Club accounts. "

Bertie frowned abruptly. "Not to-night, Dot. "

"Yes, to-night. They have got to be done, and I can think betterat night. "

"You are not to do them to-night, " Bertie said, with determination. "Iwill do them myself if they must be done. "

"My dear boy, you! You would never understand my book-keeping. Justimagine the muddle you would make! No, I must get through them myself, and since I must spend the time somehow till you come home, why shouldn'tI do them to-night?"

"Because I forbid it, " said Bertie unexpectedly. 

He was standing on the rug, cup in hand. He looked straight down at herwith the words, meeting her surprised eyes with most unwonted sternness. 

Dot raised her eyebrows as high as they would go, kept them so forseveral seconds, then very deliberately lowered them and began tostir her tea. 

"You understand me, don't you?" he said. 

She shook her head. "Not in the least. I don't think I have ever met youbefore, have I?"

He set his cup upon the mantelpiece and went suddenly down on his kneesby her side. "I haven't been taking proper care of you, " he said. "ButI'm going to begin right now. Do you know when you came in just now yougave me an absolute shock?"

She laughed faintly, her eyes fixed upon her cup "I didn't know I waslooking such a fright. "

"You can never look anything but sweet to me, " he said. "But it's a factyou're not looking well. I'm sure you are doing too much. "

"I'm not doing any more than usual, " said Dot, still intent upon thedrain of tea in her cup. 

"Well, it's too much for you anyway, and I'm going to put a stop to it. "

"Do you know how to read your fortune in tea leaves?" said Dot. 

"No, " said Bertie. With a very gentle hand he deprived her of thisengrossing pastime. "I want you to attend to me for a minute, " he said. 

Dot snuggled against him with a very winning gesture. "I don't want to, Bertie, unless you can find something more interesting to talk about. Really, there is nothing wrong with me. Tell me about Luke. Why is heworrying?"

Bertie frowned. "He doesn't say so, but I believe he's bothered aboutNap. Heaven knows why he should be. He was supposed to go to Arizona, buthe didn't turn up there. As a matter of fact, if he never turned up againanywhere it would be about the best thing that could possibly happen. "

"Oh, don't, Bertie!" Dot spoke sharply, almost involuntarily. There was aquick note of pain in her voice. "I don't like you to talk like that. Itisn't nice of you to be glad he's gone, and--it's downright horrid towant him to stay away for ever. "

"Good heavens!" said Bertie. 

He was plainly amazed, and she resented his amazement, feeling that insome fashion it placed her in a false position from which she waspowerless to extricate herself. The last thing she desired was to take upthe cudgels on Nap's behalf, nevertheless she prepared herself to do soas in duty bound. For Nap was a friend, and Dot's loyalty to her friendswas very stanch. 

"I mean it, " she said, sitting up and facing him. "I don't think it'sright of you, and it certainly isn't kind. He doesn't deserve to betreated as an outcast. He isn't such a bad sort after all. There is awhole lot of good in him, whatever people may say. You at least oughtto know him better. Anyhow, he is a friend of mine, and I won't hearhim abused. "

Bertie's face changed while she was speaking, grew stern, grew almostimplacable. 

"Look here, " he said plainly, "if you want to know what Nap is, he's adamned blackguard, not fit for you to speak to. So, if you've noobjection, we'll shunt him for good and all!"

It was Dot's turn to look amazed. She opened her eyes to their widestextent. "What has he done?"

"Never mind!" said Bertie. 

"But I do mind!" Swiftly indignation swamped her surprise. "Why should Ishunt him, as you call it, for no reason at all? I tell you frankly, Bertie, I simply won't!"

Her eyes were very bright as she ended. She sat bolt upright obviouslygirded for battle. 

Bertie also looked on the verge of an explosion, but with a grim efforthe restrained himself. "I have told you he is unworthy of yourfriendship, " he said. "Let that be enough. "

"That's not enough, " said Dot. "I think otherwise. "

He bit his lip. "Well, if you must have it--so did Lady Carfax till shefound out her mistake. "

"Lady Carfax!" Dot's face changed. "What about Lady Carfax?"

"She gave him her friendship, " Bertie told her grimly, "and he rewardedher with about as foul a trick as any man could conceive. You heard thestory of the motor breaking down that day in the summer when he took herfor a ride? It was nothing but an infernal trick. He wanted to get herfor himself, and it wasn't his fault that he failed. It was inconsequence of that that Lucas sent him away. "

"Oh!" said Dot. "He was in love with her then!"

"If you call it love, " said Bertie. "He is always in love with someone. "

Dot's eyes expressed enlightenment. She seemed to have forgotten theirdifference of opinion. "So that was why he was so cut up, " she said. "Ofcourse--of course! I was a donkey not to think of it. What a mercy SirGiles is dead! Has anyone written to tell him?"

"No, " said Bertie shortly. 

"But why not? Surely he has a right to know? Lady Carfax herselfmight wish it. "

"Lady Carfax would be thankful to forget his very existence, " saidBertie, with conviction. 

"My dear boy, how can you possibly tell? Are you one of those misguidedmale creatures who profess to understand women?"

"I know that Lady Carfax loathes the very thought of him, " Bertiemaintained. "She is not a woman to forgive and forget very easily. Moreover, as I told you before, no one knows where he is. "

"I see, " said Dot thoughtfully. "But surely he has a club somewhere?"

"Yes, he belongs to the Phoenix Club, New York, if they haven't kickedhim out. But what of that? I'm not going to write to him. I don't wanthim back, Heaven knows. " There was a fighting note in Bertie's voice. Hespoke as if prepared to resist to the uttermost any sudden attack uponhis resolution. 

But Dot attempted none; she abandoned the argument quite suddenly, andnestled against his breast. "Darling, don't let's talk about it anymore! It's a subject upon which we can't agree. And I'm sorry I've beenso horrid to you. I know it isn't my fault that we haven'tquarrelled. Forgive me, dear, and keep on loving me. You do love me, don't you, Bertie?"

"Sweetheart!" he whispered, holding her closely. 

She uttered a little muffled laugh. "That's my own boy! And I'm going tobe so good, you'll hardly know me. I won't go out in the rain, and Iwon't do the Clothing Club accounts, and I won't overwork. And--and--Iwon't be cross, even if I do look and feel hideous. I'm going to be aperfect saint, Bertie. "

"Sweetheart!" he said again. 

She turned her face up against his neck. "Shall I tell you why?" shesaid, clinging to him with hands that trembled. "It's because if I letmyself get cross-grained and ugly now, p'r'aps someone else--someday--will be cross-grained and ugly too. And I should never forgivemyself for that. I should always feel it was my fault. Fancy if it turnedout a shrew like me, Bertie! Wouldn't--wouldn't it be dreadful?"

She was half-laughing, half-crying, as she whispered the words. Bertie'sarms held her so closely that she almost gasped for breath. 

"My precious girl!" he said. "My own precious wife! Is it so? You know, Iwondered. "

She turned her lips quickly to his. There were tears on her cheeks thoughshe was laughing. 

"How bright of you, Bertie! You--you always get there sooner or later, don't you? And you're not cross with me any more? You don't think me veryunreasonable about Nap?"

"Oh, damn Nap!" said Bertie, for the second time, with fervour. 

"Poor Nap!" said Dot gently. 

That evening, when Bertie was at Baronmead, she scribbled a singlesentence on a sheet of paper, thrust it into an envelope and directed itto the Phoenix Club, New York. 

This done, she despatched a servant to the postoffice with it and satdown before the fire. 

"I expect it was wrong of me, " she said. "But somehow I can't helpfeeling he ought to know. Anyway"--Dot's English was becoming lightlypowdered with Americanisms, which possessed a very decided charm on herlips--"anyway, it's done, and I won't think any more about it. It's thevery last wrong thing I'll do for--ever so long. " Her eyes grew soft asshe uttered this praiseworthy resolution. She gazed down into the firewith a little smile, and gave herself up to dreams. 

CHAPTER V

THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND

"O God, give me rest!"

Painfully the words came through quivering lips, the first they haduttered for hours. Lucas Errol lay, as he had lain for nearly threemonths, with his face to the ceiling, his body stretched straight andrigid, ever in the same position, utterly helpless and weary unto death. 

Day after day he lay there, never stirring save when they made him bendhis knees, an exercise upon which the doctor daily insisted, but whichwas agony to him. Night after night, sleepless, he waited the coming ofthe day. His general health varied but little, but his weakness wastelling upon him. His endurance still held, but it was wearing thin. Hisold cheeriness was gone, though he summoned it back now and again withpiteous, spasmodic effort. Hope and despair were fighting together in hissoul, and at that time despair was uppermost. He had set out with a braveheart, but the goal was still far off, and he was beginning to falter. Hehad ceased to make any progress, and the sheer monotony of existence waswearing him out. The keen, shrewd eyes were dull and listless. At theopening of the door he did not even turn his head. 

And yet it was Anne who entered, Anne with the flush of exercise on hersweet face, her hands full of Russian violets. 

"See how busy I have been!" she said. "I am not disturbing you? Youweren't asleep?"

"I never sleep, " he answered, and he did not look at her or the violets;he kept his eyes upon the ceiling. 

She came and sat beside him. "I gathered them all myself, " she said. "Don't you want to smell them?"

He moved his lips without replying, and she leaned down, her eyes full ofthe utmost compassionate tenderness and held the violets to him. Heraised a hand with evident effort and fumblingly took her wrist. Hepressed the wet flowers against his face. 

"It's a shame to bring them here, Lady Carfax, " he said, letting her go. "Take them--wear them! I guess they'll be happier with you. "

She smiled a little. "Should I have gathered all this quantity formyself? It has taken me nearly an hour. "

"You should have told the gardener, " he said. "You mustn't go tiringyourself out over me. I'm not worth it. " He added, with that kindlycourtesy of which adversity had never deprived him, "But I'm realgrateful all the same. You mustn't think me unappreciative. "

"I don't, " she answered gently. "Wouldn't you like them in water?"

"Ah, yes, " he said. "Put them near me. I shall smell them if I can't seethem. Do you mind closing the window? I can't get warm to-day. "

She moved to comply, passing across his line of vision. A moment shestood with the keen sweet air blowing in upon her, a tall, graciousfigure in the full flower of comely womanhood, not beautiful, butpossessing in every line of her that queenly, indescribable charm whichis greater than beauty. 

The man caught his breath as he watched her. His brows contracted. 

Softly she closed the window and turned. She came back to her chairby his side, drew forward a little table, and began deftly to arrangeher flowers. 

Several seconds passed before Lucas broke the silence. "It does me goodto watch you, " he said. "You're always so serene. "

She smiled at him across the violets. "You place serenity among thehigher virtues?"

"I do, " he said simply. "It's such a restful contrast to thestrenuousness of life. You make me feel just by looking at you thateverything's all right. You bring a peaceful atmosphere in with you, and"--his voice sank a little--"you take it away again when you go. "

The smile went out of her grey eyes at his last words, but thesteadfastness remained. "Then, " she said gently, "I must come more oftenand stay longer. "

But he instantly negatived that. "No--it wouldn't be good for you. Itwouldn't be good for me either to get to lean on you too much. I shouldgrow exacting. "

She saw a gleam of his old smile as he spoke, but it was gone at once, lost among the countless lines that pain and weariness had drawn of lateupon his face. 

"I don't think that is very likely, " Anne said. "I can't imagine it. "

"Not yet perhaps. I haven't quite reached that stage. Maybe I shall bedown and out before it comes. God grant it!"

The words were too deliberate to cause her any shock. They were, moreover, not wholly unexpected. There followed a short silence while shefinished arranging her violets. Then very quietly she spoke:

"You say that because you are tired. "

"I am more than tired, " he answered. "I'm done. I'm beaten. I'm whippedoff the field. "

"You think you are not gaining ground?" she questioned. 

"My dear Lady Carfax, " he said quietly, "it's no use closing one's eyesto the obvious. I'm losing ground every day--every night. "

"But you are not fighting, " she said. 

"No. " He looked at her half-wistfully from under his heavy eyelids. "Doyou think me quite despicable? I've done my best. "

She was silent. Perhaps she was not fully prepared to cope with this openadmission of failure. 

"I've done my best, " he said again. "But it's outlasted my strength. I'mlike a man hanging on to the edge of a precipice. I know every instantthat my grip is slackening, and I can't help it. I've got to drop. "

"You haven't done your best yet, " Anne said, her voice very low. "You'vegot to hold on to the very end. It may be help is nearer than you think. "

"But if I don't want help?" he said. "If it would be more merciful tolet me go?"

Again she was silent. 

"You know, " he said, "life hasn't many inducements. I've put up a fightfor it because I gave my promise to Nap before he went. But it isn't goodenough to keep on. I can't win through. The odds are too great. "

"Do you think Nap would let you stop fighting?" she said. 

He smiled again faintly. "I suppose--if he were here--I should subsist onhis vitality for a little while. But the end would be the same. Even hecan't work miracles. "

"Don't you believe in miracles?" Anne said. 

He looked at her interrogatively. 

"Mr. Errol, " she said, "I am going to remind you of something that Ithink you have forgotten. It was Dr. Capper who told me. It was when youwere recovering consciousness after the operation. You sent me a message. 'Tell Anne, ' you said, 'I am going to get well. '" She paused a moment, looking at him very steadily. "I don't know why exactly you sent thatspecial message to me, but I have carried it in my heart ever since. "

She had moved him at last. She saw a faint glow spread slowly over thetired face. The heavy eyes opened wide to meet her look. 

"Did I say that?" he said. "Yes, I had forgotten. "

He was silent for a little, gazing full at her with the eyes of onesuddenly awakened. 

She lowered her own, and bent her face to the violets. Though she hadspoken so quietly it had not been without effort. She had not foundit easy. Nor did she find his silence easy, implicitly though shetrusted him. 

Perhaps he understood, for when he spoke at length there was in hisvoice so reassuring a gentleness that on the instant herembarrassment passed. 

"Anne, " he said, "do you really want me to get well? Would such a miraclemake much difference to you?"

"It would make all the difference in the world, " she answered earnestly. "I want it more than anything else in life. "

With the words she raised her eyes, found his fixed upon her with anexpression so new, so tender, that her heart stirred within her as aflower that expands in sudden sunshine, and the next moment his hand laybetween her own, and all doubt, all hesitation had fled. 

"But, my dear, " he said, "I always thought it was Nap. Surely it wasNap!"

She felt as if something had stabbed her. "No, never!" she saidpassionately. "Never! It might have been--once--before I knew him. Butnever since, never since!"

"That so?" said Lucas Errol, and was silent for a little. Then, "Anne"--and the soft drawl had in it a tremor that was almost a break--"Iguess I do believe in miracles after all, dear. Anyway, " he began tosmile, "there are some things in life too mighty for explanation. "

His face was turned towards her. There was something in the look it worethat seemed to her in some fashion superb. He was different from othermen. That quiet kingliness of his was so natural to him, so sublimelyfree from arrogance. He was immeasurably greater than his fellows byreason of the very smallness of his self-esteem. 

"Guess I must take up my burden again and step out, " he said. "You won'tcatch me slacking any after this. And--if I don't win out, dear, you'llknow that it just wasn't possible because God didn't will it so. "

"Oh, but you will!" she said, clasping his hand more closely. "You will!God knows how badly I want you. "

"His Will be done!" said Lucas Errol. "But I want you too, dearest. Iwant you too. "

His fingers stirred in her hold. It was the merest movement, but sheknew his meaning. She slipped to her knees by his side, leaned down andkissed him. 

CHAPTER VI

A VOICE THAT CALLED

Christmas came and went--the most peaceful Christmas that Anne had everknown. A wonderful peace had indeed begun to possess her. It was as ifafter long tossing she had come at last into quiet waters, and acontentment such as she had never known before was hers. Her health hadimproved in this calm, untroubled atmosphere. She slept without dreaming. She had put all regrets and fears out of her life. 

Lucas filled all her thoughts. Had he allowed it, she would have devotedherself exclusively to him, but this he would not have. Very slowly, verypainfully, he had struggled out of his Slough of Despond, and what thatstruggle had meant to him none but himself would ever know. And now thathe had made it, and in a measure succeeded, he suffered scarcely lessthan before. His strength was undoubtedly greater, his spirits were moreeven; but these were the only visible signs of improvement. The long, sleepless nights with spells of racking pain continued. Perhaps theybecame less frequent as time went on, but they did not cease. 

Anne always knew, though the same brave smile greeted her every day, when he had been through one of these ordeals. He was always so readyto tell her when the news was good, but when it was otherwise his lipswere sealed upon the subject. He never uttered a desponding word inher presence. 

But still, gradual, often halting though it was, he did make progress. Hewent forward more than he slipped back. And ever he carried in his eyesthe light of a great hope. She knew that he did not despair, even in hisown hidden soul. 

And day by day her love and admiration for the man grew and spread, filling her life, renewing her youth, transforming her very existence. Day by day she sounded greater depths of a nature that made her feelinfinitely small in comparison. Day by day she marvelled afresh at thegreatness and the simplicity that went to the making of this man's soul. 

No one, save Mrs. Errol, knew of what had passed between them. Theyscarcely referred to it even in private. There was no need, for theunderstanding between them was complete. By mutual consent they awaitedthe coming of Capper and the final miracle. 

Slowly the dark, bitter days of January dragged away. The Hunt Ball hadbeen postponed till the following month when the Town Hall, which hadbeen building all the winter, should be complete. Anne, to her dismay, had been unanimously elected to perform the opening ceremony. Herposition as Lady of the Manor made her prominent, and, no substitutebeing forthcoming, she had been obliged reluctantly to consent. Her deepmourning enabled her to avoid any succeeding social function, but, sinceshe had broken her seclusion, she found it impossible to escape theceremony itself. 

She had never enjoyed social prominence, and she was thankful that at theHunt Ball at least her presence could not be expected. She never thoughtof the last that she had attended without a shiver. It had been herbirthday, and this fact brought it to mind the more persistently. Thisyear she spent the day in the peaceful atmosphere of Baronmead, drivinghome at length, through the frosty starlight, in the Errols' car. 

She strove as she went to put away from her the memory of that other rideof a year ago, when she had been borne swiftly through the darkness asthough upon wings, when she had lain back exhausted in her corner anddreamed a strange, vivid dream, while Nap had sat upright beside her, alert, silent, inscrutable, plucking the gloves to tatters between hisrestless hands. 

The vision would not be excluded, strive though she might. She leanedamongst the cushions and closed her eyes, trying to trick herself todrowsiness, but on the instant he was there beside her again, aruthless, indomitable presence, which would not be ignored. She was gladwhen she came to her journey's end. 

Entering the hall, she gathered up a few letters that lay there, and wentstraight to her room. With a feeling of unwonted fatigue she dropped intoan easy-chair and sat for awhile inert. On her right hand she wore a ringthat Lucas had given her only that day. 

He had half-apologised for his offering. "If you think it premature, don't wear it!" he had said. 

And she had slipped it on to her right hand and worn it ever since. 

She recalled the kindling of his tired eyes at her action, and smiledsadly to herself. How little she had to give him after all! And yet hewas content!

Sitting there, she raised her hand and looked closely at the gift. It wasa complete circle of diamonds. She had never seen such a ring before. Itmust have cost a fortune. She wondered if she ought to wear it. Againmemory began to crowd upon her, strive though she would. 

"Do you like diamonds?" asked a casual voice. 

Her hand fell into her lap. She sat as one watching a scene upon a stage, rapt and listening. She wanted to rise and move away, to break the magicspell that bound her, to flee--to flee--but she was powerless. 

"No, " said the voice. "You haven't a passion for anything at present. You will have soon. "

There fell a silence in her soul, a brief darkness, then again words, nolonger casual, but quick, burning, passionate. 

"I am mad--I am mad for you, Anne! Goddess--queen--woman--you aremine--you are mine--you are mine!" And then, less fiery, less vehement, but infinitely more compelling: "Where is your love for me? I will swearthat you loved me once!"

The voice ceased, was lost in the wild throbbing of her heart, and Anne'shands clenched unconsciously. In that moment there came to her theconviction, inexplicable but extraordinarily vivid, that across the worldNap Errol had called to her--and had called in vain. 

Minutes passed. She sat as one in a trance. Her eyes were wide and fixed. Her face was grey. 

She rose at last and stood looking down into the red depths of thefire. The coals sank together under her eyes, and a sudden flame flaredfiercely for a moment and died. It was like the opening and theshutting of a furnace door. A long, long shiver went through her. Sheturned away.... 

Anne Carfax did not look in her glass again that day. For the third timein her life she was afraid to meet her own eyes. 

And all night long her brain thrummed like a vibrating wire to a voicethat sometimes pleaded but more often gibed. "Has the Queen no furtheruse for her jester?"

CHAPTER VII

THE UNINVITED GUEST

Spring came early that year, and the day fixed for the opening of theBaronford Town Hall was brilliantly fine and warm. Anne was staying atBaronmead for the event. The end of February was approaching. Lucas wasdecidedly better. His sleep was becoming less broken. He sufferedconsiderably less; and he took a keen interest in all that passed. 

On the morning before the ceremony he greeted Anne with an eagernessthat almost amounted to impatience. "Come in! Come in! I've something toshow you. "

He was alone. She went to his side and kissed him. 

His hands caught hers, and she marvelled at the strength of his grip. "Sweetheart, " he said, "I've had a letter from Capper. "

She felt the blood ebb suddenly from her face. She stood a moment insilence, then sat down and pressed his hand close against her heart. 

"What does he say?" she asked. 

He looked at her oddly for a few seconds. Then: "It's good news, dear, "he said. "You mustn't let it scare you. "

She began to smile, though her lips were trembling. "No, of course not. Tell me what he says. "

He gave her the letter and she read. Capper wrote that he had received anexcellent report from Dr. Randal of his patient's progress, that heexpected to be in England in about a fortnight and would come downhimself to ascertain if the time for the second operation had arrived. Hewrote in a cheery strain, and at the end of the letter was a postscript:"Have you taken my advice yet with regard to _la femme_?"

"An ancient joke, " explained Lucas with a smile. "He told me long agothat I should need a woman's help to pull me through. And"--his voicedropped--"I guess he was right. "

The colour came back to her face. She pressed his hand without speaking. 

"I shouldn't be here now but for you, Anne, " he said, his blue eyeswatching her. "I sometimes think it must have been a mortal strain uponyou. Have you felt it so very badly, I wonder?"

She met his look with eyes grown misty. "Luke--my dearest--you have donefar greater things for me. You have kept me from starvation. You have noidea what you are to me. "

The words came brokenly. She checked a sudden sob and, rising, moved tothe window. 

Lucas lay silent, but his eyes watched her with a great tenderness. 

When she came back to him she was smiling. "Have you ever begun to thinkof what you will do when you are well?" she said. 

"I am thinking of it always, " he answered. "I make wonderful pictures formyself sometimes. You are the central figure of them all. "

She clasped his hand again in hers. "Lucas, " she said, "will youtake me away?"

"Yes, dear, " he said. 

"Far away from anywhere I have ever been before?" Her voice shook alittle. "I want to begin life over again where everything is new. "

A certain shrewdness gleamed in the steady eyes that watched her, but itwas mingled with the utmost kindness. 

"I guess I'd better show you my best picture right now, " he said. "It'sgot a steam yacht in it, and a state cabin fit for a queen. And it goesrocking around the world, looking for the Happy Islands. I guess we shallfind them some day, sweetheart--maybe sooner than we think. "

"Ah, yes, " she said. "We won't stop looking till we do. How soon shall westart, Luke?"

He answered her with a smile, but there was a thrill of deep feeling inhis words. "Just as soon as I can stand on my feet like any other man, Anne, and hold the woman I love in my arms. "

She bent her face suddenly, pressing her cheek to the hand she held. "Iam ready for you when ever you will, " she murmured. 

"I know it, " he said. "And God bless you for telling me so!"

He was full of kindness to her that day, and she thought him cheerierthan he had been all the winter. When she bade him good-bye thatafternoon he seemed in excellent spirits. Yet after she was gone he layfor a long while staring at the specks of dust that danced in a shaft ofsunlight, with the air of a man seeking the solution of a problem thatbaffled him. And once very suddenly he sighed. 

Anne went through the ordeal of publicity with less embarrassment thanshe had anticipated. Mrs. Errol was with her, and she was surrounded byfriends. Even Major Shirley deigned to look upon her with a favourableeye. Bertie was hunting, but Dot was present to view the finalachievement of her favourite scheme. 

She seized the first opportunity to slip her arm through Anne's. "Do--docome home with me to tea, " she whispered very urgently. "I want to showyou some things I have been making. And make the dear mater come too, ifsomeone else doesn't snap her up first. "

But the dear mater was already snapped up, and Anne had some difficultyin avoiding a like fate. 

Eventually, however, she succeeded in making her escape, and she and Dotdrove back to the Dower House, congratulating themselves. 

"I am lucky to get you all to myself, " Dot said. "And do you know, dearLady Carfax, you are looking simply lovely to-day?"

Anne smiled a little. She had discarded her widow's veil for the firsttime, and she felt like a woman emerging from a long imprisonment. Peoplewould call it premature, she knew. Doubtless they were already discussingher not too charitably. But after all, why should she consider them? Thewinter was past and over, and the gold of the coming spring was alreadydawning. Why should she mourn? Were not all regrets put away for ever?

"I wish you would call me Anne, Dot, " she said. 

"To be sure I will, " said Dot, with shining eyes. "I never liked the namebefore I knew you. And now I love it. "

There was something wonderfully genuine and childlike about Dot, ayouthfulness that would probably cling to her all her life. Anne drew heron to speak of herself and her coming happiness, which she did with thatcheery simplicity of hers that had first drawn Bertie to her. 

"He makes a tremendous fuss, " she said, displaying Bertie's favouritedimple at the thought. "I don't, you know. I somehow feel it's going tobe all right. But it's rather nice being petted for months together. Ihaven't had a tantrum for ages. I'm afraid I'm getting spoilt. "

At which piece of logic Anne could not repress a smile. 

"He won't be home to tea, " said Dot, when they finally turned in at theDower House. "He stables his hunters at Baronmead, and he is sure to goin and see Luke. So we shall have it all to ourselves. I'm so glad, for Ihave been wanting your advice for days. I wonder if anyone has been. Hullo! Bertie's back after all!"

A glow of firelight met them from the little square hall as theyentered, and a smell of cigarette smoke mingled with the scent from theburning logs. 

Dot stood back for her guest to precede her, but Anne stoodsuddenly still. 

"Hullo!" said Dot again. 

A slim, straight figure was standing outlined against the firelight. Dotstared as she stepped forward. 

"Why--Nap!" she said incredulously. 

He made a swift, elastic movement to meet her, caught her hands, laughed, and kissed her. 

"Why--Dot!" he said. 

Dot continued to stare. "Good gracious!" she said. 

And in the doorway Anne stood like a statue, the soft spring duskbehind her. 

"My sister seems surprised, " said Nap. "I hope I haven't come at anunlucky moment. "

He did not even glance towards the silent figure in the doorway. It wasas if he had not observed it. 

"I am surprised, " said Dot. "Hugely surprised. But I'm very glad to seeyou, " she added. "When did you come?"

"I have been here about half an hour, " he told her coolly. "I went to theRectory first, where I learned for the first time of your marriage. Youforgot to mention that detail when you wrote. Hence my brotherly salute, which you must have missed on your wedding-day!"

At this point Dot remembered her other guest, and turned with flushedcheeks. "Lady Carfax--Anne--you--you know my brother-in-law Nap?"

The pleading in her voice was unmistakable. She was evidently agitated, wholly at a loss how to manage a most difficult situation. 

But Nap hastened to relieve her of the responsibility. He had dealtwith difficult situations before. He went straight to Anne and stoodbefore her. 

"Are you going to know me, Lady Carfax?" he asked. 

There was no arrogance in voice or bearing as he uttered the question. Helooked as if he expected to be dismissed, as if he were ready at a wordto turn and go. His eyes were lowered. His foot was already on thethreshold. 

But Anne stood speechless and rigid. For those few seconds she was as onestricken with paralysis. She knew that if she moved or tried to speak shewould faint. 

She wondered desperately how long it would be before he looked up, ifperhaps he would go without looking at her, or if--ah, he was speakingagain! His words reached her as from an immense distance. At the sameinstant his hands came to her out of a surging darkness that hid allthings, grasping, sustaining, compelling. She yielded to them, scarcelyknowing what she did. 

"Lady Carfax has been overtiring herself, " she heard him say. "Have youany brandy at hand?"

"Oh, dear Lady Carfax!" cried Dot in distress. "Make her sit down, Nap. Here is a cushion. Yes, I'll go and get some. "

Guided by those steady hands, Anne sank into a chair, and therethe constriction that bound her began to pass. She shivered fromhead to foot. 

Nap stooped over her and chafed her icy hands. He did not look at her orspeak. When Dot came back, he took the glass from her and held it veryquietly to the quivering lips. 

She drank, responsive to his unspoken insistence, and as she did so, fora single instant she met his eyes. They were darkly inscrutable and gaveher no message of any sort. She might have been accepting help from atotal stranger. 

"No more, please!" she whispered, and he took the glass away. 

The front door was still open. He drew it wider, and the evening air blewin across her face. Somewhere away in the darkness a thrush was warblingsoftly. Nap stood against the door and waited. Dot knelt beside her, holding her hand very tightly. 

"I am better, " Anne said at last. "Forgive me, dear child. I suppose ithas been--too much for me. "

"My dear, dear Anne!" said Dot impulsively. "Would you like to come intothe drawing-room? There is tea there. But of course we will have it hereif you prefer it. "

"No, " Anne said. "No. We will go to the drawing-room. "

She prepared to rise, and instantly Nap stepped forward. But he did notoffer to touch her. He only stood ready. 

When he saw that she had so far recovered herself as to be able to movewith Dot's assistance, he dropped back. 

"I am going, Dot, " he said. "You will do better without me. I will lookin again later. "

And before Dot could agree or protest he had stepped out into thedeepening twilight and was gone. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE HEART OF A SAVAGE

It had certainly been a successful afternoon. Mrs. Errol smiled toherself as she drove back to Baronmead. Everything had gone well. DearAnne had looked lovely, and she for one was thankful that she haddiscarded her widow's weeds. Had not her husband been virtually dead toher for nearly a year? Besides--here Mrs. Errol's thoughts merged into asmile again--dear Anne was young, not much more than a girl in years. Doubtless she would marry again ere long. 

At this point Mrs. Errol floated happily away upon a voyage of day-dreamsthat lasted till the car stopped. So engrossed was she that she did notmove for a moment even then. Not until the door was opened from outsidedid she bestir herself. Then, still smiling, she prepared to descend. 

But the next instant she checked herself with a violent start that nearlythrew her backwards. The man at the step who stood waiting to assist herwas no servant. 

"My!" she gasped. "Is it you, Nap, or your ghost?"

"It's me, " said Nap. 

Very coolly he reached out a hand and helped her to descend. "We havearrived at the same moment, " he said. "I've just walked across the park. How are you, alma mater?"

She did not answer him or make response of any sort to his greeting. Shewalked up the steps and into the house with leaden feet. The smile haddied utterly from her face. She looked suddenly old. 

He followed her with the utmost composure, and when she stopped proceededto divest her of her furs with the deftness of movement habitual to him. 

Abruptly she spoke, in her voice a ring of something that was almostferocity. "What have you come back for anyway?"

He raised his eyebrows slightly without replying. 

But Mrs. Errol was not to be so silenced. Her hands fastened withdetermination upon the front of his coat. "You face me, Napoleon Errol, "she said. "And answer me honestly. What have you come back for? Weren'tthere enough women on the other side to keep you amused?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Women in plenty--amusement none. Moreover, Ididn't go to be amused. Where is Lucas?"

"Don't you go to Lucas till I've done with you, " said Mrs. Errol. "Youcome right along to my room first. "

"What for?" He stood motionless, suffering her restraining hands, thebeginning of a smile about his lips. 

"There's something I've got to tell you, " she said. 

"Lead the way then, alma mater!" he said. "I am very much at yourservice. "

Mrs. Errol turned without further words, and he, with her sablesflung across his shoulder, prepared to follow. She moved up thestairs as if she were very weary. The man behind her walked with theelasticity of a cat. 

But there was no lack of resolution about her when in her own room sheturned and faced him. There was rather something suggestive of a motheranimal at bay. 

"Nap, " she said, and her deep voice quivered, "if there's any rightfeeling in you, if you are capable of a single spark of affection, ofgratitude, you'll turn around right now and go back to the place youcame from. "

Nap deposited his burden on the back of a chair. His dark face was devoidof the faintest shadow of expression. "That so?" he drawled. "I thoughtyou seemed mighty pleased to see me. "

"Lock that door!" said Mrs. Errol. "Now come and sit here where you cansee my face and know whether I am telling the truth. "

He smiled at that. "I don't require ocular evidence, alma mater. I havealways been able to read you with my eyes shut. "

"I believe you have, Nap, " she said, with a touch of wistfulness. 

"It isn't your fault, " he said, "that you weren't made subtle enough. You've done your best. "

He came and sat down facing her as she desired. The strong electric lightbeat upon his face also, but it revealed nothing to her anxiouseyes--nothing save that faint, cynical smile that masked so much. 

She shook her head. She was clasping and unclasping her hands restlessly. "A very poor best, Nap, " she said. "I know only too well how badly I'vefailed. It never seemed to matter till lately, and now I would give theeyes out of my head to have a little influence with you. "

"That so?" he said again. 

She made a desperate gesture. "Yes, you sit there and smile. It doesn'tmatter to you who suffers so long as you can grab what you want. "

"How do you know what I want?" he said. 

"I don't know, " said Mrs. Errol. "I only surmise. "

"And you think that wise? You are not afraid of tripping up in the dark?"

She stretched out her hands to him in sudden earnest entreaty. "Nap, tellme that it isn't Anne Carfax, and I'll bless you with my dying breath!"

But he looked at her without emotion. He took her hands after a moment, but it was the merest act of courtesy. He did not hold them. 

"And if it were?" he said slowly, his hard eyes fixed on hers. 

She choked back her agitation with the tears running down her face. "ThenGod help Lucas--and me too--for it will be his death-blow!"

"Lucas?" said Nap. 

He did not speak as if vitally interested, yet she answered as ifcompelled. 

"He loves her. He can't do without her. She has been his mainstay allthrough the winter. He would have died without her. "

Nap passed over the information as though it were of no importance. "Heis no better then?" he asked. 

"Yes, he is better. But he has been real sick. No one knows what he hascome through, and there is that other operation still to be faced. I'mscared to think of it. He hasn't the strength of a mouse. It's only thethought of Anne that makes him able to hold on. I can see it in his eyesday after day--the thought of winning out and making her his wife. "

Again he passed the matter over. "When does Capper come again?"

"Very soon now. In two or three weeks. There was a letter from himto-day, Lucas was quite excited about it, but I fancy it upset dear Annesome. You see--she loves him too. "

There fell a silence. Mrs. Errol wiped her eyes and strove to composeherself. Somehow he had made her aware of the futility of tears. Shewondered what was passing in his mind as he sat there sphinx-like, staring straight before him. Had she managed to reach his heart, shewondered? Or was there perchance no heart behind that inscrutable mask toreach? Yet she had always believed that after his own savage fashion hehad loved Lucas. 

Suddenly he rose. "If you have quite done with me, alma mater, I'll go. "

She looked up at him apprehensively. "What are you going to do?"

He smiled abruptly. "I am going to get a drink. "

"And what then?" she asked feverishly. "Nap, oh, Nap, she is staying inthe house. Won't you go without seeing her?"

"I have seen her already, " drawled Nap. 

"You have seen her?"

His smile became contemptuous. "What of it? Do you seriously suppose sheis the only woman in the world I care to look at?"

"I don't know what to think, " cried Mrs. Errol. "I only know that youhold Luke's fate between your hands. "

He was already at the door. He turned and briefly bowed. "You flatter me, alma mater!" he said. 

And with the smile still upon his lips he left her. 

CHAPTER IX

THE DIVINE SPARK

"Boney, old chap, you're the very man I want!" Such was Lucas Errol'sgreeting to the man who had shot like a thunderbolt into the peacefulatmosphere that surrounded him, to the general disturbance of all otherswho dwelt therein. 

"I guess you must have known it, " he said, the sinewy hand fast grippedin his. "You've come like an answer to prayer. Where have you been allthis time? And why didn't you write? It's worried me some not hearing. "

"Great Lucifer!" said Nap. 

He sat down, leaving his hand in his brother's grasp. The cynicism hadgone utterly from his face, but he did not answer either question. 

"So you are winning out?" he said. "It's been a long trail, I'll wager. "

"Oh, damnably long, Boney. " Lucas uttered a weary sigh. "I was nearlydown and out in the winter. But I'm better, you know. I'm better. " Hemet the open criticism of Nap's eyes with a smile. "What's theverdict?" he asked. 

"I'll tell you presently. You're not looking overfed anyway. " Nap'sfingers began to feel along his wrist. "Did Capper say he wanted askeleton to work on?"

"Shucks, dear fellow! There's more than enough of me. Tell me aboutyourself. What have you been doing? I want to know. "

"I?" Nap jerked back his head. "I've nothing to tell, " he declared. "You know what I went to do. Well, I've done it, and that's all thereis to it. "

"I'm not quite clear as to what you went to do, " Lucas answered. "Youdidn't turn up in Arizona. I was puzzled what to think. "

"You never expected me to go to Arizona, " said Nap with conviction. "Youwere shrewd enough for that. "

"Thanks, Boney! P'r'aps I was. But I've been hoping all this while, nevertheless, that you might have the grit to keep the devil atarm's length. "

Nap laughed, stretched his arms above his head, and made a vehementgesture as if flinging something from him--something that writhedand clung. 

"Will it interest you to know that the devil has ceased to provide mewith distractions?" he asked suddenly. 

A certain eagerness came into the blue eyes. "That so, Boney?"

Nap leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "It's no virtue of mine, " hesaid. "I found I wanted solitude, so I went to the Rockies and stayedthere till I was tired. That's all. "

Again the skeleton hand of the man on the bed sought and pressed his. "Old chap, I'm real glad, " the tired voice drawled. "You've foundyourself at last. I always felt you would--sooner or later. "

Nap's lips twitched a little. "Don't be too sure of that. Anyway itdoesn't follow that I shall sit at home and practise the domesticvirtues. I've got to wander a bit first and find my own level. "

"Not yet, dear fellow. I'm wanting you myself. "

"You!" The thin lips began to smile. "That's real magnanimous of you. But--thanks all the same--I'm not taking any. You have the mater andBertie and Anne Carfax to bolster you up. I guess I'm not essential. "

"And I guess you can do more for me than any one of them, " Lucas madequiet reply. "P'r'aps you'll think me a selfish brute to say so, but Ineed you badly. You're like a stimulating drug to me. You pick me up whenI'm down. There is no one can help me in the same way. "

"You wouldn't get Capper to say 'Amen' to that, " remarked Nap. 

"Capper is no oracle out of his own sphere. Besides, " there was almost anote of pleading in Lucas's voice, "I know what I want better than hecan tell me. "

"True, very true!" Nap was smiling somewhat grimly. "And doubtless yourwish is law. But it doesn't follow that you always desire what is bestfor yourself. Hadn't you better consult the queen before you admit thewasp to the hive?"

"You're too fond of talking in parables, my son, " protested Lucas, frowning slightly. "My intelligence won't stretch to it. "

"We'll try another, " said Nap imperturbably. "Do you think Anne Carfaxwould thank you for asking me to pull in the same boat? Do you think shewould second that request? Because, if so, I beg to differ. "

He looked his brother full in the face as he said it, without the flickerof an eyelid. Lucas's frown deepened. He lay in silence. 

After a moment Nap went on. "She may be ready to put up with it for yoursake. There's nothing some women won't do for a man they care for, and Itake it she has your welfare next her heart. But it's rather much to askof her. You wouldn't want to run the risk of frightening her away. "

Lucas was watching him gravely, his brows still drawn. "Boney, " he saidslowly at length, "I'd give a good deal to see into your soul. "

Nap smiled with a faint return of cynicism. "Who's talking in parablesnow? Afraid I can't show you what I haven't got. "

Lucas passed the rejoinder by. "What makes you conclude that I am moreto her than--any other man?"

"Circumstances, " said Nap. 

"What circumstances?"

"Finding her installed here as one of the family for one. Finding youpulling off the biggest deal of your life for another. And othersigns--crowds of them--that I can't explain but that I can't fail tonotice when I've got my nose to the trail. You needn't be shy about it. I'm just as pleased as you are. "

But Lucas's face did not clear. There followed a very decided pause. Then, with an effort, very earnestly, he spoke. 

"Nap, I don't believe you'll lie to me when I tell you that I'd ratherdie than be deceived. I know you cared for her once. "

"I care for most women, " said Nap indifferently. "What of that? It's theway I'm made, and I must say they don't most of 'em seem to mind. "

"But, Boney--Anne Carfax?"

Nap threw up his head with a brief laugh. "Oh, I'm cured of that--quitecured. The paths of perpetual virtue are not for me. I prefer more rapidtravelling and a surer goal. "

He stood up, his arms stretched up above his head. "I make you a presentof Anne Carfax, " he said lightly. "Not that she is mine to give. But Iwouldn't keep her if she were. We belong to different spheres. "

"And yet--" Lucas said. 

"My dear fellow, that's an old story. " Impulsively Nap cut in, almostfierily. "Do you think the woman is living who could hold me afterall this time? I tell you that fire is burnt out. Why rake over thedead ashes?"

"I am looking for the Divine Spark, " Lucas answered quietly. 

"And if you found it?" Nap's words came through smiling lips, and yetthey sounded savage. 

"If I found it, " very steadily came the answer, "I would blow it to aflame, Boney, for your sake--and hers. "

"For hers?" Something fierce showed in Nap's eyes. It was as if a goadedanimal suddenly looked out of them. 

Lucas must have seen it, for on the instant his manner changed. 

"We won't go any further, " he said. "Only, dear fellow, I can't part withyou yet. Let that be understood. I want you. "

"So be it!" said Nap. "I will stay and see you married. "

And with the words he stooped and grasped his brother's hand for amoment. 

"Go on and prosper, Luke, " he said. "It's high time that you came intoyour own. "

CHAPTER X

THE QUEEN'S PARDON

As soon as Anne entered Baronmead that evening she was aware of adifference. Bertie, with a thunderous countenance, came forward tomeet her. She had not seen him wear that look in all the months ofNap's absence. 

"The prodigal has returned, " he told her briefly. "P'r'aps you know. "

She did not pretend to misunderstand him. She had schooled herself toface the situation without shrinking. 

"Yes, I know, " she said. "I met him at your house an hour ago. "

"At my house!" For a single instant Bertie looked downright murderous, and then the sight of Anne's pale face made him restrain himself. 

"He didn't stay, " she said rather wearily. "What of Luke? Has heseen him?"

"Can't understand Luke, " muttered Bertie. "He's actually pleased. Say, Lady Carfax, would it help any if I were to stop and dine?"

"No, " Anne said, smiling a little. "Go back to Dot, won't you? She isexpecting you. "

She saw that he was glad to follow her suggestion, and she wasundoubtedly glad to see him go. He was plainly in an explosive mood. 

Mrs. Errol came to her room while she was dressing. But Mrs. Errol hadhad ample time to compose herself. She showed no agitation, and spoke ofNap's unexpected arrival as if she were quite indifferent to his comingsand goings; but she hovered about Anne with a protecting motherlinessthat did not need to express itself in words. When they went downstairsshe held Anne's arm very closely. 

But the ordeal that both were mutely dreading did not take place thatnight. Nap did not present himself at the dinner-table, and they dinedalone in unspoken relief. 

Anne went to Lucas as usual when the meal was over, but she thought heseemed tired and she did not remain with him long. 

He kept her hand for a moment when she stooped to bid him good-night. 

"Anne, " he said gently, "I just want you to know, dear, that Nap will beall right. Don't be anxious any. There is no need. "

He desired to reassure her, she saw; and she bent and kissed him. Andthen for a moment a queer gust of passion possessed her, shook her fromhead to foot. 

"Oh, Luke, " she whispered, "can't you send him away again?"

He looked up at her oddly, with eyes that seemed to see beyond her. Andthen, "Good-night, dear, " he said, as if he had not heard. 

She turned from him in silence. It was the first time she had everappealed to Lucas Errol in vain. 

She went to her room early that night. She told herself she must leave onthe morrow. She was urged by a deep unrest. She could not remain underthe same roof with this man who had once so cruelly tortured her. Shecould not. Lucas must understand this. He must never ask it of her, never--never!

She did not in the least understand the latter's attitude. The more shethought of it, the more it troubled her. She felt as if he had suddenlyceased to be on her side, had, as it were, shut off his sympathy and lefther groping and alone. It was not like him to treat her thus. It hurt hersubtly, wounding her as she had never expected to be wounded, shaking herfaith in what she had ever believed to be immutable. And then sheremembered the physical weakness with which he had wrestled so long, anda great pity flooded her heart. She would not let herself be hurt anylonger. Was he not reserving his strength for her sake? And could shenot, for his, face bravely this sudden obstacle that had arisen in herpath? Moreover, had he not told her that all would be well? And he hadsaid it as one who knew. Why, then, was she harbouring this wild dismay?

Why? Why? She asked the question, but she did not seek the answer. Shedared not. 

And yet in the morning she went down with a calm aspect, resolute andunafraid. Once more she was compelling herself to do simply that whichlay nearest to her hand. 

Nap came out of a room near the foot of the stairs as she descended. He scarcely looked at her, but quite obviously he had been awaitingher coming. 

"May I have two words with you before you join the mater?" he asked. 

With her whole soul she wanted to refuse. Yet without visible hesitationshe yielded. She turned aside into the room he had just quitted. 

He followed, and, closing the door, came forward to the table. It waslittered with guns and cleaning apparatus. He had evidently beenemploying himself while he waited, and he at once took up an oily rag andresumed operations, his swarthy face bent over his task, his lips veryfirmly compressed. 

Anne waited for a moment or two. His attitude puzzled her. She had becomeso accustomed to the fierce directness of his stare that its absencedisconcerted her. 

"What is it you wish to say to me?" she asked at length. 

At the first sound of her voice he ceased to work, but still he did notraise his eyes. 

"On my own account--nothing, " he said, speaking very deliberately. "Butas my sojourn here may be an offence to you, I think it advisable toexplain at the outset that I am not a free agent. My brother hasdecreed it, and as you know"--a hint of irony crept into his voice--"hiswill is my law. "

"I understand, " said Anne gravely, but even as she spoke she was askingherself what possible motive had prompted this explanation. 

He jerked up his head and she caught the glint of his fiery eyes for aninstant. "You--care for Lucas, Lady Carfax?" he said. 

Her heart gave a sudden throb that hurt her intolerably. For a moment shecould not speak. 

Then, "Yes, " she said. "I love him. "

Nap was pulling mechanically at the rag he held. It began to tear betweenhis hands. She watched him ripping it to shreds. 

Suddenly he seemed to realise what he was doing, and tossed it from him. He looked her straight in the eyes. 

"Have you fixed the date for your coronation?" he asked. 

Her eyes fell instantly. "Will you tell me what you mean?" she said. 

"Is my meaning obscure?"

She compelled herself to answer him steadily. "If you mean our marriage, it will not take place for some time, possibly not this year. "

"Why not?" said Nap. "Are you a slave to etiquette?"

The thing sounded preposterous on his lips. She faintly smiled. "Thedecision does not lie with me. "

"Ah!" he said shrewdly. "The privilege of kings! You will still be aqueen before you are thirty. And your first act will be to expel thecourt jester--if he waits to be expelled. "

She saw his grim smile for an instant, and knew that he was playing hisold fencing game with her, but at the same time she knew that there wasno antagonism behind his point. How the knowledge came to her she couldnot have said, but she realised afterwards that it was at that momentthat she began to perceive that the devil had gone out of Nap Errol. Theconviction was slow in growing, but it was then that it first took root;it was then that her fear of the man began to die away. 

She raised her eyes. "Why should I do that, Nap?"

He made her a deep bow. "Because I have been unfortunate enough to incuryour displeasure. "

There was a moment of silence, then, in obedience to that instinct towhich in rare moments she yielded herself and which never played herfalse, Anne held out her hand to him. "I forgive you, " she said. 

He started. He evidently had not expected that from her. Perhaps he hadnot wanted it. Later she wondered. But he showed no awkwardness ofindecision. Only once had she ever seen him at a loss, and of that onceshe would never voluntarily think again. 

He took her hand upon his sleeve and bent over it. She thought he wasgoing to kiss it, and a sharp dread went through her. But he only touchedit for a single instant with his forehead. 

"For Luke's sake?" he said, not looking at her. 

"For your own, " she made answer, almost as if she could not help herself. 

"Because?" he questioned. 

"Because I know you love him, " she said. "Because I know that you will beloyal to him. "

"Though I may be false to you?" he said. 

She bent her head. "I am only a woman. I am afraid your experience ofwomen has not taught you to respect them. "

He picked up the gun again and fell to work upon it. "My experience ofone woman at least, " he said, "has taught me--something different, something I am not likely to forget. "

It was the end of the interview. In silence Anne turned to go. He wheeledround and opened the door for her, but he did not look at her again, norshe at him. When the door closed between them she felt as if a greatsilence had fallen in her life. 

CHAPTER XI

SOMETHING GREAT

On the day succeeding Nap's return Dot went to tea at Baronmead. She wasa very constant visitor there. Lucas always enjoyed her bright presenceand welcomed her with warmth. But Dot was not feeling very bright thatday. She looked preoccupied, almost worried. 

She found that Mrs. Errol and Anne had gone out, and, as her custom waswhen she found the house deserted, she went straight to herbrother-in-law's room. 

Tawny Hudson answered her knock at the outer door, and she was struck bythe lowering look the great half-breed wore. His expression waspositively villainous, and sharp as a pin-prick there darted through herthe memory of her first visit to Baronmead, and the hatred of Nap Errolshe had that day seen revealed in the man's eyes. She had never given thematter a thought since. To-day it awoke to life, stirring within her avague apprehension. 

"How is your master, Tawny?" she asked. 

"He is not so well, madam, " said Tawny Hudson, but he opened the doorwide notwithstanding, inviting her to enter. 

She went in. The room adjoined that in which Lucas lay, and Hudson wasalways there when not actually in attendance upon his master, except inhis off hours, which were as few as Lucas would permit. 

"May I see him?" said Dot. "Or would he rather not be disturbed?"

Hudson stepped to the closed door and listened, his great red head bentalmost to the keyhole. 

After a few moments he stood up and softly turned the handle. He made abrief sign to her and passed noiselessly into the room. 

Dot remained where she was. She heard Lucas accost him at once, andcaught the murmur of the man's low-spoken reply. And then in a momentHudson came back to her. 

"Will you go in, madam?" he said, in his careful English that always madeher think of an animal that had been taught to speak. 

She went in, treading lightly, relieved to leave the man's heavy scowlingvisage behind her. 

"Come right in, " said Lucas hospitably. "It's real good of you to comeand see me like this. "

She took his outstretched hand, looking at him anxiously. She saw that hehad not slept for many hours. Though he smiled at her, there was a greylook about his lips that made her wonder if he were in pain. 

"Sit down, " he said gently. "It's nothing. Only another bad night. Ican't expect to sleep soundly always. "

"How disappointing!" Dot murmured. 

"Not surprising though. I had an exciting day yesterday. You heard ofNap's return?"

"Yes. " There was a very decided cloud upon Dot's face. "I saw him. "

"Well?" said Lucas. 

She turned to him impulsively. "Isn't it horrid when the thing you'vebeen planning for and wanting ever so long happens and everyone elseis cross?"

The blue eyes looked quizzical. "Very, I should say, " said Lucas. "Wouldit be presumptuous to ask what has been happening and who is cross?"

Dot's answering smile held more of pathos than mirth. Her lips took aquivering, downward droop. "It's Nap, " she said. 

He raised his brows a little. "Nap seems the general pivot on which allgrievances turn, " he remarked. 

Dot leaned her chin on her hand. "I do so hate making mistakes, " shesaid. 

"We all do it, " said Lucas. 

"Oh, you don't!" She turned and gravely regarded him. "You are alwayswise, " she said, "never headlong. "

"Which only demonstrates your ignorance and the kindness of your heart, "said Lucas. "But go on, won't you? What has Nap been doing?"

"Oh, nothing. Nap is all right. It isn't Nap I mind. " Again that dolefuldroop of the lips became apparent, together with a little quiver of thevoice undeniably piteous. "It--it's Bertie, " whispered Dot. "I--I--it'svery ridiculous, isn't it? I'm a wee bit afraid of Bertie, do you know?"

"St. Christopher!" said Lucas, in astonishment. 

"Yes. But you won't ever tell him, will you?" she pleaded anxiously. "If--if he knew or guessed--all my prestige would be gone. I shouldn'tbe able to manage him at all. He--he is rather difficult to managesometimes, don't you think?"

Lucas was frowning slightly. "I guess I can manage him, " he said. 

"No doubt you could. I expect you always have. He respects you, " saidDot, with unwitting wistfulness. 

Lucas turned his head and looked at her very steadily. "Will you tell mesomething, Dot?" he said. 

She nodded. 

"Why are you afraid of Bertie?"

She hesitated. 

"Come!" he said. "Surely you're not afraid of me too!"

The banter in his voice was touched with a tenderness that went straightto Dot's young heart. She leaned down impetuously and held his hand. 

"No, " she said tremulously. "I'm not such a little idiot as that, Luke. I'm afraid of Bertie because I've done something he wouldn't like. It'sa very little thing, Luke. It is, really. But--but it's bothered me offand on all the winter. And now that Nap is home, I feel much worse--asif--as if it had been really wrong. And--and"--she broke downsuddenly--"I know I ought to tell him. But--I can't. "

"Tell me, " said Lucas gently. 

"And you will tell him for me?"

"If you wish me to do so. "

"I don't like it, " sobbed Dot. "It's so despicable of me. I've wanted totell him for ever so long. But he has been so good to me all this time, and--and somehow I couldn't face it. We haven't even squabbled for monthsnow. It--it seemed such a pity to spoil everything when it really didn'tmake any difference to anyone if he knew or not. "

"Don't cry, " interposed Lucas. "It would hurt Bertie if he knew. "

"Dear Bertie!" whispered Dot. "Isn't it horrid of me to be such a coward?I haven't done anything really wrong either. In fact at the time itseemed almost right. "

"Almost!" said Lucas, faintly smiling. 

She smiled also through her tears. "Why don't you call me a humbug? Well, listen! It was like this. One night in the beginning of the winter Bertieand I had a disagreement about Nap. It wasn't at all important. But I hadto stick up for him, because I had chanced to see him just before heleft in the summer--you remember--when he was very, very miserable?"

"I remember, " said Lucas. 

He spoke rather wearily, but his eyes never left her face. He waslistening intently. 

"And I was frightfully sorry for him, " proceeded Dot, "though at thetime I didn't know what was the matter. And I couldn't let Bertie sayhorrid things about him. So I fired up. And then Bertie told me"--shefaltered a little--"about Nap caring for Lady Carfax. And that was wherethe trouble began. He didn't give him credit for really loving her, whereas I knew he did. "

Strong conviction sounded in Dot's voice. The blue eyes that watched heropened a little. 

"That so?" said Lucas. 

"Oh, I was sure, " she said. "I was sure. There are some things a womancan't help knowing. It was the key to what I knew before. Iunderstood--at once. "

"And then?" said Lucas. 

"Then, of course, I remembered that Lady Carfax was free. And I askedBertie if he knew. You see, I thought it possible that in her heart shemight be caring for him too. I knew they had always been friends. And SirGiles was such a brute to her. No woman could ever have loved him. Ithink most people couldn't help knowing that. And it seemed only fairthat Nap should know that Sir Giles was dead. I told Bertie so. He didn'tagree with me. " Dot paused and vigorously dried her eyes. "I still don'tthink he was right, " she said. 

"P'r'aps not. " Lucas spoke meditatively. "There's a good deal to be saidfor woman's intuition, " he said. 

"It seemed to me a matter of fair play, " maintained Dot. "He didn't knowwhere Nap was, only his club address. And he wouldn't write himself, soI just wrote a single line telling Nap that Sir Giles was dead, and sentit off that night. I didn't tell Bertie. It didn't seem to matter muchthen, and I knew it might be ages before Nap got it. But now that thatline has brought him back, I feel as if he ought to know--particularlyas Bertie is so angry with him for returning. And Anne too--Anne nearlyfainted when she saw him. I felt as if I had landed everybody in ahopeless muddle. " Again Dot wiped her eyes. "And I had so wanted him tocome, " she ended. 

"Don't fret, " said Lucas very kindly. "I wanted him too. "

She looked at him eagerly. "You think as I do? You think he caresfor Anne?"

"I guess so, " he answered, "since your letter brought him back. "

"And--and Anne? Do you think--do you really think--?"

"I guess so, " he said again. 

He lay silent for a while, his eyes drooping heavily, till she even beganto wonder if he were falling asleep. 

At length, "Dot, " he said, "have I your permission to make what use Ilike of this?"

She gave a slight start. "You are going to tell Bertie?"

He looked at her. "My dear, " he said, "I think Bertie had better know. "

She nodded. "I know he ought. But he will be furious with me. "

"Not if I talk to him, " said Lucas, with his quiet smile. 

"But it's so mean of me, " she protested. "And I'm sure it's bad for you. "

He reached out his hand to her. "No, it isn't bad for me, Dot. It's justthe best thing possible. You've put me in the way of something great. "

She squeezed his hand. "Do you really think you can make things goright?"

"Under God, " said Lucas gravely. 

CHAPTER XII

A FRIENDLY UNDERSTANDING

Notwithstanding Lucas's assurance, Dot awaited her husband's coming inundisguised trepidation that night. 

She had not seen Nap since that brief glimpse of him in the hall whenAnne had so nearly swooned. She did not so much as know if Bertie hadseen him at all. They had not met on the previous evening, but Bertie'saspect had been so thunderous ever since he had heard of his return thatshe had been on thorns lest he should present himself again at the DowerHouse. That he would come sooner or later she knew, but she hoped withall her heart that it might not be when Bertie was at home. 

She was convinced, moreover, that Bertie was going to be very angry withher, and her heart sank the more she thought of it. Bertie's anger hadbecome a hard thing to face since he had made her know the depths of histenderness. 

The night was chilly, and her suspense made her cold. She sat very closeto the fire in the cosy curtained hall, shivering, and straining herears to catch the sound of his feet on the gravel. She had worked herselfinto a state of anxiety that made her start at the faintest noise. 

It was nearing the dinner-hour, and she was beginning to wonder ifperhaps he were staying at Baronmead to dine, though he had never done sobefore without sending her word, when there came the sudden hoot of amotor and the rush of wheels upon the drive. 

She sat up, every pulse beating. It must be one of the Baronmead motors. But Bertie always walked. 

She heard the car stop at the door, and she rose to her feet, scarcelyknowing what to expect. The next moment the door opened and she heardBertie's voice. 

"The car will be all right, " he said. "It's a fine night. Go in, won'tyou? I expect Dot is waiting. "

And with amazement Dot saw Nap enter the hall in front of her husband. 

He came straight to her just as he had come on the previous day, and shehad a moment of sheer panic lest he should have the effrontery to kissher; but he spared her this, though the smile with which he greeted hertold her that he was quite aware of her embarrassment and its cause. 

"Bertie has taken upon himself to ask me to dine, " he said, as he heldher hand. "I hope that is quite agreeable to Mrs. Bertie?"

"Of course I am delighted, " she said, but her eyes sought Bertie'ssomewhat anxiously notwithstanding. 

She saw with relief that the cloud had gone from his face. He cameforward, bent, and kissed her. His hand lay upon her shoulder for aninstant with a quick, reassuring touch, and she knew that all was well. 

"Heavens, child! How cold you are!" he said. "I'll bring you down ashawl, shall I? Come along, Nap. We are late. "

They went upstairs together, and Dot waited below, listening to theirvoices in careless converse and wondering by what means Lucas had wroughtso amazing a change. 

She wondered still more during dinner, for Nap was plainly upon his bestbehaviour. He seemed determined that Bertie should be on easy terms withhim, and he was in a great measure successful. Though reticent, Bertiewas undoubtedly cordial. 

At the appearance of dessert Nap rose. "I must be getting back toLucas, " he said. 

"Oh, skittles! He won't be wanting you, " Bertie protested. "Sit downagain, man. You haven't been here an hour. "

But Nap was not to be persuaded. "Many thanks, but I'm going all thesame. I want to secure him a good night if possible. Good-bye, Mrs. Bertie!" He bent and kissed her hand. "I am going to be pretty busy forthe next week or two, but I shall call on you when I have time. "

He took a cigarette from Bertie's case, and went out without stoppingto light it. 

Bertie followed him into the hall. "Shall I come?" he asked. 

"No, " said Nap. 

He found a paper spill on the mantelpiece and lighted it. As he held itto his cigarette he looked at Bertie with a smile. 

"Remember that day I baited you? It must be about a year ago. "

Bertie looked uncomfortable. "I remember, " he said shortly. 

Abruptly Nap thrust out his hand. "I've eaten your salt now, " he said. "I'll never bait you again. "

Bertie gave his hand. "Is that what you wanted to dine for?"

"Partly. " Nap's fingers gripped and held. "Also I wanted to persuade youthat we are fighting for the same thing, only maybe with differentweapons. You'll bear it in mind, eh, friend Bertie?"

Bertie looked at him hard for an instant. "I will, " he said impulsively. 

"Good!" said Nap laconically. "It isn't going to be a walk over, but Iguess we'll pull it off between us. "

"Amen!" said Bertie fervently. 

And Nap wrung his hand and departed. For the first time in theirlives there was a friendly understanding between them. For the firsttime Bertie was aware of a human heart throbbing behind thatimpenetrable mask. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE FINAL DEFEAT

It was growing late that night when Lucas opened his eyes after aprolonged and fruitless attempt to sleep, and found Nap standing at thefoot of the bed watching him. A lamp was burning in the room, but it wasturned very low. For a few seconds he lay wondering if the motionlessfigure he saw had been conjured there by some trick of the shadows. Thenas he stirred he saw it move and at once he spoke. 

"Hullo, dear fellow! You! I never heard you come in. "

Nap stepped noiselessly to his side. "Don't talk!" he said. "Sleep!"

"I can't sleep. It's no use. I was only pretending. " Lucas stifled a sighof weariness. "Sit down, " he said. 

But Nap stood over him and laid steady hands upon his wrists. His holdwas close and vital; it pressed upon the pulses as if to give them newlife. "You can sleep if you try, " he said. 

Lucas shook his head with a smile. "I'm not a good subject, Boney. Thanksall the same!"

"Try!" Nap said insistently. 

But the blue eyes remained wide. "No, old chap. It's too high a price topay--even for sleep. "

"What do you mean?" There was a fierce note in the query, low as it was;it was almost a challenge. 

Lucas answered it very quietly. "I mean that I'm afraid of you, Boney. "

"Skittles!" said Nap. 

"Yes, it may seem so to you; but, you see, I know what you aretrying to do. "

"What am I trying to do?" demanded Nap. 

Lucas paused for a moment; he was looking straight up into the harsh faceabove his own. Then, "I know you, " he said. "I know that you'll get thewhip hand of me if you can, and you'll clap blinkers on me and drive meaccording to your own judgment. I never had much faith in your judgment, Boney. And it is not my intention to be driven by you. "

There was no resentment in the tired voice, only unflaggingdetermination. 

Nap's hold slowly relaxed. "You don't trust me then?"

"It's your methods I don't trust, dear fellow, not your motives. I'dtrust them to perdition. "

"But not my--honour?" Nap's lips twisted over the word. 

Lucas hesitated. "I believe you would be faithful to your own code, " hesaid at length. 

"But you don't consider that to trick a man who trusted me would beagainst that code?"

Again Lucas hesitated, and in the silence Nap straightened himself andstood waiting, stern, implacable, hard as granite. 

"Don't do violence to yourself, " he said cynically. 

On the instant Lucas spoke, in his voice a tremor that was almostpassionate. "Boney--Boney, old chap, have I wronged you? God knows I'vetried to be just. But are you straight? Are you honest? I'd give my soulto be able to trust you. Only--dear fellow, forgive me--I can't!"

Nap's hands clenched. "Why not?" he said. 

"Because, " very slowly and painfully Lucas made reply, "I know that youare trying to blind me. I know that you are sacrificing yourself--andanother--in order to deceive me. You are doing it to save me pain, but--before God, Boney--you are torturing me in the doing far more thanyou realise. I'd sooner die ten times over than endure it. I can bearmost things, but not this--not this!"

Silence followed the words, a silence that was vital with many emotions. Nap stood upright against the lamplight. He scarcely seemed to breathe, and yet in his very stillness there was almost a hint of violence. He didnot attempt to utter a word. 

Lucas also lay awhile without speaking, as if exhausted. Then at lengthhe braced himself for further effort. "It seems to me there's only oneway out, Boney, " he said gently. "It's no manner of use your trying todeceive me any longer. I happen to know what brought you back, and I'mthankful to know it. After all, her happiness comes first with both ofus, I guess. That's why I was so almighty pleased to see you in the firstplace. That's why it won't hurt me any to let her go to you. "

Nap made a sharp movement and came out of his silence. "Luke, you're mad!"

"No, Boney, no! I'm saner than you are. When a fellow spends his life asI do, he has time to look all round things. He can't help knowing. AndI'm not a skunk. It never was my intention to stand between her andhappiness. "

"Happiness!" Harshly Nap echoed the word; he almost laughed over it. "Don't you know that she only tolerates me for your sake? She wouldn'tstay within a hundred miles of me if it weren't for you. "

"Oh, shucks, Boney!" A faint smile touched the worn face on the pillow. "I know you hurt her infernally. But she will forgive you that--women do, you know--though I guess she would have forgiven you easier if she hadn'tloved you. "

"Man, you're wrong!" Fiercely Nap flung the words. "I tell you there isno love between us. I killed her love long ago. And as for myself--"

"Love doesn't die, " broke in Lucas Errol quietly. "I know all about it, Boney. Guess I've always known. And if you tell me that your love forAnne Carfax is dead, I tell you that you lie!" Again he faintly smiled. "But I don't like insulting you, old chap. It's poor sport anyway. Besides, I'm wanting you. That's why--"

He stopped abruptly. A curious change had come over Nap, a change sounexpected, so foreign to the man's grim nature, that even he, who knewhim as did none other, was momentarily taken by surprise. For suddenly, inexplicably, Nap's hardness had gone from him. It was like the crumblingof a rock that had withstood the clash of many tempests and yielded atlast to the ripple of a summer tide. 

With a sudden fierce movement he dropped down upon his knees beside thebed, flinging his arms wide over his brother's body in such an agony ofdespair as Lucas had never before witnessed. 

"I wish I were dead!" he cried out passionately. "I wish to Heaven I hadnever lived!"

It was a cry wrung from the very depths of the soul, a revelation ofsuffering of which Lucas had scarcely believed him capable. It opened hiseyes to much that he had before but vaguely suspected. 

He laid a hand instantly and very tenderly upon the bowed head. "Shucks, Boney!" he remonstrated gently. "Just when you are wanted most!"

A great sob shook Nap. "Who wants me? I'm nothing but a blot on the faceof creation, an outrage, an abomination--a curse!"

"You're just the biggest thing in that woman's life, dear fellow, "answered the tired voice. "You hang on to that. It'll hold you up, as Godalways meant it should. "

Nap made an inarticulate sound of dissent, but the quiet restraint of hisbrother's touch seemed to help him. He became still under it, as if somespell were upon him. 

After a time Lucas went on in the weary drawl that yet held such aninfinite amount of human kindness. "Did you think I'd cut you out, Boney?Mighty lot you seem to know of me! It's true that for a time I thoughtmyself necessary to her. Maybe, for a time I was. She hadn't much to livefor anyway. It's true that when you didn't turn up in Arizona I left offexpecting you to be faithful to yourself or to her. And so it seemed bestto take what she gave and to try to make her as happy as circumstanceswould allow. But I never imagined that I ruled supreme. I know too wellthat what a woman has given once she can never give again. I didn'texpect it of her. I never asked it. She gave me what she could, and I--Idid the same for her. But that bargain wouldn't satisfy either of us now. No--no! We'll play the game like men--like brothers. And you must do yourpart. Believe me, Boney, I desire nothing so earnestly as her happiness, and if when I come to die I have helped to make this one woman happy, then I shall not have lived in vain. "

Nap turned his head sharply. "Don't talk of dying! You couldn't die! Anddo you seriously imagine for a single instant that I could ever give herhappiness?"

"I imagine so, dear fellow, since she loves you. "

"I tell you she wouldn't have me if I asked her. "

"You don't know. Anyway, she must have the chance. If she doesn't takeit, well, she isn't the woman I imagine her to be. "

"She's a saint, " Nap said, with vehemence. "And you, Luke, --you'reanother. You were made for each other. She would be ten million timeshappier with you. Why do you want her to marry a blackguard?"

A shadow touched Lucas Errol's face, but it was only for an instant; thenext he smiled. "You are not a blackguard, Boney. I always said so. Andthe love of a good woman will be your salvation. No, you're wrong. Icouldn't give her real happiness. There is only one man in the world cangive her that. And I--am not that man. " He paused; his eyelids had begunto droop, heavily. "Say, Nap, I believe I could sleep now, " he said. 

"Yes, yes, old chap, you shall. " Nap raised himself abruptly, banishinghis weakness in a breath; only a certain unwonted gentleness remained. "You shall, " he said again. "Guess you won't be afraid now you have gotyour own way. But just one thing more. You'll be wanting all yourstrength for yourself for the next few weeks. Will you--for my sake ifyou like--put all this by till you are winning out on the other side? Shewould say the same, if she knew. "

Lucas opened his eyes again, opened them wide, and fixed them steadily, searchingly, upon his brother's face. 

"You'll play the straight game with me, Boney?" he questioned. "You won'ttry to back out?" Then, in a different tone, "No, don't, answer! Forgiveme for asking! I know you. "

"I guess you do, " Nap said, with the ghost of a smile, "better even thanI know myself. You know just how little I am to be trusted. "

"I trust you, Boney, absolutely, implicitly, from the bottom of my soul. "

The words left Lucas Errol's lips with something of the solemnity of anoath. He held out a quiet hand. 

"Now let me sleep, " he said. 

Nap rose. He stood for a moment in silence, holding the friendly hand, asif he wished to speak, but could not. Then suddenly he bent. 

"Good-night, dear chap!" he said in a whisper, and with the words hestooped and kissed the lined forehead of the man who trusted him.... 

Half an hour later the door of the adjoining room opened noiselessly andTawny Hudson peered in. 

One brother was sleeping, the quiet, refreshing sleep of a mind at rest. The other sat watching by his side with fixed inscrutable eyes. 

The latter did not stir, though in some indefinable way he made TawnyHudson know that he was aware of his presence, and did not desire hiscloser proximity. Obedient to the unspoken command, the man did not comebeyond the threshold; but he stood there for many seconds, glowering withthe eyes of a monstrous, malignant baboon. 

When at length he retired he left the door ajar, and a very curious smileflickered across Nap's face. 

But still he did not turn his head. 

CHAPTER XIV

AT THE GATE OF DEATH

The second time that Tawny Hudson was driven from his master's side wason a day of splendid spring--English April at its best. 

Till the very last moment he lingered, and it was Lucas himself with hisfinal "Go, Tawny!" who sent him from the room. They would not even lethim wait, as Nap was waiting, till the anaesthetic had done its work. Black hatred gripped the man's heart as he crept away. What was Napanyway that he should be thus honoured? The cloud that had attended hiscoming had made a deep impression upon Hudson. He had watched the linesupon his master's face till he knew them by heart. He knew when anxietykept the weary eyes from closing. He knew when the effort of the mind wasmore than the body could endure. Of Lucas's pleasure at his brother'sreturn he raised no question, but that it would have been infinitelybetter for him had Nap remained away he was firmly convinced. And he knewwith the sure intuition that unceasing vigilance had developed in himthat Capper thought the same. 

Capper resented as he did the intrusion of the black sheep of thefamily. But Capper was obviously powerless--even Capper, who soruthlessly expelled him from his master's presence, had proved impotentwhen it came to removing Nap. 

There was a mysterious force about Nap that no one seemed able toresist. He, Hudson, had felt it a hundred times, had bowed to it inspite of himself. He called it black magic in his own dark heart, andbecause of it his hatred almost amounted to a mania. He regarded himwith superstition, as a devilish being endowed with hellish powers thatmight at any moment be directed against his enemies. And he feared hisinfluence over Lucas, even though with all his monstrous imaginings herecognised the fact of Lucas's ascendency. He had a morbid dread lestsome day his master should be taken unawares, for in Nap's devotion heplaced not a particle of faith. And mingled with his fears was aburning jealousy that kept hatred perpetually alive. There was not oneof the duties that he performed for his master that Nap had not at onetime or another performed, more swiftly, more satisfactorily, with thatdevilish deftness of his that even Capper had to admire and Hudsoncould never hope to achieve. And in his inner soul the man knew thatthe master he idolised preferred Nap's ministrations, Nap's sure anddexterous touch, to his. 

And so on that day of riotous spring he waited with murder in his heartto see his enemy emerge from the closed room. 

But he waited in vain. No hand touched the door against which he stood. Within the room he heard only vague movements, and now and then Capper'svoice, sharp and distinct, giving a curt order. Two doctors and twonurses were there to do his bidding, to aid him in the working of hismiracle; two doctors, two nurses, and Nap. 

Gradually as the minutes passed the truth dawned upon the greathalf-breed waiting outside. Against Capper's wish, probably in defianceof it, Nap was remaining for the operation itself. Suspicion deepenedswiftly to conviction, and a spasm of indignation akin to frenzy tookpossession of the man. Doubtless Capper had remonstrated without result, but he--he, Tawny Hudson--could compel. Fiercely he turned and pulled thehandle of the door. 

It resisted him. He had not heard the key turned upon him, yet undeniablythe door was locked. Fury entered into him. Doubtless this also was thework of his enemy. He seized the handle, twisted, dragged, wrenched, tillit broke in his hand and he was powerless. 

No one within the room paid any attention to him. No one came to open;and this fact served to inflame him further. For a few lurid momentsTawny Hudson saw red. He gathered his huge bull-frame together and flungthe whole weight of it against the resisting wood. He was powerless toforce the lock, as the door opened towards him, but this fact did notdiscourage him. It scarcely entered into his reckoning. He was nothing atthe moment but a savage beast beyond all reasoning and beyond control. 

The panels resisted his violent onslaught, but he was undaunted. Withscarcely a pause he drew off and prepared for another. But at the veryinstant that he was about to hurl himself the second time, a voice spokeon the other side of the door. 

"Tawny!"

Tawny stood as if transfixed, his eyes starting, bestial foam upon hislips. 

"Tawny!" said the voice again--the voice of his enemy, curt andimperious. "Go and find Mr. Bertie, and tell him he is wanted. "

Through the closed door the magic reached the frenzied man. He remainedmotionless for a few seconds, but the order was not repeated. At the endof the interval the magic had done its work. He turned and slunk away. 

A minute later Bertie, very pale and stern, presented himself at theclosed door. 

"What is it, Nap?"

Contemptuously clear came the answer. "Nothing here. Stay where you are, that's all, and keep that all-fired fool Hudson from spoiling hismaster's chances. "

Bertie turned to look at the man who had come up behind him, and inturning saw the door-handle at his feet. 

He pointed to it. "Your doing?"

Hudson shrank under the accusing blue eyes so like his master's. He beganto whimper like a beaten dog. 

Bertie picked up the knob. "Poor devil!" he muttered; and then aloud:"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Do you call this a man's game?"

Tawny cringed in abject misery. He was completely subdued. With thesmallest encouragement he would have grovelled at Bertie's feet. 

Bertie came away from the door and sat down. His own anxiety was almostinsupportable, but he cloaked it with determined resolution. "Sit downthere!" he said, pointing to a distant chair. "And don't move until Igive you leave. "

Meekly the man obeyed him, sitting crouched, his head between his hands. 

Bertie regarded him with a severity more assumed than actual. He had notthe heart to send him away. He knew it would have been sheer cruelty. 

A long time passed. Neither of the two watchers stirred. Tawny Hudson didnot even seem to breathe. He sat like a human image of despair. 

Noon came and passed. Somewhere in the distance church bells began topeal. Bertie started a little. He had forgotten it was Sunday. Dot wouldbe just driving home from church. She would not come to Baronmead, heknew. It had been her original intention, but he had dissuaded her. Heknew that she was very anxious, but he would not have her run the risk ofa shock. If the operation failed, if Luke were to die, he would tell herhimself. He knew that he could soften the blow as none other could. 

It was nearly one when at last the closed door opened. Bertie was on hisfeet in an instant. Dr. Randal came quietly out, glanced round, stopped. 

"It is over. We have taken him into the inner room, and he is recoveringconsciousness. No, don't go to him. His man mustn't go either. We wantall these doors open, wide open, the windows too. But no one is to gonear. He must have absolute quiet. "

He propped open the door as he spoke. His face was very grave. 

"Remember, " he said, "that the banging of this door or any sudden soundmay mean the end. "

"Is he so bad then?" said Bertie, speaking with effort. 

"He is very bad indeed, " the doctor answered. "The operation has been aprotracted one. If he lives, it will be a success. But there is greatweakness of the heart's action. Any moment may be the last. Dr. Capperwill not leave him at present. Your brother is there too. " He paused amoment. "Your brother is a wonderful man, " he said, with the air of a manbestowing praise against his will. "If you will be good enough to ordersome refreshment I will take it in. On no account is Mr. Errol's servantto go near. "

Slowly the hours of a day that seemed endless dragged away. Bertie wenthome to his wife in the afternoon, taking Tawny Hudson, subdued andwretched, with him. 

In the evening he returned, the man still following him like a pariahdog, to find the situation unaltered. Capper and Nap were still withLucas, whose life hung by a thread. 

Bertie decided to remain for the night, and at a late hour he saw Capperfor a moment. The great man's face was drawn and haggard. 

"He won't last through the night, " he said. "Tell the ladies to be inreadiness. I will send for them if there is time. "

"No hope whatever?" said Bertie. 

Capper shook his head. "I fear--none. He is just running down--sinking. Ithink you had better not come in, but stay within call. "

He was gone again, and Bertie was left to give his message, and then towait in anguish of spirit for the final call. 

The night was still. Only the draught from the wide-flung doors andwindows stirred through the quiet rooms. Mrs. Errol and Anne sharedBertie's vigil in the room that opened out of that in which Lucas Errolwas making his last stand. Humbly, in a corner, huddled Tawny Hudson, rocking himself, but making no sound. 

Within the room Capper sat at the foot of the bed, motionless, alert asa sentry. A nurse stood like a statue, holding back the bellyingwindow-curtain. And on his knees beside the bed, the inert wrists grippedclose in his sinewy fingers, was Nap. 

The light of a shaded lamp shone upon his dusky face, showing the gleamof his watchful eyes, the crude lines of jaw and cheek-bone. He lookedlike a figure carved in bronze. 

For hours he had knelt so in unceasing vigilance, gazing unblinkingand tireless at the exhausted face upon the pillow. It might have beenthe face of a dead man upon which he gazed, but the pulses thatfluttered in his hold told him otherwise. Lucas still held feebly, feebly, to his chain. 

It was nearly an hour after midnight that a voice spoke in theutter silence. 

"Boney!"

"I'm here, old chap. "

"Good-bye, dear fellow!" It was scarcely more than a whisper. It seemedto come from closed lips. 

"Open your eyes, " said Nap. 

Slowly the heavy lids opened. The blue eyes met the deep, mysterious gazefocussed upon them. 

Silent as a ghost Capper glided forward. The nurse left the window, andthe curtain floated out into the room, fluttering like an imprisonedthing seeking to escape. 

"Ah, but, Boney--" the tired voice said, as though in protest. 

And Nap's voice, thrilled through and through with a tenderness that wasmore than human, made answer. "Just a little longer, dear old man! Only alittle longer! See! I'm holding you up. Turn up the lamp, doctor. Takeoff the shade. He can't see me. There, old chap! Look at me now. Griphold of me. You can't go yet. I'm with you. I'm holding you back. "

Capper trickled something out of a spoon between the pale lips, and for alittle there was silence. 

But the blue eyes remained wide, fixed upon those other fiery eyes thatheld them by some mysterious magic from falling into sightlessness. 

Three figures had come in through the open door, moving wraith-like, silently. The room seemed full of shadows. 

After a while Lucas spoke again, and this time his lips movedperceptibly. "It's such a long way back, Boney, --no end of a trail--andall up hill. "

The flare of the lamp was full upon Nap's face; it threw the harsh linesinto strong relief, and it seemed to Anne, watching, that she looked uponthe face of a man in extremity. His voice too--was that Nap's voicepleading so desperately?

"Don't be faint-hearted, old chap! I'll haul you up. It won't be so toughpresently. You're through the worst already. Hold on, Luke, hold on!"

Again Capper poured something between the parted lips, and a quiver ranthrough the powerless body. 

"Hold on!" Nap repeated. "You promised you would. You mustn't go yet, oldboy. You can't be spared. I shall go to the devil without you. "

"Not you, Boney!" Lucas's lips quivered into a smile. "That's all over, "he said. "You're playing--the straight game--now. "

"You must stay and see it through, " said Nap. "I can't win outwithout you. "

"Ah!" A long sigh came pantingly with the word. "That so, Boney? GuessI'm--a selfish brute--always was--always was. "

A choked sob came through the stillness. Bertie suddenly covered hisface. Mrs. Errol put her arm round him as one who comforted a child. 

"Is that--someone--crying?" gasped Lucas. 

"It's that ass Bertie, " answered Nap, without stirring so much asan eyelid. 

"Bertie? Poor old chap! Tell him he mustn't. Tell him--I'll hang on--alittle longer--God willing; but only a little longer, Boney, only--alittle--longer. "

There was pleading in the voice, the pleading of a man unutterably tiredand longing to be at rest. 

Anne, standing apart, was cut to the heart with the pathos of it. But Napdid not seem to feel it. He knelt on, inflexible, determined, all hisiron will, all his fiery vitality, concentrated upon holding a man inlife. It was not all magnetism, it was not all strength of purpose, itwas his whole being grappling, striving, compelling, till inch by inch hegained a desperate victory. 

In the morning the fight was over. In the morning Lucas Errol had turned, reluctantly as it seemed to Anne, from the Gate of Death. 

And while he lay sleeping quietly, the spring air, pure and life-giving, blowing across his face, the man who had brought him back rose up fromhis bedside, crept with a noiseless, swaying motion from the room, andsank senseless on the further side of the door. 

CHAPTER XV

THE KING'S DECREE

For three weeks after the operation Capper said nothing good or bad ofhis patient's condition, and during those weeks he scarcely went beyondthe terrace. He moved about like a man absorbed, and it seemed to Annewhenever they met that he looked at her without seeing her. 

Nap was even closer in his attendance, and Tawny Hudson found himselfmore than ever supplanted and ignored. For night and day he was at hand, sleeping when and how he could, always alert at the briefest notice, always ready with unfailing nerve and steady hand. 

And Capper suffered him without the smallest remonstrance. He seemed totake it for granted that Nap's powers were illimitable. 

"That young man will kill himself, " Dr. Randal said once. "He is livingat perpetual high pressure. "

"Leave him alone, " growled Capper. "He is the force that drives theengine. The wheels won't go round without him. "

And this seemed true; for the wheels went round very, very slowly inthose days. Lucas Errol came back to life, urged by a vitality not hisown, and the Shadow of Death still lingered in his eyes. 

He did not suffer very greatly, and he slept as he had not slept foryears, but his progress was slow, sometimes imperceptible. The languor ofintense weakness hung like a leaden weight upon him. The old bravecheeriness had given place to a certain curious wistfulness. He seemedtoo weary for effort, content at all times to sleep the hours away. 

Yet when Capper demanded effort he yielded without protest. He did hisbest, and he smiled at each evidence of returning powers. 

"I guess it's just an almighty success, doctor, " he would say. "Andyou've given me sleep into the bargain. It's blessed to be able to sleep. I've a good many years of arrears to make up. "

On the day that Capper and Nap set him on his feet for the first time, his weakness was such that he fainted; but he recovered and apologised, and would even have faced the ordeal again had Capper permitted it. Onthe following day he went through it without a tremor, and sleptthereafter for hours, scarcely rousing himself for nourishment. 

It was during that sleep that Nap left him, went out into the springwoods, and remained absent for some time. Lucas was still sleeping whenhe returned, and after a brief look at him he moved away into theadjoining room and prowled to and fro there waiting. 

At the first sound of his brother's voice he was back by the bedside. 

Lucas smiled a welcome. "I'm better, " he said, and held up a weak hand. 

It was the first time he had made the assertion. Nap took the hand andlaid it gently down. 

"You'll get well now, " he said. 

The heavy drowsiness was less apparent than usual on Lucas's face. "Idon't know where I'd be without you, Boney, " he said. "Do you know you'relooking awfully ill?"

"Shucks!" said Nap. 

But Lucas continued his criticism undeterred. 

"You've spent too much of yourself on me, and I've been too damnedselfish to notice. I'm going to wake up now, Boney. I'm going to play thegame. You've been playing my hand as well as your own till now. I'm goingto relieve you of that. "

"Hear, hear!" said Nap. 

"You'll go to bed in your own room to-night, " said Lucas, "go to bed andto sleep. In the morning we'll have a talk. "

But when the morning came, his energy had flagged a little. He had notslept as well as usual, and though he had no pain he seemed disinclinedfor physical effort. 

"I want a holiday to-day, " he said to Capper. "Just let in the sunshineand leave me to bask. "

There had been a spell of cold and sunless weather, but that day the sunshone gloriously. The genial warmth of it came in through the openwindow and flooded the room with the very essence of spring. 

"I'm going to take a day off and enjoy it, " smiled Lucas. "You take a dayoff too, doctor. Make the mater go out in the car. I shall do wondersto-morrow after a good laze to-day. "

Capper looked him over keenly, pulled his beard, cracked his fingers, andyielded. "Guess a rest won't do you any harm. There's no reason to hustleyou any that I can see. "

And Lucas spent the whole morning basking in the sunshine in almostunbroken silence. He did not sleep at all. His eyes, remote andthoughtful, were for the most part watching the specks that danced andfloated in the rays of light that streamed across his bed. 

Nap forebore to disturb him, but he remained within call. He knew withsure intuition that sooner or later Lucas would summon him. Almost heknew what he would say. 

The call came at last, very quiet and deliberate. "Boney!"

Instantly Nap presented himself. 

"Come here a minute, old chap. No, I'm not wanting anything--only a wordin private. Say, Boney, is Anne still stopping here?"

He had seen her nearly every day since the operation, but he had been toodrowsy to ask any questions. He had only smiled upon her, and sometimesfor a little had held her hand. 

"She is backwards and forwards, " said Nap. "I believe she is spendingto-night. "

"Ah! Then, Boney, I want you to speak to her--to-night. " He looked up athis brother with his old, kindly smile. "It's for my own sake, old chap, "he said. "You know, I didn't sleep last night. I was thinking abouther--about you both. And I want her to know everything to-night. I shallsleep the easier when she knows. "

Nap stood silent. His face was set in hard lines. 

"Will you tell her, Boney?"

"What am I to tell her?" said Nap, "Tell her the truth, dear fellow, so that she understands it. Make herrealise that the dearest wish of my life is her happiness--and yours. " Hereached up a hand to the motionless figure beside him. "Just this onething, Boney, " he pleaded gently. "Remember--I came back because of it. It will be my happiness too. I want to feel that all is well between you. God knows I want it more than anything else on earth. "

Nap gripped the proffered hand and held it fast. 

"But she won't have me, you know, " he said, after a moment. "She onlyforgave me because of you. "

"Shucks, dear fellow! I guess that wasn't the reason. "

"I wish to heaven you'd let me off, " Nap said, with suddenvehemence. "Let me shunt first instead of last. It's more than Ican face--even for you. "

"But I guess you'll face it all the same, " said Lucas gently. "And whenit's over, come--both of you--and tell me. "

He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sunshine. "So long, oldchap!" he said. "Don't stay indoors. I'm not wanting you. Think I'll getto sleep presently. Don't let them wake me if I do. "

But Nap lingered, still holding his hand. "Luke!" he said. 

There was a note of entreaty in his voice, but, for the second time inhis life, Lucas turned a deaf ear. The smile was still on his lips, buthis eyes remained closed. 

"Go, dear fellow!" he said softly. "And God bless you!"

And Nap turned with a set face and went straight from the room. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE STRAIGHT GAME

It was drawing towards evening on that same day when Anne, who had beenspending the afternoon at the Dower House, walked back across the park. She went by way of the stream along which she and Nap had once skatedhand in hand in the moonlight, and as she went she stooped now and thento gather the flowers that grew in the grass beside her path. But herface as she did it was grave and thoughtful. She did not seem to noticetheir fragrance. 

As she neared the lake she moved more slowly, and reaching a rustic seatbeneath a cedar that shadowed the entrance to the gardens she sat down, her grey eyes fixed upon the water that gurgled at her feet. 

A brilliant green dragon-fly, darting meteor-like across her vision, camepresently to disturb her reverie. With a slight start she awoke, andleaned forward with an odd eagerness to mark its progress. As it flashedaway through the shadows a quick sigh came to her lips. It was so fair athing, so swiftly gone. 

She gathered up her flowers and rose. And in that moment she knew thatshe was not alone. 

How she knew it she could not have said. No sound or shadow told her. Nohand touched her. Yet she knew. 

For a few seconds she stood motionless on the edge of the stream. Thenwithout turning she spoke. 

"Were you looking for me?"

"Yes, " he said. 

He came to her side. They were close--close to that spot where once hehad so arrogantly claimed her friendship. To-day it seemed he had noword to utter. 

For a space she waited, then, finding in his silence something thatdisquieted her, she spoke again. 

"Is all well? Why are you not with Lucas?"

"All's well, " he said, but he left her second question unanswered. He wasgazing down intently into the clear water. 

Seconds passed. She glanced at him once or twice, but he seemed unawareof her scrutiny. He made no movement to meet it. His dark face broodedover the stream, almost as if she were not there. 

Her heart began to throb with thick, uneven strokes. What had he come tosay to her? And why did he stand thus silent? There was something tragicabout him, something almost terrible. 

She waited beside him in wordless foreboding. Whatever was coming shefelt powerless to avert. She could only brace herself to meet theinevitable. 

In some fashion, though he never glanced her way, he must have been awareof her agitation, for when he spoke again there was some measure ofreassurance in his voice, emotionless though it was. 

"I shan't alarm you, " he said. "I shan't even ask you to answer me, muchless to treat me kindly. But you've got to hear me, that's all. I'm nottelling you for my own sake, only because Luke has ordained that you mustknow. I daresay you thought it strange that I should have come back sosoon. It probably made you wonder. "

"It did, " said Anne, in a low voice. 

"I knew it would. " A note of grim satisfaction sounded in the rejoinder. He jerked his head a little with a touch of the old arrogance. "Well, Iam here to explain. I knew the odds were dead against me when Istarted--as they are to-day. All the same you are to understand that Icame back when I did because I had just heard that you were free and Iwas mad enough to dream that in spite of everything I should one daypersuade you to marry me. "

He paused an instant, but he kept his eyes upon the water as if he werereading something in the crystal depths. 

Anne still waited beside him, her hands clasped tightly upon herdrooping flowers. 

He continued very rapidly, as though he wished to have done. "That wasmy true reason for coming back. I don't know if I deceived you any onthat point. I tried to. But anyway I didn't manage to deceive Lucas. Hesees most things. He knows for instance that I--care for you"--almostangrily he flung the words--"and he thinks you ought to know it, incase"--his lips twisted into a queer smile--"you care for me. It's apreposterous idea anyway. I've told him so. But he won't be easy tillI've given you the chance to trample on me. Guess he thinks I owe youthat. Maybe I do. Well--you have your opportunity. "

"Do you think I want--that?" Anne said, her voice very low. 

His hands clenched. "I can't say, " he said. "Most women would. But--ifyou want to know--I'd sooner be trampled. I've promised I'll play thestraight game, and I'm playing it. I'm telling you the raw truth. I loveyou. I have it in me to make you know it. But--"

"But you love Lucas better" she said. 

He nodded. "Just that. Also, Lucas is a good man. He will set yourhappiness first all his life. While I--while I"--he stooped a little, still staring downwards as if he watched something--"while I, LadyCarfax, " he said, speaking very quietly, "might possibly succeed inmaking you happy, but it wouldn't be the same thing. You would have tolive my life--not I yours. I am not like Lucas. I shouldn't be satisfiedwith--a little. "

"And you think that is all I can offer him?" she said. 

He made a sharp gesture of repudiation. "I have no theories on thatsubject. I believe you would satisfy him. I believe--ultimately--youwould both find the happiness we are all hunting for. "

"And you?" Anne said, her voice very low. 

He straightened himself with a backward fling of the shoulders, but stillhe did not look at her. "I, Lady Carfax!" he said grimly. "I don't fitinto the scheme of things anyway. I was just pitchforked into your lifeby an accident. It's for you to toss me out again. "

Anne was silent. She stood with her face to the sinking sun. She seemedto be gathering her strength. 

At last, "What will you do?" she asked in the same hushed voice. "Wherewill you go?"

He turned slowly towards her. "I really don't know. I haven't begunto think. "

His eyes looked deeply into hers, but they held no passion, no emotion ofany sort. They made her think with a sudden intolerable stab of pain ofthat night when he had put out the fire of his passion to receive herkiss. He had told her once that that kiss was the greatest thing that hadever happened to him. Did he remember it now, she wondered, as she metthose brooding eyes, still and dark and lonely as they had been then, unfathomable as a mountain pool. She did not fear to meet them. Only avast, surging pity filled her soul. She understood him so well--so well. 

"Nap, " she said tremulously, "what can I say to you? What can I do?"

He put out a quiet, unfaltering hand and took hers. "Don't be too good tome, " he said. "Don't worry any on my account. If you do, maybe Luke willnotice and misunderstand. He's so damnably shrewd. " A brief smile crossedhis face. "I'll tell you what to do, Lady Carfax, and when it's doneyou'll feel better. Come with me now to Lucas--it's his own idea--andtell him you've no use for me. Put it how you like. Women can always dothese things. Make him know that he comes first with you still and alwayswill. Tell him you know all the truth and it hasn't made you change yourmind. Tell him you'd rather belong to a man you can trust. He'll believeyou, Anne. We all do. "

He spoke insistently. He had begun to draw her towards the path. But asthey reached it, his hand fell from hers. He walked beside her, closebeside her, but not by word or touch did he seek further to persuade her. 

And Anne walked steadily forward as one in a dream. It was the only thingto do, since he had told her plainly that he desired it, since with bothof them Luke must for ever come first. He had drawn them together, he hadlinked their hands, but he stood between them to do it, and neither ofthem would suffer him to go. 

She supposed they would be friends again, she and Nap. She did not fearthat he would ever again cross the boundary line. His love for hisbrother ran like a purifying current through his veins. It was the onestreak of greatness in him. Its very selflessness made it stronger thanhis love for her. She knew with a certainty that nought could ever shakethat he would be true to Lucas, that never again by word or sign would hebetray that for which he had not scrupled to play her false. 

And because she was a woman and understood him she forgave him this. Forshe knew that the greater loyalty had done for him that which she hadfailed to do. She knew that in uttermost self-sacrifice Nap Errol, thesavage, the merciless, the treacherous, had found his soul. 

So side by side in silence they went back to the house. 

The evening was very still; passing in from the terrace they seemed toenter an enchanted palace wherein nothing stirred. 

"He may be asleep, " Nap said. "Shall I go first?"

She assented without speaking. Somehow the spell of silence seemed tohold her also. 

Tawny Hudson was on guard as usual in the outer room. He looked up withresentful eyes as they entered, but he said nothing. The door into hismaster's room stood half open. Nap paused at it a moment to listen. Heturned to Anne, and she fancied just for a second that there was ashade of anxiety on his face. But it was gone instantly, if indeed ithad been there. 

"Follow me in a minute, " he said, "if I don't come back. "

And with that he glided through the narrow space and passed from sight. 

A minute later, absolute silence reigning, Anne softly pushed back thedoor and entered. 

She found Nap crouched motionless with outflung arms across the footof the bed. 

And drawing nearer, she saw that Lucas Errol was lying asleep with hisface to the sky, all the lines of pain smoothed utterly away, and on hislips that smile which some call the Stamp of Death, and others theshining reflection of the Resurrection Glory which the passing soul hasleft behind. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRANSFORMING MAGIC

No clamour of mourning broke the spell of silence that lay uponBaronmead. Those who wept hid their grief behind closed doors. But thoseto whom Lucas was dearest shed the fewest tears. His mother went aboutwith a calmness of aspect that never faltered. She and Anne were veryclose to each other in those days though but few words passed betweenthem. A hush that was like a benediction brooded upon the silent house. They could not weep. 

Once, standing in the hallowed stillness beside her dead, Mrs. Errolturned to Anne, saying softly: "The dear Lord knows best, dear. Wewouldn't call him back. He wouldn't want to come. "

And later she told her gently that she had known ever since the operationthat the end was near. 

"It was in his eyes, " she said. "I know that look so well. Dr. Capperknew it too. And so, I'm sure, did the dear boy himself. That waiting, far-off look as if the soul were listening, didn't you see it, dear? Ionly wondered that he stayed so long. "

Yes, Anne had seen it. She knew it now. Though he had smiled upon her, though he had held her hand, she knew that all human longing had died inLucas Errol's soul on the night that he had gone down to the Gate ofDeath and Nap had drawn him back. He had slackened his hold upon thingsearthly that night, and though he had come back a little way, it had beenas a spectator only that he lingered, no more as one who took an activepart in the drama of mortal life. His _rôle_ was played; she realised nowthat he must have known it, and that he had not wished it otherwise. Hehad not died with that kingly smile upon his lips if he had not beencontent to die. That was why grief seemed to her impossible. That was whythe peace in which he lay, wrapped tenderly around her tired heart alsoand gave her rest. 

Of Nap during those days of silence she saw nothing whatever. He hadrisen from his brother's death-bed with a face of stony aloofness, andhad gone swiftly out, she knew not whither. Since that moment she hadscarcely seen him. He spent his time out of the house, somewhere away inthe woods she believed, out of reach of any human observation, not evenreturning at night. Once only in the early morning she saw him cross thestretch of lawn in front of the lake and enter by a side door. But herglimpse of him was of the briefest. She did not see his face. 

Upon Bertie devolved all the duties of the head of the household, buthis mother was ready at every turn to help him. She was more to himduring those few days than she had ever been before. Capper also, remaining for the funeral, placed himself at his disposal and did much tolighten the burden. 

Capper indeed helped everyone, and Anne always remembered with gratitudea few moments that she had alone with him on the evening before thefuneral, when he laid a fatherly hand upon her shoulder to say: "My dear, I don't know if you're fretting any, but you've no cause to fret. I knownow that it couldn't have been otherwise. If you'd been his wife youcouldn't have kept him. "

She thanked him with a look. She believed that Capper understood, and shewas glad that it should be so. She fancied also that his opinionregarding Nap had undergone a change, but she hesitated to touch upon thesubject, and the moment passed. 

Up to the last minute she was doubtful as to whether Nap would attend hisbrother's funeral. She herself went because Mrs. Errol desired to go. Shewalked with Capper immediately behind Bertie and his mother. Neither ofthem seemed to expect Nap, or even to think of him. His movements werealways sudden and generally unaccountable. But she knew that his absencewould cause comment in the neighbourhood, and though she also knew thatNap would care nothing for that, she earnestly hoped that he would notgive occasion for it. 

Nevertheless the procession started without him, and she had almostceased to hope when he suddenly appeared from nowhere as it seemed toher, and walked on her other side. 

She heard Capper give a grunt, whether of approval or otherwise she didnot know, but not a word was said. She glanced once at Nap, but his facewas sphinx-like, utterly unresponsive. He stared straight ahead, witheyes that never varied, at the coffin that was being borne upon men'sshoulders to its quiet resting-place in the village churchyard, andthroughout the journey thither his expression remained unaltered. 

At the gate Bertie suddenly turned and motioned him forward, and theyentered the church together. Later, by the open grave, Anne saw thatBertie was leaning on Nap's shoulder, while his mother stood apart withher face to the sky; and she knew that the feud between them had beenlaid at last and for ever by the man who had ruled supreme in the heartsof all who knew him. 

When all was over, Nap disappeared, and she saw no more of him till theevening when for the first time he came to the dinner-table. Capper wasleaving early on the following day, and it was to this fact that Anneattributed his appearance. 

Bertie dined at home, but he walked over later to take leave of Capper. They sat together in the hall, with the door wide open, for the nightwas as warm as summer. 

Mrs. Errol had gone to her room immediately after dinner, but Anneremained at Capper's request. 

"I shan't see much more of you, " he said. 

They talked but little however. Nap sat smoking in a corner and hardlyopened his lips. Bertie came in late, looking worn and miserable. 

"I wish you would tell me what to do with Tawny Hudson, " he said. "Ibelieve the fellow's crazy; and he's pining too. I don't believe he haseaten anything for days. "

Since Lucas's death Tawny Hudson had attached himself to Bertie, following him to and fro like a lost dog, somewhat to Dot's dismay; for, deeply though she pitied the great half-breed, there was something abouthim that frightened her. 

"I don't know what to do with him, " Bertie said. "He's as gaunt as awolf. He's hanging about somewhere outside now. Wish you'd take him alongto America with you, Doctor. "

"Call him in, " said Capper, "and let me have a look at him. "

Bertie went to the door and whistled. 

There was no reply. 

"Hudson!" he called. "Tawny! where are you?"

But there came no answer out of the shadows. The only voice which Tawnywould obey was still. 

Bertie came back baffled. "Confound the fellow! I know he'swithin hail. "

"Leave the brute alone!" said Nap. "He isn't worth much anyway. "

"But I can't let him die, " said Bertie. 

Nap looked contemptuous, and relapsed into silence. 

"I'll take him back with me if you're wanting to be rid of him, " saidCapper. "Tell him so if you get the chance. "

"Thanks!" said Bertie. "But I don't believe he'll budge. Nap will becrossing next week. P'r'aps I shall persuade him to go then. " He lookedacross at Nap. "I know you don't like the fellow, but it wouldn't befor long. "

"Probably not, " said Nap, staring fixedly at the end of his cigar. 

Something in his tone made Anne glance at him, but as usual his face toldher nothing. She saw only that his eyes were drawn as if with longwatching, and that the cynical lines about his mouth were more grimlypronounced than she had ever seen them before. 

Not long after, Bertie got up to go. His farewell to Capper was spokenalmost in a whisper, and Anne saw that his self-control was precarious. When he shook hands with her he was beyond speech. She was glad to seeNap rise and accompany him, with a friendly hand pushed through his arm. 

For nearly half an hour longer she sat on with Capper; then at lengthshe rose to go. 

"I shall see you in the morning, " she said, pausing. 

"I am making an early start, " said Capper. 

She smiled. "I shall see you all the same. Good-night. "

Capper kept her hand in his, his green eyes running over her with elusiveintentness. "Wonder what you'll do, " he said abruptly. 

She met his look quite simply. "For the present, " she said, "I must bewith Mrs. Errol. Later on--next month--she will no doubt go to the DowerHouse, and I shall go back to the Manor. "

"Don't mope!" he said. 

She smiled again with a short sigh. "I shall be too busy for that. "

"That so?" Capper drew his brows together. "Lady Carfax, at risk ofoffending you, I've something to say. "

"You will not offend me, " she answered. "And I think I know what it is. "

"Very possibly you do, but I guess I'd better say it all the same. Youmay remember a talk we had at the commencement of our acquaintance, regarding Nap. I told you he was just a wild animal, untamable, untrustworthy. Well, you have proved me wrong. You have worked amiracle, and you have tamed him. Lucas himself told me about it the daybefore he died. "

"Oh, no!" Anne said quickly and earnestly. "It was Lucas who worked themiracle, Doctor. The magic was his. "

"Guess he wouldn't have done it single-handed, " said Capper. "He'dbeen trying as long as I had known him, and he hadn't succeeded. " Hepaused, looking at her with great kindness. Then: "My dear, " he said, "you needn't be afraid to trust yourself to him. He will never let youdown again. "

Anne stood silent, but under his look a deep flush rose and overspreadher face. She turned her eyes away. 

Very gently Capper patted her shoulder. "You've made a man of him betweenyou, " he said. "Lucas has left the developing process to you. "

"Ah!" she said wistfully, and that was all, for her eyes were suddenlyfull of tears. 

She went to the door and stood there for several seconds. The voice of anightingale thrilled through the silence. Was it only a year--only ayear--since the veil had been rent from her eyes? Only a year since firsther heart had throbbed to "the everlasting Wonder Song"? She felt as ifeons had passed over her, as if the solitude of ages wrapped her round;and yet afar off, like dream music in her soul, she still heard itsechoes pulsing across the desert. It held her like a charm. 

Slowly her tears passed. There came again to her that curious sense ofsomething drawing her, almost as of a voice that called. The garden laystill and mysterious in the moonlight. She caught its gleam upon acorner of the lake where it shone like a wedge of silver. 

A few seconds she stood irresolute; then without word or backward glanceshe stepped down into the magic silence. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LAST ORDEAL

What impulse she obeyed she knew not; only she wanted to hear thenightingale, to drink in the fragrance, to feel the healing balm upon herheart. Her feet carried her noiselessly over the grass to that shiningsplendour of water, and turned along the path that led past the seatunder the cedar where Nap had joined her on that evening that seemedalready far away, and had told her that he loved her still. By this pathhe and Bertie would have gone to the Dower House; by this path he wouldprobably return alone. 

Her heart quickened a little as she passed into the deep shadow. She wasnot nervous as a rule, but there was something mysterious about theplace, something vaguely disquieting. The gurgle of the stream that fedthe lake sounded curiously remote. 

She turned towards the rustic seat on which she had rested that day, andon the instant her pulses leapt to sudden alarm. There was a stealthymovement in front of her; a crouching object that looked monstrous in thegloom detached itself from the shadow and began to move away. For amoment she thought it was some animal; then there came to her theunmistakable though muffled tread of human feet, and swift as an arrowcomprehension pierced her. The thing in front of her was Tawny Hudson. 

But why was he skulking there? Why did he seek thus to avoid her? Whatwas the man doing? The agitated questions raced through her brain atlightning speed, and after them came a horrible, a sickening suspicion. 

Whence it arose she could not have said, but the memory of Nap's faceonly half an hour before, when Tawny Hudson had been under discussion, arose in her mind and confirmed it almost before she knew that it wasthere. She had often suspected the half-breed of harbouring a dislike forNap. More often still she had noted Nap's complete and perfectly obviouscontempt for him. He had tolerated him, no more, for Lucas's sake. Was itnot highly probable that now that the restraining influence was gone theman's animosity had flamed to hatred? And if he were really crazy, asBertie believed, to what lengths might he not carry it?

Fear stabbed her, fear that was anguish. At any moment now Nap might bereturning, and if Tawny were indeed lying in wait for him--

She traversed the deep shadow cast by the cedar and looked forth into thepark beyond. The man had disappeared. He must have doubled back amongthe trees of the shrubbery; and she knew he must be crouching somewherein concealment not far away, for all sound of footsteps had ceased. Didhe fancy she had not seen him, she wondered? Was he hoping that she wouldturn and go back by the way she had come, leaving him free to accomplishhis purpose, whatever it might be?

And then her heart suddenly stood still, for away in the distance, walking with his light, swinging gait over the moonlit sward, she sawNap. 

In that moment her fear took definite and tangible form, and a horror ofthe thing that lurked in the shadows behind her seized her, goading herto action. She passed out into the quiet moonlight and moved to meet him. 

Her impulse was to run, but she restrained it, dreading lest she mightprecipitate the disaster she feared. Hudson must not suspect herintention, must not know of the panic at her heart. 

Nap did not see her at once. The background of trees obscured her. Butas she drew away from them he caught sight of her, and instantlyquickened his pace. 

They met scarcely fifty yards from the cedar, and breathlessly Annespoke. "Turn back with me a little way. I have something to say to you. "

He wheeled at once, with no show of surprise. Though he must have seenher agitation he did not ask its cause. 

They walked several paces before Anne spoke again. "You will think mevery strange, but I have had a fright. I--I want you, Nap, to--tounderstand and not think me foolish or laugh at me. "

"I couldn't do either if I tried, " said Nap. "Who has been frighteningyou? Tawny Hudson?"

"Yes, Tawny Hudson. " Anne was still breathless; she glanced nervouslyover her shoulder. "Shall we walk a little faster? He--he is lurking inthose trees, and do you know I don't think he is safe? I think--I can'thelp thinking--that he is lying in wait for you to--to do you amischief. "

Nap stopped dead. "That so? Then I reckon I will go and deal withhim at once. "

"Oh, no!" she gasped. "No! Nap, are you mad?"

He gave her a queer look. "By no means, Lady Carfax, though I believe Ishould be if I went any farther with you. You stay here while I go andinvestigate. "

He would have left her with the words, but on the instant desperationseized Anne. Her strained nerves would not bear this. She caught his arm, holding him fast. 

"You must not! You shall not! Or if you do I am coming with you. You--youare not going alone. "

"I am going alone, " Nap said; but he stood still, facing her, watchingher as he had watched her on that day long ago when he had lain helplessin her arms in the snow, the day that revelation had first come to hershrinking heart. "I am going alone, " he repeated very deliberately. "Andyou will wait here till I come back. "

She felt that he was putting forth his strength to compel her, andsomething within her warned her that he was stronger in that moment thanshe. She did not understand his ascendency over her, but she could nothelp being aware of it. Her agitated hold upon his arm began to slacken. 

"Oh, don't go!" she entreated weakly. "Please don't go! I can't bearit. It--it's too much. Nap, if--if any harm comes to you, I--I think itwill kill me. "

There came a sudden gleam in his sombre eyes that seemed to stab her, butit was gone instantly, before he spoke in answer. 

"Lady Carfax, you are not foolish--you are sublime! But--be wise aswell. " Very quietly he extricated his arm from her clinging hands andturned to go. "Don't watch me, " he said. "Go on to the bridge and waitfor me there. "

He was gone. Blindly she obeyed him; blindly she moved towards the bridgethat spanned the stream. She was trembling so much that she could hardlywalk, but almost mechanically she urged herself on. No other course wasopen to her. 

She reached the bridge, and leaned upon the handrail. She thought thebeating of her heart would suffocate her. She strained her ears tolisten, but she could hear nought else; and for a time she actuallylacked the physical strength to turn and look. 

At last, after the passage of many minutes, she summoned her sinkingcourage. Faint and dizzy still, she managed to raise her head. Themoonlight danced in her eyes, but with immense effort she compelledherself to look back. 

The next instant utter amazement seized and possessed her, dominating herfear. Nap was standing just beyond the outspreading boughs of the cedar, a straight relentless figure, with the arrogance of complete mastery inevery line, while at his feet grovelled and whimpered the greathalf-breed, Tawny Hudson. 

Nap was speaking. She could not hear what he said, but spell-bound shewatched, while a curious sensation of awe tingled through her. The manwas so superbly self-confident. 

Suddenly she saw him stoop and take something from his prostrate enemy. Asharp doubt assailed her. She saw the wretched Tawny cringe lower andcover his face. She saw the moonlight glint upon the thing in Nap's hand. 

He seemed to be considering it, for he turned it this way and that, making it flash and flash again. And then abruptly, with a swift turn ofthe wrist, he spun it high into the air. It made a shining curve, andfell with a splash into the stream. She saw the widening ripples fromwhere she stood. 

But she did not stay to watch them. Her attention was focussed upon thescene that was being enacted before her. 

It was very nearly over. Tawny Hudson had lifted his head, and she sawsubmission the most abject on his upraised face. He seemed to be pleadingfor something, and after a moment, with the faintest shrug of theshoulders, Nap lifted one hand and made a curious gesture above him. Thenext instant he turned upon his heel and came towards her, while TawnyHudson got up and slunk away into the shadows. 

Anne awaited him, standing quite motionless. She knew now what hadhappened. He had grappled with the man's will just as once he hadgrappled with hers. And he had conquered. She expected him toapproach her with the royal swagger of victory, and involuntarily sheshrank, dreading to encounter him in that mood, painfully aware ofher own weakness. 

He came to her; he stood before her. "Anne, " he said, "forgive me!"

She gazed at him in astonishment. "Forgive you!" she repeated. "But why?"

"I have no right to practise the black arts in your presence, " he said, "though as a matter of fact there was no other way. I've frightened thepoor devil out of his senses. Aren't you frightened too?"

"I don't understand, " she answered rather piteously. "I am only thankfulthat you are not hurt. "

"That's good of you, " he said, and she heard no irony in his voice. Heleaned his arms upon the rail beside her, and stared down in silencefor several moments into the dark water. "If this had happened aweek--less than a week--ago, " he said at length, speaking very quietly, "I would have let the fellow knife me with the utmost pleasure. I shouldeven have been grateful to him. And"--he turned very slightly towardsher--"you would have had cause for gratitude too, for Luke would havebeen with you to-day. "

She shrank a little at his words. "I don't understand, " she said again. 

He stood up and faced her with abrupt resolution. "I am going to make youunderstand, " he said, "once and for all. It's a rather hideous recital, but you had better hear it. I will condense it as much as possible. I'vebeen an evil brute all my life, but I guess you know that already. Thefirst time I saw you I wanted to ruin you. I never meant to fall in lovewith you. I kicked against it--kicked hard. Good women alwaysexasperated me. But I wanted a new sensation, and, by heaven, I got it!"He paused a moment, and she saw his grim features relax very slightly. "Iwas caught in my own net, " he said. "I believe there is magic in you. Youcaptured me anyway. I did homage to you--in spite of myself. After thatnight the relish went out of everything for me. I wanted only you. "

Again he paused, but she said nothing. She was listening with hersteadfast eyes upon him. 

"But you kept me at a distance, " he said, "and I couldn't help myself. That was the maddening part of it. Lucas knew even then--or suspected. But he didn't interfere. He saw you were taming me. And so you were--soyou were. But that thrashing upset everything. It drove me mad. I wascrazy for revenge. Lucas made me go away, but I couldn't stay. I was likea man possessed. My hatred for your husband had swamped my love for you. You have got to know it, Anne; I am like that. I wanted to wreak myvengeance on him through you, because I knew--by then--that I had somehowreached your heart. And so I came to you--I saw you--and then I couldn'tdo it. Your love--I suppose I may call it that?--barred the way. It wasyour safeguard. You trusted me, and for that I wanted to fall down andworship you. But you sent me away--I had to go. You made a man of me. Ilived a clean life because of you. I was your slave. I believe I shouldhave remained so if your husband had died then. But the knowledge that hewas coming back to you was too much for me. I couldn't stand that. Ibroke free. "

He stopped suddenly and brought his clenched fist down upon the rail asif physical pain were a relief to his soul. 

"I needn't go into what happened then, " he said. "You saw me at my worst, and--you conquered me. You drove me out of your stronghold, and youlocked the door. I don't know even now how you did it. None but a goodwoman would have dared. Do you know, when I came to my senses and knewwhat I had done, knew that I'd insulted you, killed your trust--yourlove, made you despise me, I nearly shot myself? It was Dot who kept mefrom that. She guessed, I suppose. And I went away--I went right awayinto the Rockies--and fought my devils there. I came back saner than youhave ever known me, to hear that you were free. Can you believe that Iactually told myself that you were mine--mine for the winning? Istretched out my hands to you across half the world, and I felt as ifwherever you were I had somehow managed to reach and touch you. It wasexactly a year from the day I had first met you. "

"Ah, I remember!" Anne said, her voice quick with pain; but she did nottell him what she remembered. 

He went on rapidly, as if she had not spoken. "And then I came to you. And--I found--I found Luke--in possession. Well, that was the end ofeverything for me. I couldn't help knowing that it was the best thingthat could possibly happen to either of you. And I--well, I was just outof it. I would have gone again that night, but Luke wouldn't have it. Hesuspected from the first, though I lied to him--I lied royally. But Icouldn't keep it up. He was too many for me. He wouldn't let me drop out, but neither would I let him. I fought every inch. I wouldn't let him die. I held him night and day--night and day. I knew what it meant to youtoo, and I knew you would help me afterwards to drop out. My whole soulwas in it, but even so, I couldn't hold on for ever. I had to slacken atlast, and he--he slackened too. I knew it directly, felt him losinghold. That was two days before he died. And I pulled myself together andgrabbed him again. I think he knew. He tried to wake up, said he'd getwell, made me let go of him, made me explain things to you. Andthen--well, I guess he thought his part was done--so he just--let go. "

Abruptly he turned from her and leaned again upon the rail, lodging hishead on his hands. "That's all, " he said. "But if Tawny had taken it intohis fool brain to make an end of me a little sooner--as I meant him to--Iknow very well Luke would have hung on--somehow--for your sake. Oh, Iwish to heaven he had!" he burst out fiercely. "I'm not fit to speak toyou, not fit to touch your hand. You--you--I believe you'd be kind to meif I would let you. But I won't--I won't! I'm going away. It rests withme now to protect you somehow, and there is no other way. "

He ceased to speak, and in the silence she watched his bent head, greatlywondering, deeply pitying. When he stood up again she knew that thetumult that tore his soul had been forced down out of sight. 

"You see how it is with me, Anne, " he said very sadly. "Tawny Hudsonthinks I'm a devil, and I'm not sure--even now--that he isn't right. That's why I'm going away. I won't have you trust me, for I can't trustmyself. And you have no one to protect you from me. So you won't blame mefor going? You'll understand?"

His words went straight to her heart. She felt the quick tearsrising, but she kept them back. She knew that he needed strength fromher just then. 

And so, after a moment, she commanded herself, and answered him. 

"I think you are quite right to go, Nap. And--yes, I understand. Only--some day--some day--come back again!"

He leaned towards her. His face had flashed into sudden vitality at herwords. He made a movement as if he would take her into his arms. And thenabruptly, almost with violence, he withdrew himself, and gripped hishands together behind him. 

Standing so, with the moonlight shining on his face, he showed her thatwhich her heart ached to see. For though the dusky eyes were fixed andstill, unveiled but unrevealing, though the high cheek-bones and lanternjaw were grim as beaten brass, she had a glimpse beyond of the seething, volcanic fires she dreaded, and she knew that he had spoken the truth. Itwas better for them both that he should go. 

"I will come back to you, Anne, " he said, speaking very steadily. "Iwill come back to you--if I find I can. "

It was final, and she knew it. She held out her hand to him in silence, and he, stooping, pressed it dumbly against his lips. 

Thereafter they walked back to the house together, and partedwithout a word. 

CHAPTER XIX

OUT OF THE FURNACE

Capper looked round with a certain keenness that was not untouched withcuriosity when Nap unexpectedly followed him to his room that night. 

"Are you wanting anything?" he demanded, with his customary directness. 

"Nothing much, " Nap said. "You might give me a sleeping-draught if you'redisposed to be charitable. I seem to have lost the knack of going tosleep. What I really came to say was that Hudson will go with youto-morrow if you will be good enough to put up with him. He won't giveyou any trouble. I would let him go with me next week if his wits wouldstand the strain of travelling in my company, but I don't think theywill. I don't want to turn him into a gibbering maniac if I can help it. "

"What have you been doing to him?" said Capper. 

Nap smiled, faintly contemptous. "My dear doctor, I never do anything toanybody. If people choose to credit me with possessing unholy powers, you will allow that I am scarcely to be blamed if the temptation to tradenow and then upon their fertile imaginations proves too much for me. "

"I allow nothing, " Capper said, "that is not strictly normal andwholesome. "

"Then that places me on the black list at once, " remarked Nap. "Good-night!"

"Stay a moment!" ordered Capper. "Let me look at you. If you willpromise to behave like an ordinary human being for once, I'll give youthat draught. "

"I'll promise anything you like, " said Nap, a shade of weariness in hisvoice. "I'm going up to town to-morrow, and I never sleep there so Ireckon this is my last chance for some time to come. "

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" asked Capper abruptly. 

But Nap only threw up his head and laughed. "If that were my object I'dtake a shorter cut than this. No, I guess I shan't die this way, Doctor. You seem to forget the fact that I'm as tough as leather, with thevitality of a serpent. "

"The toughest of us won't go for ever, " observed Capper. "You get to bed. I'll come to you directly. "

When he joined him again, a few minutes later, Nap was lying on his backwith arms flung wide, staring inscrutably at the ceiling. His mind seemedto be far away, but Capper's hand upon his pulse brought it back. Heturned his head with the flicker of a smile. 

"What's that for?"

"I happen to take an interest in you, my son, " said Capper. 

"Very good of you. But why?"

Capper was watching him keenly. "Because I have a notion that youare wanted. "

Nap stirred restlessly, and was silent. 

"How long are you going to be away?" Capper asked. 

"I don't know. "

"For long?"

Nap's hand jerked impatiently from the doctor's hold. "Possiblyfor ever. "

Capper's long fingers began to crack. He looked speculative. "Say, Nap, "he said suddenly, "we may not be exactly sympathetic, you and I, but Iguess we've pulled together long enough to be fairly intimate. Anyway, I've conceived a sort of respect for you that I never expected to have. And if you'll take a word of advice from a friend who wishes you well, you won't regret it. "

The thin lips began to smile. "Delighted to listen to your advice, Doctor. I suspect I'm not obliged to follow it. "

"You will please yourself, no doubt, " Capper rejoined drily. "But myadvice is, don't stay away too long. Your place is here. "

"You think so?" said Nap. 

"I am quite sure, " Capper said, with emphasis. 

"And you think I shall please myself by going?"

"Who else?" said Capper almost sternly. 

Nap did not instantly reply. He was lying back with his face in shadow. When he spoke at length it was with extreme deliberation. Capper divinedthat it was an effort to him to speak at all. 

"You're a family friend, " he said. "I guess you've a right to know. Itisn't for my own sake I'm going at all. It's for--hers, and because of apromise I made to Luke. If I were to stop, I'd be a cur--and worse. She'dtake me without counting the cost. She is a woman who never thinks ofherself. I've got to think for her. I've sworn to play the straight game, and I'll play it. That's why I won't so much as look into her face againtill I know that I can be to her what Luke would have been--what Bertieis to Dot--what every man who is a man ought to be to the woman he hasmade his wife. "

He flung his arms up above his head and remained tense for severalseconds. Then abruptly he relaxed. 

"I'll be a friend to her, " he said, "a friend that she cantrust--or nothing!"

There came a very kindly look into Capper's green eyes, but he made nocomment of any sort. He only turned aside to take up the glass he had setdown on entering. And as he did so, he smiled as a man well pleased. 

Once during the night he looked in upon Nap and found him sleeping, wrapt in a deep and silent slumber, motionless as death. He stood awhilewatching the harsh face with its grim mouth and iron jaw, and slowly acertain pity dawned in his own. The man had suffered infernally before hehad found his manhood. He had passed through raging fires that had lefttheir mark upon him for the rest of his life. 

"It's been an almighty big struggle, poor devil, " said Capper, "but it'smade a man of you. "

He left early on the following day, accompanied by Tawny Hudson, whosedocility was only out-matched by his very obvious desire to be gone. 

True to her promise, Anne was down in time to take leave of Capper. Theystood together for a moment on the steps before parting. Her hand in his, he looked straight into her quiet eyes. 

"You're not grieving any, Lady Carfax?"

"No, " she said. 

"I guess you're right, " said Maurice Capper gravely. "We make our littlebids for happiness, but it helps one to remember that the issue lieswith God. "

She gave him a smile of understanding. "'He knows about it all--Heknows--He knows, '" she quoted softly. And Capper went his way, takingwith him the memory of a woman who still ploughed her endless furrow, butwith a heart at peace. 

CHAPTER XX

THE PROMOTION OF THE QUEEN'S JESTER

"My!" said Mrs. Errol. "Isn't he just dear?"

There was a cooing note in her deep voice. She sat in the Dower Housegarden with her grandson bolt upright upon her knees, and all the birdsof June singing around her. 

"Isn't he dear, Anne?" she said. 

Anne, who was dangling a bunch of charms for the baby's amusement, stooped and kissed the sunny curls. 

"He's a lord of creation, " she said. "And he knows it already. I neversaw such an upright morsel in my life. "

"Lucas was like that, " said Mrs. Errol softly. "He was just the loveliestbaby in the U. S. A. Everyone said so. Dot dearie, I'm sort of glad youcalled him Luke. "

"So am I, mater dearest. And he's got Luke's eyes, hasn't he now? Bertiesaid so from the very beginning. " Eagerly Dot leaned from her chair toturn her small son's head to meet his grandmother's scrutiny. "I'd ratherhe were like Luke than anyone else in the world, " she said. "It isn'ttreason to Bertie to say so, for he wants it too. Where is Bertie, Iwonder? He had to go to town, but he promised to be back early for hisboy's first birthday-party. It's such an immense occasion, isn't it?"

Her round face dimpled in the way Bertie most loved. She rose and slippeda hand through Anne's arm. 

"Let's go and look for him. I know he can't be long now. The son of thehouse likes having his granny to himself. He never cries with her. "

They moved away together through the sunlit garden, Dot chattering gailyas her fashion was about nothing in particular while Anne walked besideher in sympathetic silence. Anne was never inattentive though there weresome who deemed her unresponsive. 

But as they neared the gate Dot's volubility quite suddenly died down. She plucked a white rose, to fill in the pause and fastened it in herfriend's dress. Her fingers trembled unmistakably as she did it, and Annelooked at her inquiringly. "Is anything the matter?"

"No. Why?" said Dot, turning very red. 

Anne smiled a little. "I feel as if a bird had left off singing, " shesaid. 

Dot laughed, still with hot cheeks. "What a pretty way of putting it!Bertie isn't nearly so complimentary. He calls me the magpie, which isreally very unfair, for he talks much more than I do. Dear old Bertie!"

The dimples lingered, and Anne bent suddenly and kissed them. "Dearlittle Dot!" she said. 

Instantly Dot's arms were very tightly round her. "Anne darling, I've gotsomething to tell you--something you very possibly won't quite like. Youwon't be vexed any, will you?"

"Not any, " smiled Anne. 

"No, but it isn't a small thing. It--it's rather immense. But Bertie saidI was to tell you, because you are not to be taken by surprise again. Hedoesn't think it fair, and of course he's right. "

"What is it, dear?" said Anne. The smile had gone from her face, but hereyes were steadfast and very still--the eyes of a woman who had waitedall her life. 

"My dear, " said Dot, holding her closely, "it's only that Bertie didn'tgo up to town on business. It was to meet someone, and--and that someonewill be with him when he comes back. I promised Bertie to tell you, butyou were so late getting here I was afraid I shouldn't have time. Oh, Anne dear, I do hope you don't mind. "

Dot's face, a guilty scarlet, was hidden in Anne's shoulder. Anne's hand, very quiet and steady, came up and began to stroke the fluffy hair thatblew against her neck. But she said nothing. 

It was Dot who remorsefully broke the silence. "I feel such a beast, Anne, but really I had no hand in it this time. He wrote to Bertieyesterday from town. He hasn't been in England for over a year, and hewanted to know if he could come to us. Bertie went up this morning to seehim and bring him back. I thought of coming round to you, but Bertieseemed to think I had better wait and tell you when you came. I hoped youwould have come earlier, so that I would have had more time to tell youabout it. Dear, do tell me it's all right. "

"It is all right, " Anne said, and with the words she smiled again thoughher face was pale. "It is quite all right, Dot dear. Don't be anxious. "

Dot looked up with a start. "That's the motor coming now. Oh, Anne, I'veonly told you just in time!"

She was quivering with excitement. It seemed as if she were far the moreagitated of the two. For Anne was calm to all outward appearance, quietand stately and unafraid. Only the hand that grasped Dot's was cold--coldas ice. The motor was rapidly approaching. They stood by the gate andheard the buzzing of the engine, the rush of the wheels, and then thequick, gay blasts of the horn by which Bertie always announced his comingto his wife. A moment more and the car whizzed into the drive. There camea yell of welcome from Bertie at the wheel and the instant checking ofthe motor. 

And the man beside Bertie leaned swiftly forward, bareheaded, and lookedstraight into Anne's white face. 

She did not know how she met his look. It seemed to pierce her. Butshe was nerved for the ordeal, and she moved towards him withoutstretched hand. 

His fingers closed upon it as he stepped from the car, gripped andclosely held it. But he spoke not a word to her; only to Dot, whom hekissed immediately afterwards, to her confusion and Bertie's amusement. 

"I seem to have stumbled into a family gathering, " he said later, whenthey gave him the place of honour between Mrs. Errol and his hostess. 

"Being one of the family, I guess it's a happy accident, " saidMrs. Errol. 

He bowed to her elaborately. "Many thanks, alma mater! Considering theshort time you have had for preparing a pretty speech of welcome it doesyou undoubted credit. "

"Oh, my, Nap!" she said. "I'm past making pretty speeches at my age. Ijust say what I mean. "

A gleam of surprise crossed his dark face. "That so, alma mater?" hesaid. "Then--considering all things--again thanks!" He turned from her tothe baby sprawling on the rug at his feet, and lifted the youngster tohis knee. "So this is the pride of the Errols now, " he said. 

The baby stared up at him with serious eyes, and very deliberately andintently Nap stared back. 

"What is his name, Dot?" he asked at length. 

"Lucas Napoleon, " she said. 

"Good heavens!" he ejaculated. "What an unholy combination! What inthunder possessed you to call him that?"

"Oh, it wasn't my doing, " Dot hastened to explain, with her usualhonesty, "though of course I was delighted with the idea. Bertie and Icalled him Lucas almost before he was born. "

"Then who in wonder chose my name for him?" demanded Nap. 

"See the Church Catechism!" suggested Bertie. 

"Ah! Quite so. " Nap turned upon him keenly. "Who were his god-parents?"

"My dear Nap, what does it matter?" broke in Dot. "Be quiet, Bertie! Forgoodness' sake make him put the child down and have some tea. "

"Let me take him, " Anne said. 

She stooped to lift the boy, who held out his arms to her with a crow ofpleasure. Nap looked up at her, and for an instant only their eyes met;but in that instant understanding dawned upon Nap's face, and with it astrangely tender smile that made it almost gentle. 

Dot declared afterwards that the birthday-party had been all she couldhave desired. Everyone had been nice to everyone, and the baby hadn'tbeen rude to his uncle, a calamity she had greatly feared. Also Nap wasimproved, hugely improved. Didn't Bertie think so? He seemed to have gotso much more human. She couldn't realise there had ever been a time whenshe had actually disliked him. 

"P'r'aps we're more human ourselves, " suggested Bertie; a notion whichhadn't occurred to Dot but which she admitted might have something in it. 

Anyway, she was sure Nap had improved, and she longed to know if Annethought so too. 

Anne's thoughts upon that subject, however, were known to none, perhapsnot even to herself. All she knew was an overwhelming desire forsolitude, but when this was hers at last it was not in the considerationof this question that she spent it. 

It was in kneeling by her open window with her face to the sky, andin her heart a rapture of gladness that all the birds of June couldnot utter. 

She scarcely slept at all that night, yet when she rose some of the bloomof youth had come back to her, some of its summer splendour was shiningin her eyes. Anne Carfax was more nearly a beautiful woman that day thanshe had ever been before. 

Dimsdale looked at her benignly. Would her ladyship breakfastout-of-doors? She smiled and gave her assent, and while he was preparingshe plucked a spray of rose acacia and pinned it at her throat. 

"Dimsdale, " she said, and her cheeks flushed to the soft tint of theblossom as she spoke, "Mr. Errol is coming over this morning. I expecthim to luncheon. "

"Mr. Errol, my lady?"

"Mr. Nap Errol, " said Anne, still intent upon the acacia. "Show him intothe garden when he comes. He is sure to find me somewhere. "

Dimsdale's eyes opened very wide, but he managed his customary "Verygood, my lady, " as he continued his preparations. And so Anne breakfastedamid the tumult of rejoicing June, all the world laughing around her, allthe world offering abundant thanksgiving because of the sunshine thatflooded it. 

When breakfast was over she sat with closed eyes, seeming to hear thevery heart of creation throbbing in every sound, yet listening, listeningintently for something more. For a long time she sat thus, absorbed inthe great orchestra, waiting as it were to take her part in the mightysymphony that swept its perfect harmonies around her. 

It was a very little thing at last that told her her turn had come, sosmall a thing, and yet it sent the blood tingling through every vein, racing and pulsing with headlong impetus like a locked stream suddenlyset free. It was no more than the flight of a startled bird from the treeabove her. 

She opened her eyes, quivering from head to foot. Yesterday she hadcommanded herself. She had gone to him with outstretched hand andwelcoming smile. To-day she sat quite still. She could not move. 

He came to her, stooped over her, then knelt beside her; but he did notoffer to touch her. The sunlight streamed down upon his upturned face. His eyes were deep and still and passionless. 

"You expected me, " he said. 

She looked down at him. "I have been expecting you for a very longtime, " she said. 

A flicker that was scarcely a smile crossed his face. "And yet I've cometoo soon, " he said. 

"Why do you say that?" She asked the question almost in spite of herself. But she had begun to grow calmer. His quietness reassured her. 

"Because, my Queen, " he said, "the _rôle_ of jester at court isobsolete, at least so far as I am concerned, and I haven't managed toqualify for another. "

"Do you want another?" she said. 

He turned his eyes away from her. "I want--many things, " he said. 

She motioned him to the seat beside her. "Tell me what you have beendoing all this time. "

"I can't, " he said. 

But he rose and sat beside her as she desired. 

"What under heaven have I been doing?" he said. "I don't know, I guessI've been something like Nebuchadnezzar when they turned him out tograss. I've been just--ruminating, "

"Is that all?" There was a curious note of relief in Anne's voice. 

His old magnetic smile flashed across his face as he caught it. "That'sall, Queen Anne. It's been monstrous dull. Do you know, I don't thinkHeaven intended me for a hermit. "

Involuntarily almost she smiled in answer. Her heart was beating quitesteadily again. She was no longer afraid. 

"Nebuchadnezzar came to his own again, " she observed. 

"He did, " said Nap. 

"And you?"

He leaned back with his face to the sky. "Not yet, " he said. 

Anne was silent. He turned after a moment and looked at her. "And whathave you been doing, 0 Queen?" he said. 

Her hands were clasped in her lap. They suddenly gripped each othervery fast. 

"Won't you tell me?" said Nap. 

He spoke very softly, but he made no movement towards her. He sat aloofand still. Yet he plainly desired an answer. 

It came at last, spoken almost in a whisper. "I have been--waiting. "

"Waiting--" he said. 

She parted her hands suddenly, with a gesture that was passionate, androse. "Yes, waiting, " she said, "waiting, Nap, waiting! And oh, I'm sotired of it. I'm not like you. I have never wanted--many things; onlyone--only one!" Her voice broke. She turned sharply from him. 

Nap had sprung to his feet. He stood close to her. But he held himselfin check. He kept all emotion out of his face and voice. 

"Do you think I don't know?" he said. "My dear Anne, I have always known. That's the damnable part of it. You've wanted truth instead oftreachery, honour instead of shame, love instead of--"

She put out a quick hand. "Don't say it, Nap!"

He took her hand, drew it to his heart, and held it there. "And you sayyou don't want many things, " he went on, in a tone half sad, halfwhimsical. "My dear, if I could give you one tenth of what you want--andought to have--you'd be a lucky woman and I a thrice lucky man. But--we've got to face it--I can't. I thought I could train myself, fashion myself, into something worthy of your acceptance. I can't. Ithought I could win back your trust, your friendship, last of all yourlove. But I can't even begin. You can send me away from you if you will, and I'll go for good and all. On the other hand, you can keep me, you canmarry me--" He paused; and she fancied she felt his heart quicken. "Youcan marry me, " he said again, "but you can't tame me. You'll find me aninfernal trial to live with. I'm not a devil any longer. No, and I'm nota brute. But I am still a savage at heart, and there are some parts of methat won't tame. My love for you is a seething furnace, an intolerablecraving. I can't contemplate you sanely. I want you unspeakably. "

His hold had tightened. She could feel his heart throbbing now like afierce thing caged. His eyes had begun to glow. The furnace door wasopening. She could feel the heat rushing out, enveloping her. Soon itwould begin to scorch her. And yet she knew no shrinking. Rather she drewnearer, as a shivering creature starved and frozen draws near to thehunter's fire. 

He went on speaking rapidly, with rising passion. "My love for you is theone part of me that I haven't got under control, and it's such a mightybig part that the rest is hardly worthy of mention. It's great enough tomake everything else contemptible. I've no use for lesser things. I wantjust you--only you--only you--for the rest of my life!"

He stopped suddenly, seemed on the verge of something further, thenpulled himself together with a sharp gesture. The next moment, quitequietly, he relinquished her hand. 

"I'm afraid that's all there is to me, " he said. "Lucas would have givenyou understanding, friendship, chivalry, all that a good woman wants. Ican only offer you--bondage. "

He half turned with the words, standing as if it needed but a sign todismiss him. But Anne made no sign. Over their heads a thrush hadsuddenly begun to pour out his soul to the June sunshine, and she stoodspell-bound, listening. 

At the end of several breathless moments she spoke and in her voice wasa deep note that thrilled like music. 

"There is a bondage, " she said, "that is sweeter than any freedom. And, Nap, it is the one thing in this world that I want--that I need--that Ipray for night and day. "

"Anne!" he said. He turned back to her. He took the hands she gave him. "Anne, " he said again, speaking rapidly, in a voice that shook, "I havetried to play a straight game with you. I have warned you. I am not theright sort. You know what I am. You know. "

"Yes, " Anne said, "I know. " She raised her head and looked him straightin the eyes. "You are all the world to me, Nap, " she said. "You are theman I love. "

His arms caught her, crushed her fiercely to him, held her fast. 

"Say it again!" he said, his fiery eyes flaming. "Say it! Say it!"

But Anne said nought. Only for a long, long second she gazed into hisface; then in utter silence she turned her lips to his. 

 * * * * *

They spent the whole of the long June day together in the garden. Neitherknew how the time went till evening came upon them all unawares--a goldenevening of many fragrances. 

They came at last along the green path under the lilac trees, and hereby the rustic seat Nap stopped. 

"I'll leave you here, " he said. 

She looked at him in surprise. "Won't you dine with me?"

"No, " he said restlessly. "I won't come in. I should stifle under a roofto-night. "

"But we will dine outside, " she said. 

He shook his head. "No, I'm going. Anne, " he caught her hand to his lips, "I hate leaving you. How long must I be condemned to it?"

She touched his shoulder with her cheek. "Don't you know that I hate ittoo?" she said. 

"Then--" He put his arm round her. 

"Next week, Nap, " she said. 

"You mean it?"

"Yes. I mean it. "

"You will marry me next week. What day?"

"Any day, " she said, with her face against his shoulder. 

"Any day, Anne? You mean that? You mean me to choose?"

She laughed softly. "I shall leave everything to you. "

"Then I choose Sunday, " Nap said, without an instant's consideration, "asearly in the morning as possible. I shall go straight to the padre andarrange it right now. "

"Very well, " she said. "I'll try to be ready. "

He threw up his head with the old arrogant gesture. "You must be ready, "he said imperiously. "I shall come and fetch you myself. "

She laughed again at that. "Indeed you will not. I shall go withMrs. Errol. "

He conceded this point, albeit grudgingly. "And afterwards?" he said. 

"The afterwards shall be yours, dear, " she answered. 

"You mean that?"

"Of course I mean it. "

"Then, Anne"--he bent his face suddenly, his lips moved against herforehead--"will you come with me to Bramhurst?"

"Bramhurst!" She started a little. The name to her was no more than abitter memory among the many other bitter memories of her life. 

"Will you?" he said. 

"If you wish it, " she answered gently. 

"I do wish it. "

"Then--so be it, " she said. 

He bent his head a little lower, kissed her twice passionately upon thelips, held her awhile as if he could not bear to let her go, then torehimself almost violently from her, and went away, swift and noiseless asa shadow over the grass. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE POWER THAT CASTS OUT DEVILS

It was late on the evening of her wedding-day that Anne entered oncemore the drawing-room of the little inn at Bramhurst and stopped by theopen window. 

There was a scent of musk in the room behind her, and an odour infinitelymore alluring of roses and honeysuckle in the garden in front. Beyond thegarden the common lay in the rosy dusk of the afterglow under a deep bluesky. The clang of a distant cow-bell came dreamily through the silence. 

She stood leaning against the door-post with her face to the night. Itwas a night of wonder, of marvellous, soul-stilling peace. Yet her browswere slightly drawn as she waited there. She seemed to be puzzling oversomething. 

"Say it out loud, " said Nap. 

She did not start at the words though he had come up behind her withoutsound. She stretched out her hand without turning and drew his armthrough hers. 

"Why did we choose this place?" she said. 

"You didn't choose it, " said Nap. 

"Then you?"

"I chose it chiefly because I knew you hated it, " he said, a queervibration of recklessness in his voice. 

"My dear Nap, am I to believe that?"

He looked at her through the falling dusk, and his hand closed tense andvital upon her arm. "It's the truth anyway, " he said. "I knew you hatedthe place, that you only came to it for my sake. And I--I made you comebecause I wanted you to love it. "

"For your sake, Nap?" she said softly. 

"Yes, and for another reason. " He paused a moment; speech seemed suddenlyan effort to him. Then: "Anne, " he said, "you forgave me, I know, longago; but I want you here--on this spot--to tell me that what happenedhere is to you as if it had never been. I want it blotted out of yourmind for ever. I want your trust--your trust!"

It was like a hunger-cry rising from the man's very soul. At sound of itshe turned impulsively. 

"Nap, never speak of this again! My dearest, we need not have come herefor that. Yet I am glad now that we came. It will be holy ground to me aslong as I live. As long as I live, " she repeated very earnestly, "I shallremember that it was here that the door of paradise was opened to us atlast, and that God meant us to enter in. "

She lifted her eyes to his with a look half-shy, half-confident. "Youbelieve in God, " she said. 

He did not answer at once. He was looking out beyond her for the firsttime, and the restless fire had gone out of his eyes. They were still anddeep as a mountain pool. 

"Nap, " she said in a whisper. 

Instantly his look came back to her. He took her face between his handswith a tenderness so new that it moved her inexplicably to tears. 

"I believe in the Power that casts out devils, " he said very gravely. "Luke taught me that much. I guess my wife will teach me the rest. "