THE ROCKS OF VALPRÉ

by

ETHEL M. DELL

Author of "The Way of an Eagle, " "The Knave of Diamonds, " etc. 

1913

I Dedicate This Book To MY MOTHER

AS A VERY SMALL TOKEN OF THAT LOVE WHICH NO WORDS CAN EXPRESS

 "Love is indestructible:Its holy flame for ever burneth, From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth; Too oft on Earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times opprest, It here is tried and purified, Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest:It soweth here with toil and care, Bat the harvest-time of Love is there. "

_The Curse of Kehama_--Robert Southey. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

PROLOGUE

 I. THE KNIGHT OF THE MAGIC CAVE II. DESTINY III. A ROPE OF SAND IV. THE DIVINE MAGIC V. THE BIRTHDAY TREAT VI. THE SPELL VII. IN THE CAUSE OF A WOMANVIII. THE ENGLISHMAN

PART I

 I. THE PRECIPICE II. THE CONQUEST III. THE WARNING IV. DOUBTS V. DE PROFUNDIS VI. ENGAGED VII. THE SECOND WARNINGVIII. THE COMPACT IX. A CONFESSION X. A SURPRISE VISIT XI. THE EXPLANATION XII. THE BIRTHDAY PARTYXIII. PALS XIV. A REVELATION XV. MISGIVINGS XVI. MARRIED

PART II

 I. SUMMER WEATHER II. ONE OF THE FAMILY III. DISASTER IV. GOOD-BYE TO CHILDHOOD V. THE LOOKER-ON VI. A BARGAIN VII. THE ENEMYVIII. THE THIN END IX. THE ENEMY MOVES X. A WARNING VOICE XI. A BROKEN REED XII. A MAN OF HONOURXIII. WOMANHOOD

PART III

 I. WAR II. FIREWORKS III. THE TURN OF THE TIDE IV. "MINE OWN FAMILIAR FRIEND" V. A DESPERATE REMEDY VI. WHEN LOVE DEMANDS A SACRIFICE VII. THE WAY OF THE WYNDHAMSVIII. THE TRUTH

PART IV

 I. THE REFUGEE II. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR III. A FRUITLESS ERRAND IV. THE DESIRE OF HIS HEART V. THE STRANGER VI. MAN TO MAN VII. THE MESSENGERVIII. ARREST IX. VALPRÉ AGAIN X. THE INDESTRUCTIBLE XI. THE END OF THE VOYAGE XII. THE PROCESSION UNDER THE WINDOWS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER I

THE KNIGHT OF THE MAGIC CAVE

When Cinders began to dig a hole no power on earth, except brute force, could ever stop him till he sank exhausted. Not even the sight of a crabcould divert his thoughts from this entrancing occupation, much less hismistress's shrill whistle; and this was strange, for on all otheroccasions it was his custom to display the most exemplary obedience. 

Of a cheerful disposition was Cinders, deeply interested in all thingsliving, despising nothing however trivial, constantly seeking, and veryoften finding, treasures of supreme value in his own estimation. It wasprobably this passion for investigation that induced him to dig with suchenergy and perseverance, but he was not an interesting companion when thedigging mood was upon him. It was, in fact, advisable to keep at adistance, for he created a miniature sand-storm in his immediate vicinitythat spoiled the amusement of all except himself and successfully checkedall intrusive sympathy. 

"It really is too bad of him, " said Chris, as she sat on a rock at twelveyards' distance and dried her feet in melancholy preoccupation. "It's thethird day running, and I'm so tired of having nobody to talk to andnothing to do--not even a crab-hunt. "

There was some pleasure to be extracted from crab-hunting under Cinders'ardent leadership, but alone it held no fascinations. It really was justa little selfish of Cinders. 

She glanced towards him, and saw that the sand-storm had temporarilyabated. He was working away the heap that had collected beneath him inpreparation for more extensive operations. 

"Cinders!" she called, in the forlorn hope of attracting his attention. "Cinders!" Then, with a sudden spurt of animation, "Cinders darling, justcome and see what I've found!"

But Cinders was not so easily deceived. He stood a moment with his stubbylittle body tensely poised, then plunged afresh with feverish eagernessto his task. 

The sand-storm recommenced, and Chris turned with a sigh to contemplatethe blue horizon. A large steamer was travelling slowly across it. Shewatched it enviously. 

"Lucky people!" she said. "Lucky, lucky people!"

The wind caught her red-brown hair and blew it out like a cloak behindher. It was still damp, for she had been bathing, and when the wind hadpassed it settled again in long, gleaming ripples upon her shoulders. Shepushed it away from her face with an impatient hand. 

"Cinders, " she said, "if you don't come soon I shall go and find theKnight of the Magic Cave all by myself. "

But even this threat did not move the enthusiastic Cinders. All thatcould be seen of him was a pair of sturdy hind-legs firmly planted amid awhirl of sand. Quite plainly it was nothing to him what steps his youngmistress might see fit to take to relieve her boredom. 

"All right!" said Chris, springing to her feet with a flourish of hertowel. "Then good-bye!"

She shook the hair back from her face, slipped her bare feet intosandals, slung the towel across her shoulders, and turned her face to thecliffs. 

They frowned above the rock-strewn beach to a height of two hundred feet, tunnelled here and there by the sea, scored here and there by springs, rising mass upon mass, in some places almost perpendicular, in othersoverhanging. 

They possessed an immense fascination for Chris Wyndham, these cliffs. There was a species of dreadful romance about them that attracted evenwhile it awed her. She longed to explore them, and yet deep in the mostprivate recesses of her soul she was half-afraid. So many terriblestories were told of this particular corner of the rocky coast. So manyships were wrecked, so many lives were lost, so many hopes were quenchedforever between the cliffs and the sea. 

But these facts did not prevent her weaving romances about thosewonderful caves. For instance, there was the Magic Cave, for which shewas bound now, the entrance to which was only accessible at low tide. There was something particularly imposing about this entrance, somethingpalatial, that stirred the girl's quick fancy. She had never before quitereached it on account of the difficulty of the approach; but she hadpromised herself that she would do so sooner or later, when time and tideshould permit. 

Both chanced to be favourable on this particular afternoon, and she setforth light-footed upon the adventure, leaving Cinders to his monotonousbut all-engrossing pastime. A wide line of rocks stretched between herand her goal, which was dimly discernible in the deep shadow of thecliff--a mysterious opening that had the appearance of a low Gothicarchway. 

"I'm sure it's haunted, " said Chris, and fell forthwith to dreaming asshe stepped along the sunlit sand. 

Of course she would find an enchanted hall, peopled by crabs that werenot crabs at all, but the afore-mentioned knight and his retinue, allbound by the same wicked spell. "And I shall have to find out what it isand set him free, " said Chris, with a sigh of pleasurable anticipation. "And then, I suppose, he will begin to jabber French, and I shall wish togoodness I hadn't. I expect he will want to marry me, poor thing! And Ishall have to explain--in French, ugh!--that as he is only a foreigner Icouldn't possibly, under any circumstances, entertain such a preposterousnotion for a single instant. No, I am afraid that would sound ratherrude. How else could I put it?"

Chris's brow wrinkled over the problem. She had reached the outlyingrocks of the belt she had to cross, and was picking her way between thepools in deep abstraction. 

"I wonder!" she murmured to herself. "I wonder!"

Then suddenly her rapt expression broke into a merry smile. "I know!Of course! Absurdly easy! I shall tell him that I am under a spelltoo--bound beyond all chance of escape to marry an Englishman. " The sweetface dimpled over the inspiration. "That ought to settle him, unless heis very persevering; in which case of course I should have to tellhim--quite kindly--that I really didn't think I could. Fancy marrying acrab--and a French crab too!"

She began to laugh, gaily, irrepressibly, light-heartedly, and skipped onto the first weed-covered rock that obstructed her path. It was anexceedingly slippery perch. She poised herself with arms outspread, witha butterfly grace as airy as her visions. 

Away in the distance Cinders, nearing exhaustion, leaned on one elbow andscratched spasmodically with his free paw. 

"Good-bye, Cinders!" she called to him in her high young voice. "I'mnever coming back any more. "

Lightly she waved her hand and sprang for another rock. But her feetslipped on the seaweed, and she splashed down into a pool ankle-deep. 

"Bother!" she said, with vehemence. "It's these silly sandals. I'll leavethem here till I come back. "

She scrambled out again and pulled them off. "If I really don't come backI shan't want them, " she reflected, with her merry little smile. 

She arranged sandals and towel on the flat surface of a rock and pursuedher pilgrimage unhampered. 

She certainly managed better without the sandals, but even as it was sheslipped and slid a good deal on the treacherous seaweed. It took herconsiderably longer than she had anticipated to cross that belt of rocks. It was much farther than it looked. Moreover, the pools were so full ofinterest that she had to stop and investigate them as she went. Anemones, green and red, clung to the shining rocks, and crabs of all sizesscuttled away at her approach. 

"What a lot of retainers he must have!" said Chris. 

She was nearing the Gothic archway, and her heart began to beat fast inanticipation. What she really expected to find she could not have said. But undoubtedly this particular cave was many degrees more mysterious andmore eerie than any other she had ever explored. It was very lonely, andthe cliff that frowned above her was very black. The afternoon sun shonegenially upon all things, however, and this gave her courage. 

The waves foamed among the rocks but a few yards from the juttingheadland. Already the tide was turning. That meant that her time wasshort. 

"I won't go beyond the entrance to-day, " said Chris. "But to-morrow I'llstart earlier and go right in. P'raps Cinders will come too. It wouldn'tbe so lonely with Cinders. "

The rocks all about her lay scattered like gigantic ruins. She stoodupon a high boulder and peered around her. There was certainly somethingawe-inspiring about the place, the bright sun notwithstanding. It seemedto lie beneath a spell. She wondered if she would come across any bits ofwreckage, and suppressed a shudder. The Gothic archway looked very darkand vault-like from where she stood. Should she, after all, go anynearer? Should she wait till Cinders would deign to accompany her? Thetide was undoubtedly rising. In any case she would have to turn backwithin the next few minutes. 

Slowly she pivoted round and looked again from the smiling horizonwhereon no ship was visible to the Magic Cave that yawned in theface of the cliff. The next instant she jumped so violently thatshe missed her footing and fell from her perch in sheer amazement. Something--someone--was moving just within the deep shadow where thesunlight could not penetrate!

It was not a big drop, but she came to earth with a cry of pain among amass of fallen stones, whereon she subsided, tightly clasping one footbetween her hands. She had stumbled upon wreckage to her cost; a piece ofrusty iron at her side and the blood that ran out between her lockedfingers testified to that. 

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she wailed, rocking herself, and then glancednervously over her shoulder, remembering the mysterious cause of thedisaster. 

The next moment swiftly she released the injured foot and sprang up. Aman, attired in white linen, had emerged from the Magic Cave. 

He stood a second looking at her, then came bounding towards her over therocks. 

Chris shrank back against her boulder. She was feeling dizzy and rathersick, and the apparition frightened her. 

As he drew near she waved a desperate hand to stay his approach. "Oh, please go away!" she cried in English. "I--I don't want any help. I'monly looking for crabs. "

He paid no attention whatever to her gesture or to her words. Only, reaching her, he bowed very low, beginning with some formality, "_Mais, mademoiselle; permettez-moi, je vous prie_, " and ending in tones of quickcompassion, "_Ah, pauvre petite! Pauvre petite_!"

Before she knew his intention he was on his knees before her, and hadtaken the cut foot very gently into his hands. 

Chris leaned back, clinging to the boulder. The sunlight danced giddilyin her eyes. She felt as if she were slipping over the edge of the world. 

"I can't--stand, " she faltered weakly. 

"No, no, _petite_! But naturally!" came the reassuring reply. "Be seated, I beg. Permit me to assist you!"

Chris, being quite incapable of doing otherwise, yielded herself tothe gentle insistence of an arm that encircled her. She had animpression--fleeting at the time but returning to her later--of friendlydark eyes that looked for an instant into hers; and then, exactly how ithappened she knew not, she was sitting propped against the rock, whileall the world swam dizzily around her, and someone with sure, steadyhands wound a bandage tightly and ever more tightly around her woundedfoot. 

"It hurts!" she murmured piteously. 

"Have patience, mademoiselle! It will be better in a moment, " came thequick reply. "I shall not hurt you more than is necessary. It is toarrest the bleeding, this. Mademoiselle will endure the pain like a bravechild, yes?"

Chris swallowed a little shudder. The dizziness was passing. She wasbeginning to see more clearly, and her gaze travelled with dawningcriticism over the neat white figure that ministered so confidently toher need. 

"I knew he'd be French, " she whispered half aloud. 

"But I speak English, mademoiselle, " he returned, without raising hisblack head, "Yes, " she said, with a sigh of relief. "I'm very glad of that. Must youpull it any tighter? I--I can bear it, of course, but I'd much rather youdidn't if--if you don't mind. "

She spoke gaspingly. Her eyes were full of tears, though she kept themresolutely from falling. 

"Poor little one!" he said. "But you are very brave. Once more--so--andwe will not do it again. The pain is not so bad now, no?"

He looked up at her with a smile so kindly that Chris nearly broke downaltogether. She made a desperate grab after her self-control, and by dintof biting her lower lip very hard just saved herself from this calamity. 

It was a very pleasing face that looked into her own, olive-hued, withbrows as delicate as a woman's. A thin line of black moustache outlined amouth that was something over-sensitive. He was certainly quite acaptivating fairy prince. 

Chris shook the thick hair back upon her shoulders and surveyed him withinterest. "It's getting better, " she said. "It was a horrid cut, wasn'tit? You don't know how it hurt. "

"But I can imagine it, " he declared. "I saw immediately that it wasserious. Mademoiselle cannot attempt to walk. "

"Oh, but I must indeed!" protested Chris in dismay. "I shall be drownedif I stay here. "

He shook his head. "Ah no, no! You shall not stay here. If you willaccept my assistance, all will be well. "

"But you can't--carry me!" gasped Chris. 

He rose to his feet, still smiling. "And why not, little one? Because youthink that I have not the strength?"

Chris looked up at him speculatively. She felt no shyness; he was not thesort of person with whom she could feel shy. He was too kindly, tooprotecting, too altogether charming, for that. But he was of slenderbuild, and she could not help entertaining a very decided doubt as to hisphysical powers. 

"I am much heavier--and much older--than you think, " she remarked atlength. 

He laughed boyishly, as if she had made a joke. "_Mais c'est drôle, cela_! Me, I have no thoughts upon the subject, mademoiselle. I believewhat I see, and I assure you that I am well capable of carrying youacross the rocks to Valpré. You lodge at Valpré?"

Chris nodded. "And you? No, " hastily checking herself, "don't tell me!You live in the Magic Cave, of course. I knew you were there. It was whyI came. "

"You knew, mademoiselle?" His eyes interrogated her. 

She nodded again in answer. "You have lived there for hundreds of years. You were under a spell, and I came and broke it. If I hadn't cut my foot, you would have been there still. Do you really think you can lift me? Andwhat shall you do when you come to cross the rocks? They are much tooslippery to walk on. "

He stooped to raise her, still smiling. "Have no fear, mademoiselle! Iknow these rocks by heart. "

She laughed with a child's pure merriment. "Oh, I am not afraid, _preuxchevalier_. But if you find me too heavy--"

"If I cannot carry the queen of the fairies, " he interrupted, "I am notworthy of the name. "

He had her in his arms with the words, holding her lightly and easily, asif she had been an infant. His eyes smiled reassuringly into hers. 

"So, mademoiselle! We depart for Valpré!"

"What fun!" said Chris. 

It seemed she was to enjoy her adventure after all, adverse circumstancesnotwithstanding. Her foot throbbed and burned, but she put this factresolutely away from her. She had found the knight, and, albeit he wasFrench, she was very pleased with him. He was the prettiest toy that hadever yet come her way. 

Possibly in this respect the knight's sentiments resembled hers. For shewas very enchanting, this English girl, fresh as a rose and gay as abutterfly, with a face that none called beautiful but which most pausedto admire. It was the vividness, the entrancing vitality of her, thatcaught the attention. People smiled almost unwittingly when little ChrisWyndham turned her laughing eyes their way; they were so clear, so blue, so confidingly merry. There was a rare sweetness about her, a spontaneouscharm irresistibly winning. She loved everybody without effort, asnaturally as she loved life, with an absence of self-consciousness soentire that perhaps it was not surprising that she was loved in return. 

"You are much stronger than you look, _preux chevalier_, " she remarkedpresently. "But wouldn't you like to set me down while you go and fetchmy sandals? They are over there on the rocks. It would be a pity for themto get washed away, and I might manage to walk with them on. "

He had brought her safely over the most difficult part of the way. Heseated her at once upon a flat rock, and stooped to assure himself as tothe success of his bandage. 

"It gives you not so much of pain, no?" he asked. 

"It scarcely hurts at all, " she assured him. "You will be quick now, won't you, because I ought to be getting back. If you see Cinders, youmight bring him too. "

"Cinders?" he questioned, pausing. 

"My dog, " she explained. "But he doesn't talk French, so I don't supposehe will follow you. "

He received the information with a smile. "But I speak English, mademoiselle, " he protested for the second time. 

"Ah yes, you do--after a fashion, " admitted Chris. "But I don't supposeCinders would understand it. It's not very English English. "

He raised his shoulders in a gesture that was purely French. "_La belledame sans merci_!" he murmured ruefully. "_Bien_! I will do my possible. "

"Splendid!" laughed Chris. "No one could do more. "

She watched him go with eyes that sparkled with merriment. The trim, slight figure was quite good to look upon. He went bounding over therocks with the sure-footed grace of a chamois. 

"I wonder who he really is, " said Chris, "and where he comes from. "

CHAPTER II

DESTINY

Over the rocks went the stranger with the careless speed of youth, humming to himself in a soft tenor, his brown face turned to the sun. Thepleasant smile was still upon it. He had the look of one in whose eyesall things are good. 

Ahead of him gleamed the towel with the sandals upon it, sandals thatmight have been fashioned for fairy feet. He quickened his pace at sightof them. But she was charming, this English child! He had never beforeseen anyone quite so dainty. And of a courage unique in one so young!

He was nearing the sandals now, but the sun was in his eyes, and he sawonly the towel spread like a tablecloth over the rock. He sprang lightlydown on to a heap of shingle, and reached for it, still humming the_chanson_ that the little English girl had somehow put into his head. 

The next instant a deep growl arrested him, and sharply he drew back. There was something more than a pair of sandals on the towel above him, something that crouched in an attitude of tense hostility, daring him toapproach. It was only a small creature that thus challenged him, only aweird black terrier of doubtful extraction, but he bristled from end toend with animosity. Quite plainly he regarded the sandals as hisresponsibility. With glaring eyes and gleaming teeth he crouched, prepared to defend them. 

The young Frenchman's discomfiture was but momentary. In an instant hehad taken in the situation and the humour of it. 

"But it is the good Cinders!" he said aloud, and extended a fearlesshand. "So, my friend, so! The little mistress waits. "

Cinders' growl became a snarl. He sucked up his breath in furiousprotest, threatening murder. But the stranger's hand was not withdrawn. On the contrary it advanced upon him with the utmost deliberation tillCinders was compelled to jerk backwards to avoid it. 

So jerking, he missed his footing as his mistress had before him, losthis balance, and rolled, cursing, clinging, and clambering, over the edgeof the rock. 

Had the Frenchman laughed at that moment he would have made an enemy forlife. But most fortunately he did not regard an antagonist's downfall asa fit subject for mirth. In fact, being of a chivalrous turn, he grabbedat the luckless Cinders, clutched his collar, and dragged him up again. And--perhaps it was the generosity of the action, perhaps only itsobvious fearlessness--he won Cinders' heart from that instant. Hishostility merged into sudden ardent friendship. He set his paws on theyoung man's chest, and licked his face. 

Thenceforth he was more than welcome to sandals and towel and even theeffusive Cinders himself, who leaped around him barking in high delight, and accompanied him with giddy circlings upon his return journey. 

Chris, who had viewed the encounter from afar with much interest, clappedher hands at their approach. 

"And you weren't a bit afraid!" she laughed. "I couldn't think what youwould do. Cinders looked so fierce. But any one can see you understanddogs--even English dogs. "

"It is possible that at heart the English and the French resemble eachother more than we think, mademoiselle, " observed the Frenchman. "One cannever tell. "

He bent again over the injured foot with the sandal in his hand. 

"It's very good of you to take all this trouble, " said Chris abruptly. 

He flashed her a quick smile. "But no, mademoiselle! It gives me pleasureto be of service to you. "

"I'm sure I don't know what I should have done without you, " sherejoined. "Ah, that is much better. I shall be able to walk now. "

"You think it?" He looked at her doubtfully. 

She nodded. "If you will take me as far as the sand, I shall dosplendidly then. You see, I can't let you come into Valpré with mebecause--because--"

"Because, mademoiselle--?" Up went the black brows questioningly. 

She flushed a little, but her clear eyes met his with absolute candour. "We have a French governess, " she explained, "who was brought up in aconvent, so she is very easily shocked. If she knew that I had spoken toa stranger, and a man"--she raised her hands with a merry gesture--"shewould have a fit--several fits. I couldn't risk it. Poor mademoiselle!She doesn't understand our English ways a bit. Why, she wouldn't even letme paddle if she could help it. I shall have to keep very quiet aboutthis foot of mine, or it will be '_Jamais encore_!' and '_Encorejamais_!' for the rest of my natural life. And, after all, " pathetically, "there can be no great harm in dipping one's feet in sea-water, canthere?"

But the Frenchman looked grave. "You will show your foot to the doctor, will you not?" he said. 

"Dear me, no!" said Chris. 

"_Mais, mademoiselle_--"

She checked him with her quick, winning smile. 

"Please don't talk French. I like English so much the best. Besides, it'sholiday-time. "

"But, mademoiselle, " he persisted, "if it should become serious!"

"Oh, it won't, " she said lightly. "I shall be all right. Nothing everhappens to me. "

"Nothing?" he questioned, with an answering smile. 

She was hobbling over the stones with his assistance. "Nothinginteresting, I assure you, " she said. 

"Except when mademoiselle goes to the cavern of the fairies to look forthe magic knight?" he suggested. 

She threw him a merry glance. "To be sure! I will come and see you againsome day when the tide is low. Is there a dragon in the cave?"

"He is there only when the tide is high, mademoiselle, a beast enormouswith eyes of fire. "

"And a princess?" asked the English girl, keenly interested. 

"No, there is no princess. "

"Only you and the dragon?"

"Generally only me, mademoiselle. "

"Whatever do you do there?" she asked curiously. 

His smile was bafflingly direct. "Me? I make magic, mademoiselle. "

"What sort of magic?"

"What sort? That is a difficult question. "

"May I come and see it?" asked Chris eagerly, scenting a mystery. 

He hesitated. 

"I'll come all by myself, " she assured him. 

"_Mais la gouvernante_--"

"As if I should bring her! No, no! I'll come alone--with Cinders. "

"_Mais, mademoiselle_--"

"If you say that again I shall be cross, " announced Chris. 

"But--pardon me, mademoiselle--the governess, might she not object?"

"Absurd!" said Chris. "I am not a French girl, and I won't behave likeone. "

He laughed at that, plainly because he could not help it. "Mademoisellepleases herself!" he observed. 

"Of course I do, " returned Chris vigorously. "I always have. I may comethen?"

"But certainly. "

"When?"

"When you will, mademoiselle. "

Chris considered. They had reached the firm sand, and she stood still. "Ican't come to-morrow because of my foot, and the day after the tide willbe too late. I shall have to wait nearly a fortnight. How dull!"

"In a fortnight, then!" said the Frenchman. 

"In a fortnight, _preux chevalier_!" Her eyes laughed up at him. "But Idare say we shall meet before then. I hope we shall. "

"I hope it also, mademoiselle. " He bowed courteously. 

She held out her hand. "I shall come on the tenth of the month--it's mybirthday. I'll bring some cakes, and we'll have a party, and invite thedragon. " Her eyes danced. "We will have some fun, shall we?"

"I think that we shall not want the dragon, " he smiled back. 

"No? Perhaps not. Well, I'll bring Cinders instead. "

"Ah, the good Cinders! He is different. "

"And we will go exploring, " she said eagerly. "I shan't be a bit afraidof anything with you there. The tenth, then! Don't forget! Good-bye, andthank you ever so much! You won't fail me, will you?"

He bent low over the impetuous little hand. "I shall not fail you, mademoiselle. _Adieu_!"

"_Au revoir_!" she laughed back. "Come along, Cinders! We shall be latefor tea. "

He stood motionless on the sunlit sand and watched her go. 

She was limping, but she moved quickly notwithstanding. Cinders trottedsoberly by her side. 

As she reached the little _plage_, she turned as if aware of his watchingeyes and nonchalantly waved the towel that dangled on her arm. Thesunlight had turned her hair to burnished copper. It made her for themoment wonderful, and a gleam of swift admiration shot across theFrenchman's face. 

"_Merveilleux_!" he whispered to himself, and half-aloud, "Good-bye, little bird of Paradise!"

With a courteous gesture of farewell, he turned away. When he lookedagain, the child, with her glorious, radiant hair, had passed from sight. 

He went back, springing over the rocks, to the Gothic archway that hadfired her curiosity. The tide was rising fast. Already the white foamraced up to the rocky entrance. He splashed through it, and went withinas one on business bent. 

He was absent for some seconds, and soon a large wave broke with a longroar and rushed swirling into the cave. As the gleaming water ran outagain, he emerged. 

A single glance was sufficient to show him that retreat by way of thebeach was already cut off. He recognized the fact with a rueful grimace. The long green waves tumbling along the rocks were rising higher everyinstant. 

With a quick glance around him, the young man sprang for an upstandingrock, reached it in safety, and paused, keenly studying the black face ofthe cliff. 

It frowned above him like a rampart, gloomy, terrible, impregnable. Heshrugged his shoulders with another grimace, then, as the foam splashedup over his feet, leaped lightly onto another rock higher than the first, whence it was possible to reach a great buttress that jutted outwardsfrom the cliff itself. 

Once upon this, he began to climb diagonally, clambering like a monkey, availing himself of every inch that offered foothold. A slip would havemeant instant disaster, but this fact did not apparently occur to him, orif it did he was not dismayed thereby. He even presently, as hecautiously worked his way upwards, began to hum again in gay snatches thesong that a child's clear eyes had set running in his brain thatafternoon. 

It was a progress that waxed more perilous as he proceeded. The wavesdashed themselves to cataracts below him. Return was impossible, and manywould have deemed advance equally so. But he struggled on, maintaininghis zigzag course upwards, with nerve unfailing and spirits unimpaired. 

Gulls flew out above his head and circled about him with indignantprotests. He looked somewhat like a gigantic gull himself, his slim whitefigure outlined against the darkness of the cliff. He cried back to thestartled birds reassuringly in their own language, but the commotioncontinued; and presently, finding precarious foothold on a narrow ledgehalfway up, he stopped to wipe his forehead and laugh with merrimentunfeigned. He was plainly in love with life--one in whose eyes all thingswere good, but yet who loved the hazard of them even better. 

The ledge did not permit of much comfort. Nevertheless he managed toturn upon it and to lean back against the cliff, with his brown face tosky and sea. He even, after a moment, took out a cigarette and lightedit. The sun shone full in his eyes, and he seemed to revel in it. Asun-worshipper also, apparently!

He smoked his cigarette to the end very deliberately, flicking theash from time to time towards the raging water below. When he hadquite finished, he stretched his arms wide with a gesture of sublimeself-confidence, faced about, and very composedly continued his climb. 

It grew more and more arduous as he neared the frowning summit. He had tofeel his way with the utmost caution. Once he missed his footing, andslipped several feet before he could recover himself, and after thisexperience he took a clasp-knife from his pocket and notched himselffootholds where none offered. It was a very lengthy business, and the sunwas dipping downwards to the sea ere he came within reach of his goal. The top of the cliff overhung where he first approached it, and he had towork a devious course below it till he came to a more favourable place. 

Reaching a gap at length, he braced himself for the final effort. Thesurface of the cliff here was loose, and the stones rattled continuallyfrom beneath his feet; but he clung like a limpet, nothing daunted, andat last his hands were gripped in the coarse grass that fringed thesummit. Sheer depth was below him, and the inward-curving cliff offeredno possibility of foothold. 

He stood, gathering his strength for a last stupendous effort. It was asupreme moment. It meant abandoning the support on which he stood anddepending entirely upon the strength of his arms to attain to safety. Therisk was desperate. He stood bracing himself to take it. 

Finally, with an upward fling of the head, as of one who diced with thegods, he gripped that perilous edge and dared the final throw. Slowly, with stupendous effort, he hoisted himself up. It was the work of anexpert athlete; none other would have attempted it. 

Up he went and up, steadily, strongly; his head came level with hishands; he peered over the edge of the cliff. The strain was terrific. Thecareless smile was gone from his lips. In that instant he no longerignored what lay behind him; he knew the suspense of the gambler whopauses after he has thrown before he lifts the dice-box to read his fate. 

Up, and still up! The grass was beginning to yield in his clutchingfingers; he dug them into the earth below. Now his shoulders were abovethe edge; his chest also, heaving with strenuous effort. To lower himselfagain was impossible. His feet dangled over space. And the surging of thewater below him was as the roaring of an angry monster cheated of itsprey. 

He set his teeth. He was nearing the end of his strength. Had he, afterall, attempted the impossible, flung the dice too recklessly, dared hisfate too far? If so, he would pay the penalty swiftly, swiftly, downamong the cruel rocks where many another had perished before him. 

The surging sounded louder. It seemed to be in his brain. It bewilderedhim, deprived him of the power to think. A great many voices seemed toclamour around him, but only one could be clearly heard; only one, andthat the voice of a child close to him--or was that also an illusion bornof the racking strain that had driven all the blood to his head?

"You won't fail me, will you?" it said. 

Surely his grasp was slackening, his powers were passing, when like aflashlight those words illuminated his brain. He was as one in deepwaters, swamped and sinking; but that voice called him back. 

He opened his eyes, he drew a great breath. He flung his whole soul intoone last great effort. He remembered suddenly that the little Englishgirl, the child with the glorious hair and laughing eyes, hisacquaintance of an hour, would be looking for him exactly two weeks fromthat moment. He was sure she would look, and--she would be disappointedif she looked in vain. One must not disappoint a child. 

The memory of her went through him, vivid, enchanting, compelling. Itnerved his sinking heart. It renewed his grip on life. It urged himupwards. 

Only a child! Only a child! But yet--

"I shall not--shall not--fail you!" he gasped, and with the words hisknees reached the top of the cliff. 

His strength collapsed instantly, like the snapping of a fiddle-string. He fell forward on his face, and lay prone... 

A little later he worked the whole of his body into security, rolled overon his back with closed eyes to the sky, and waited while his heartslowed down to its normal rhythmic beat. 

At last, quite suddenly, he sat up and looked around him. The laughterflashed back into his eyes. He sprang to his feet, mud-stained, dishevelled, yet exultant. 

He clicked his heels together and faced the sinking sun, slim andupright, one stiff hand to his head. He had diced with the gods, and hehad won. 

"_Destinée! Je te salue!_" he said, and the next instant whizzed smartlyround with a soldier's precision of movement and marched away towards thefortress that crowned the hill above the rocks of Valpré. 

CHAPTER III

A ROPE OF SAND

Undoubtedly Mademoiselle Gautier was querulous, and equally without doubtshe had good reason to be so; but it made it a little dull for Chris. Accidents would happen, wherever one went, and what was the good ofmaking a fuss?

Of course, every allowance had to be made for poor Mademoiselle inconsideration of the fact that she was torn in pieces by the valiantattempt to keep her attention focussed upon three children at once. Theeffort had not so far been a brilliant success, and Mademoiselle, conscious within herself of her inability to cope adequately with herthreefold responsibility, being moreover worn out by her gallant struggleto do so, was inclined to shortness of temper and a severity of judgmentthat bordered upon injustice. 

If Chris would persist in flying about the shore in that wild fashionwith her hair loose--that flaming hair which Mademoiselle considered initself to be almost indecent--what could be expected but that some_contretemps_ must of necessity arrive? It was useless for Chris toprotest that it was not her hair that had got her into difficulties, thatshe had only left it loose to dry it after her bathe, that there had beenno one to see--at least, no one that mattered--and that the cut on herfoot was solely due to the fact that she had taken off her sand-shoes toclimb over the rocks. Mademoiselle only shook her head with pursed lips. Chris _était méchante--très méchante_, and no amount of arguing wouldmake her change her opinion upon that point. 

So Chris abandoned argument while the worried little Frenchwoman bathedand bandaged her foot anew. She would not be able to bathe again for atleast a week, and this fact was of itself sufficient to depress her intosilence. Yet, after a little, when Mademoiselle was gone, a cheery littletune rose to her lips. It was not her nature to be depressed for long. 

Mademoiselle Gautier would have been something less than human if she hadnot yielded now and then under the perpetual strain in which, for manydays past, she had lived. She had come to Valpré in charge of Chris andher two young brothers, both of whom had developed diphtheria within aday or two of their arrival. The children's father was absent in India;his only sister, upon whom the cares of his family were supposed to rest, was entertaining Royalty, and was far too important a personage in thesocial world to be spared at short notice. And so the whole burden haddevolved upon poor Mademoiselle Gautier, who had been near her wits' endwith anxiety, but had nobly grappled with her task. 

The worst of the business, speaking in a physical sense, was now over. Both her patients--Maxwell, who was Chris's twin, and little Noel, theyoungest of the family, aged twelve--had turned the corner and wereprogressing towards convalescence. Over the latter she still had qualmsof uneasiness, but the elder boy was rapidly picking up his strength andgiving more trouble than he had ever given before in the process. 

By inexorable decree Chris was kept away from the two over whomMademoiselle, aided by a convent nurse, still watched with unremittingcare; and it did seem a little hard in the opinion of the harassedFrenchwoman that her one sound charge could not be trusted to conductherself with circumspection during her days of enforced solitude. ChrisWyndham, however, had been a tomboy all her life, and she could scarcelybe expected to reform at such a juncture. She was not accustomed tosolitude, and her restless spirit chafed after distraction. 

The conventions had never troubled her. Brought up as she had been withthree unruly boys, running wild with them during the whole of herchildhood, it was scarcely to be wondered at if her outlook on life wasmore that of a boy than a girl. She had been in Mademoiselle Gautier'scharge during the past three years, but somehow that had not sobered hervery materially. She was spoilt by all except her aunt, who was wont toremark with some acidity that if she didn't come to grief one way oranother, this would probably continue to be the case for the term of hernatural life. But it was quite plain that Aunt Philippa expected her tocome to grief. Girls like Chris, unless they married out of theschoolroom, usually played with fire until they burnt their fingers. Thefact of the matter was Chris was far too attractive, and though as yetsublimely unconscious of the fact, Aunt Philippa knew that sooner orlater it was bound to dawn upon her. She did not relish the prospect ofsteering this giddy little barque through the shoals and quicksands ofsociety, being shrewdly suspicious that the task might well prove toomuch for her. For with all her sweetness, Chris was undeniably wilful, aprincess who expected to have her own way; and Aunt Philippa had adaughter of her own, Chris's senior by three years, as well as a son inthe Guards, to consider. 

No, she did not approve of Chris, or indeed of any of the family, including her own brother, who was its head. She had not approved of hisgay young wife, Irish and volatile, who had died at the birth of littleNoel. She doubted the stability of each one of them in turn, and plainlytold her brother that he must attend to the launching of his children forhimself. She was willing to do her best for them as children, but asgrown-ups she declined the responsibility. 

His answer to this had been that they must remain children until he couldspare the time to attend to them. The eldest boy, Rupert, was now atSandhurst, Maxwell was being educated at Marlborough, and Noel, who wasnever very strong, was at present with Chris in Mademoiselle Gautier'scare. The summer holiday at Valpré had been Mademoiselle's suggestion, and bitterly had she lived to regret it. 

Chris had regretted it, too, for a time, but now that her two brotherswere well on the road to recovery it seemed absurd not to extract suchenjoyment as she could from the situation. Of course, it was lonely, butthere was always Cinders to fall back upon for comfort. She was thankfulthat she had insisted upon bringing him, though Mademoiselle hadprotested most emphatically against this addition to the party. How shewas to get him back again she had not begun to consider. Doubtless, however, Jack would manage it somehow. Jack was the aforementioned cousinin the Guards, a young man of much kindness and resource, upon whom Chriswas wont to rely as a sort of superior elder brother. He would thinknothing of running over to fetch them home and to assist in the smugglingof Cinders back into his native land. In fact, if the truth were told, hewould probably rather enjoy it. 

In the meantime, here was she, stranded with a damaged foot, and all thedelights of the sea temporarily denied to her. Perhaps not quite all, when she came to think of it. She could not paddle, but she might manageto hobble down to the shore, and sit on the sun-baked rocks. EvenMademoiselle could surely find no fault with this. And she might possiblyfind someone to talk to. She was so fond of talking, and it was aperpetual regret to her that she could not understand the speech of theBreton fishermen. 

It was on the morning of the second day after her accident that this ideapresented itself. All the previous day she had sat soberly in a corner ofthe little garden that overlooked the little _plage_ where none but_bonnes_ and their charges ever passed. Nothing had happened all daylong, and she had been bored almost to tears. The beaming smiles ofMademoiselle, who was thankful to have her within sight, had been no sortof consolation to her, and on the second day she came rapidly to theconclusion that she would die of _ennui_ if she attempted to endure itany longer. 

She did not arouse Mademoiselle's voluble protests by announcing herdecision. Mademoiselle was busy with the boys, and what was the good? Shewas her own mistress, and felt in no way called upon to ask hergoverness's leave. 

Her foot was much better. The nurse had strapped it for her, and, beyondsome slight stiffness in walking, it caused her no pain. Her hair wastied discreetly back with a black ribbon. It ought to have been plaited, but as Mademoiselle had no time to bestow upon it and Chris herselfcouldn't be bothered, it hung in glory below the confining ribbon to herwaist. 

Whistling to Cinders, who was lying in the sunshine snapping at flies, she rose from her chair in the shade, dropped the crochet with whichMademoiselle had supplied her on the grass, and limped to the gate thatopened on to the _plage_. 

At this juncture a rhythmical, unmistakable sound made her pause. A quickgleam of pleasure shone in her blue eyes. She turned her head eagerly. Atroop of soldiers were approaching along the _plage_. 

Sheer fun flashed into the girl's face. With a sudden swoop she caught upthe lazy Cinders. 

"Now you are not to say anything, " she cautioned him. "Only when I tellyou, you are to salute. And mind you do it properly!"

Cinders licked the animated face so near his own. When not drawn by hisone particular vice, he was always ready to enter into any little gamethat his mistress might devise. He watched the oncoming soldiers withinterest, a slight frown between his brows. 

The soldiers were interested also. Chris of the merry eyes was not aspectacle to pass unheeding. She smiled upon them--there were about fortyof them--with the simplicity of a child. 

Rhythmically the blue and red uniforms began to swing past. Their wearersstared and grinned at the smiling little _Anglaise_ who was so naivelypleased to see them. 

She raised an imperious hand. "Cinders, salute!" And into Cinders' earshe whispered, "They are only French, chappie, but you mustn't mind. "

And Cinders, quite unconcerned, obeyed his mistress's behest and lifted arigid paw to his head. 

A murmur of appreciation ran through the ranks. The grins widened. Oneboy, with bold admiration for the _petite Anglaise_ in his black eyes, raised his hand abruptly and saluted in return. Every man who followeddid likewise, and Chris was enchanted. Mademoiselle Gautier would havebeen horrified had she seen her frank nods of acknowledgment, butmercifully Fate spared her this. 

Behind the last line of marching men came a trim young officer. His swordclanked at his heels. He swung along with a free swagger, head up, shoulders back, eyes fixed straight before him. A gallant specimen washe, for though of inconsiderable height, he was well made and obviouslyof athletic build. His thoughts were evidently far away, his handsome, boyish face so preoccupied that it had the look of a face in a picture, patrician, aloof, immobile. 

But a sudden glimpse of the girl at the gate--the child with the shininghair--brought him back in a fraction of time, transformed him utterly. Recognition, vivid surprise, undoubted pleasure, flashed over his face. With an eager smile, he paused, clicked his heels together, saluted. 

She extended an eager hand--her left; Cinders monopolized her right. 

"Oh, " she exclaimed, "you! I didn't know you were a soldier!"

He took the hand over the gate, stooped and kissed it. "But I amdelighted, mademoiselle!" he said. 

Cinders was also delighted, and struggled with yelps of welcome to reachhim. He stood up, laughing, and patted the little creature's head. 

"And the foot?" he questioned. 

"Much better, " said Chris. "I am going down to the shore presently. Iwish you could come too. "

He smiled and shook his head, with a glance after his men retreating upthe hill towards the fort. "I wish it also, mademoiselle, but--"

"Couldn't you?" begged Chris. "This afternoon! Just for a little while!There's only Cinders and me. "

"_Et Mademoiselle la gouvernante--_"

"She is looking after the boys, and they are ill, " Chris explainedcheerfully. "You might come. I'm wanting someone to talk to ratherbadly. "

The young officer hesitated. The blue eyes were very persuasive. 

"I would ask you to come in to tea afterwards, " she said, "onlyMademoiselle is so silly--quite cracked, in fact, on some points. Butthat needn't prevent your coming down to the shore for a little to playwith Cinders and me. You will, won't you? Say you will!"

"I will, mademoiselle. " His surrender was abrupt, and quite decisive. 

She beamed upon him. "We will play at sand-pictures. You know that game, I expect. One draws and the other has to guess what it's meant for. Ishall look out for you, then. Good-bye!"

She waved a careless hand, and he, still smiling, saluted again andhastened after his men. 

She was certainly unconventional, this English girl, quite superbly so. She was also sublimely and completely irresistible. 

Did she guess of the power that was hers as she turned back into thelittle garden? Did some dim suggestion of a spell yet dormant presentitself as she stood thus on the threshold of her woman's kingdom?Possibly, for her face was thoughtful, and remained so for quite tenseconds after her new playmate's departure. 

At the end of the ten seconds she kissed Cinders, with the remark, "Chappie, that little Frenchman is a trump. I'm sure Jack would thinkso. " She and Jack Forest generally saw things in the same light, whichmay have been the reason that Chris valued his opinion so highly. 

She postponed her visit to the shore till the afternoon in considerationof the fact that her sense of boredom had completely evaporated. Afterall, what was there to be bored about? Life was quite interesting again. 

The tide was on the ebb when she finally set forth. She directed hersteps towards a little patch of firm sand which she regarded aspeculiarly her own. The shore was deserted as usual. The _bonnes_preferred the _plage_. 

Would he be there before her, she wondered? Yes; almost at once she spiedhim in the distance. He had discarded his uniform, in favour of whitelinen. She regretted his preference somewhat, but admitted to herselfthat linen might be cooler. 

He was very busy with a swagger-cane, drawing in the sand, far too intentto note her approach, and as he drew he hummed a madrigal in his softvoice. 

Noiselessly Chris drew near, a dancing imp of mischief in her eyes. Shewanted to get a glimpse of the work of art that he was elaborating withsuch care before he discovered her. But his sensibilities were too subtlefor her. Quite suddenly he became aware of her and whizzed round. 

He made her a low bow, but Chris waived the ceremony of greeting withimpatient curiosity. "I want to see what you are doing. I may look?"

"But certainly, mademoiselle. "

She came eagerly forward and looked. 

"Oh, " she said, "is that the dragon? What an awesome creature! Is hereally like that? How splendidly you have done his scales! And whatfrightful claws! Why"--she turned upon him--"you are an artist!"

He shrugged his shoulders, with his ready smile. "I am whatevermademoiselle desires. "

"How nice!" said Chris. "Well, go on being an artist, please. Drawsomething else!"

"I think it is your turn now, mademoiselle, " he said. 

"Oh, but I'm no good at it, " she protested. "I can't compete. You aremuch too clever. "

He laughed at that and began again. 

She seated herself on a rock and watched him, deeply interested. 

"How quick you are!" she murmured presently. "Whatever is it, I wonder? Ahorse with a man on it! Ah, yes! St. George killing the dragon!Excellent!" She clapped her hands. "It is a real picture. What a pity forit to be washed away!"

"The destiny of all things, mademoiselle, " he remarked, still elaboratinghis work. 

"Not all things!" she exclaimed. "Look at the Sphinx, and Cleopatra'sNeedle, and--and a host of other things!"

"You think that they will endure for ever?" he said. 

"For a very, very long while, " she maintained. 

"But for ever, mademoiselle?" He turned round to her, quite serious foronce. "There is only one thing that endures for ever, " he said. 

Chris frowned. "I don't want to think about it. It makes me feel giddy, "she said. "Please go on drawing. The tide won't be up yet. "

He turned back again instantly, looking quizzical. "_Alors_, shall webuild a barrier of stones and arrest the sea?" he suggested. 

"Or weave a rope of sand, " amended Chris. 

CHAPTER IV

THE DIVINE MAGIC

When Chris went bathing it was her custom to slip a mackintosh over herbathing costume and to run down to the shore thus equipped, discardingthe mackintosh before entering the water and leaving it in the charge ofCinders. 

Cinders never went treasure-hunting on these occasions, but invariablysat bolt upright, brimful of importance, watching his mistress'sproceedings from afar with eager eyes and quivering nose. He would neverbe persuaded to follow her, owing to a rooted objection to wetting hisfeet. He was, as a rule, very patient; but if she kept him waiting beyondthe bounds of patience he howled in a heartrending fashion that alwaysbrought her back. 

Chris was a good swimmer, and had a boy's healthy love of the sea. Greatwas her joy when her injured foot healed sufficiently for her to resumethe morning bathe. Mademoiselle Gautier's pleasure was not so keen, butthen--poor Mademoiselle!--who could expect it? Besides, what could sheknow of the exquisite enjoyment of floating on a summer sea with thesummer sun in one's eyes and wave after gentle wave rocking one to drowsycontent?

The only drawback was the impossibility of diving, Chris longed for adive on that brilliant morning, longed for the headlong rush throughwater, the greenness of it below the surface, the sparkling spray above. If only she could have commandeered a boat! But that would have entaileda boatman, and Mademoiselle would have been scandalized at the baresuggestion. 

"She would make me bathe in a coat and skirt and a hat if she could, "reflected Chris, shaking the wet hair out of her eyes. 

It was still early, not nine o'clock. The sea lay calm and empty allabout her. Was she really the only person in Valpré, she wondered, whocared for a morning dip? She had swum some way from the little town, andnow found herself nearing the point where the rocks jutted far out to thesea. The Magic Cave was at no great distance. She saw the darkness of itand the water foaming white against the cliffs. Even in the morninglight it was an awesome spot, and she remembered how her friend had toldher that the dragon was there when the tide was up. With a timidityhalf-actual, half-assumed, she began to swim back to her starting-point. 

Half-way back, feeling tired, she allowed herself a rest in considerationof the fact that this was the longest swim that she had ever undertaken. Serenely she lay on the water with her hair floating about her. Themorning was perfect, the sea like a lake. Overhead sailed a gull with noflap of wings. She wondered how he did it, and longed to do the same. Itmust be very nice to be a gull. 

Regretfully at length--for she was still feeling a little weary--sheresumed her leisurely journey towards the shore. As she did so she caughtthe sound of oars grating in rowlocks. She turned her head, saw a boatcutting through the water at a prodigious rate not twenty strokes fromher, caught a glimpse of its one rower, and without a second's hesitationflung up an imperious arm. 

"Stop!" she cried. "It's me!"

He ceased to row on the instant, but the boat shot on. She saw theconcern in his face as he brought it back. His black head shone wet inthe sunlight. He was evidently returning from a bathe himself. 

"It's all right, " smiled Chris. "Are you in a great hurry? I wondered ifyou would tow me a little way. I've come too far, and I'm just a tiny bittired. "

He brought the boat near, and shipped his oars. "I will row you to theshore with pleasure, mademoiselle, " he said. 

"No, no, " she said. "Just throw me a rope, that's all. "

"But I have no rope, mademoiselle. "

He leaned down to her as she swam alongside; but Chris still hung back, with laughing eyes upraised. "You will capsize in a minute, and thatwon't help either of us. Really, I don't think I will come out. "

But she gave him her hand, nevertheless. 

His fingers closed upon it in a warm clasp that seemed very sure ofitself. He smiled down at her. "I think otherwise, mademoiselle. "

She found it impossible to resist him, and so yielded with characteristicbriskness of decision. "Very well, if you will let me dive from the boatafterwards. Hold tight, _preux chevalier_! One--two--three!"

She came up to him out of the sea like a bird rising from the waves. Amoment he had her slim young body between his hands. Then she steppedlightly upon the thwart, and he let her go. 

And in that instant something happened: something that was like thekindling of spirit into flame ran between them--a transforming magic thatonly one knew for the Divine Miracle that changes the face of the wholeearth. 

To the girl, with her wet hair all around her and her face of baby-likeinnocence, it only meant that the sun shone more brightly and the sea wasmore blue for the coming of her _preux chevalier_. And she sang, withoutknowing why. 

To the man it meant the sudden, primal tumult of all the deepest forcesof his nature; it meant the awakening of his soul, the birth of hismanhood. 

He was young, barely twenty-two. Very early Ambition had called to him, and he had followed with a single heart. He had never greatly cared forsocial pleasures; he had been too absorbed to enjoy them. But now--in asingle moment--Ambition was dethroned. At the time, though his eyes wereopen, he scarcely realized that the old supremacy had passed. Only longafterwards did he ask himself if the death-knell of his success had begunto toll on that golden morning; because a man cannot serve two masters. 

"A penny for your thoughts!" laughed the elf in the stern, and he came tohimself to wonder how old she was. "No, never mind!" she added. "Idaresay they are not worth it, and I couldn't pay if they were. "

Her eyes dwelt approvingly upon him as, with sleeves rolled above hiselbows, he began to pull at the oars. He was certainly very handsome. Shewondered that she had not noticed it before. 

"Mademoiselle will not swim so far again all alone?" he suggested gently, after a few steady strokes. 

She looked at him frowningly. There was no faintest tinge of dignityabout her, only the careless effrontery of childhood and the grace thatis childhood's heritage. 

"I am going to swim as far as the skyline some day, " she announcedlightly, "and look over the edge of the world. "

"_Mais, mademoiselle_--"

She held up an imperious hand. "That is one of the things you are notallowed to say. You are never to talk French to me. It is holiday-timewhen I am with you, and I never talk French in the holidays, except toMademoiselle, who won't listen to English. And won't you call me Chris?Everyone else does. "

"Chris?" he repeated after her very softly, his eyes upon her, tenderlyindulgent. "Ah! let it be Christine. I may call you that?"

"Of course, " she returned practically. "My actual name is Christina, butthat's a detail. You can call me Christine if you like it best. "

"I have another name for you, " he said, with slight hesitation. 

"Have you?" she asked with interest. "What is it? Do tell me!"

But he still hesitated. "It will not vex you? No?"

She flashed him her merriest smile. "Of course not. Why should it?"

He smiled back upon her, but there was the light of something deeper thanmirth in his eyes. "I call you my bird of Paradise, " he said. 

"How pretty!" said Chris. "Quite poetical, _preux chevalier_! You may goon calling me that if you like, but it's too long for general use. Andwhat shall I call you? Tell me your Christian name. "

"Bertrand, mademoiselle. "

She held up an admonitory finger. "Chris!"

"Christine, " he said, with his friendly smile. 

She nodded. "Now don't forget! I think I shall call you Bertie because itsounds more English. I'm going to dive now, so don't row any farther. "

She sprang to her feet and stepped on to the thwart, where she stoodbalancing, her arms above her head. 

He waited motionless to see her go. But she remained poised for severalseconds, the sunlight full upon her slim, straight figure and bare, upraised arms. Her hair, that had begun to dry, fluttered a little in thebreeze. The splendour of it almost dazzled the onlooker. He sat withbated breath. She was like a young goddess, invoking the spirit of themorning. 

Suddenly she turned a laughing face over her shoulder. "Bertie!"

He pulled himself together. "Christine!" he answered, with a quick smile. 

She laughed a little more. "Well done! I wondered if you would remember. Will you do something for me?"

"All that you wish, " he said. 

"Well, when you come to tea with me in the Magic Cave on the tenth bringa lantern. Will you?"

"But certainly, " he said. 

"I want to explore, " said Chris. "I want to find out all the secretsthere are. "

She turned back to contemplate the deep blue water at her feet, paused amoment longer; then, "Good-bye, Bertie!" she cried, and was gone. 

He saw the curve of her young body in the sunshine before shedisappeared, felt the spray splash upwards on his face; but he continuedto gaze at the spot where she had stood as a man spellbound, while everypulse and every nerve throbbed with the thought of her and the mad, sweetexultation that she had stirred to life within him. Child she might be, but in that amazing moment he worshipped her as man was made to worshipwoman in the beginning of the world. 

CHAPTER V

THE BIRTHDAY TREAT

It was her birthday, and Chris scampered over the sands with Cinderstugging at her skirt, singing as she ran. She had three good reasons forbeing particularly happy that day--the first and foremost of these beingthe long-anticipated adventure that lay before her; the second that hertwo young brothers had improved so greatly in health that the tedioushours of her solitude were very nearly over; and the third that a letterfrom Jack, cousin and comrade, was tucked up her sleeve. 

Jack's letters were infrequent and ever delightful. He always struck theright note. He had written for her birthday to tell her that he hadbought a present for her to celebrate the memorable occasion, but that hewas reserving to himself the pleasure of offering it in person when theyshould meet again, which happy event would, he believed, take place at nodistant date. In fact, Chris might see him any day now, since theprivilege of escorting her and her following back to England was to behis, and he understood that the ruling power had decreed that theirreturn should not be postponed much longer. 

She was by no means anxious to go; in fact, when the time came she wouldbe sorry. But she was not thinking of that to-day. It was not her customto dwell upon unwelcome things, and Jack had, moreover, made the prospectattractive by the suggestion that they might possibly spend two or threedays in Paris on their return. Paris under Jack's auspices would beparadise in Chris's estimation. She could imagine nothing moreenchanting. 

So she and Cinders were in high spirits and prepared to enjoy thebirthday treat to the uttermost. She carried a small--very small--bag ofcakes which Mademoiselle had packed for her picnic--poor Mademoiselle, who could not understand how any _demoiselle_ could prefer to eat herfood upon the beach. In fact, Chris had only carried the point because itwas her birthday, and naturally Mademoiselle had not been informed thatshe had invited a guest to the meagre feast. 

Chris, however, was quite content. With the serenity of childhood she wassure there would be enough. She even told herself privately that it wouldbe the best birthday-party she had ever had. And Cinders was apparentlyof the same opinion. 

They raced nearly all the way to the rocks, spurred by the sight of afamiliar white figure awaiting them there. He came to meet them with hiscustomary courtesy, bare-headed, with shining eyes. 

"Will you accept my good wishes?" he said, as he bent over her hand. 

She laughed and thanked him. "I'm getting horribly old. Do you know I'mseventeen? I shall have to put up my hair next year. "

"I grieve to hear it, " he protested. 

"Never mind. It isn't next year yet. Have you remembered the lantern?Where is it? No, I don't want any help, thank you. I balance best alone. "

She was already skipping over the rocks with arms extended. He followedher lightly, ready to give his hand at a moment's notice. But Chris wasvery sure-footed, and though she allowed him to take her parcel, shewould not accept his assistance. 

"I haven't brought anything to drink, " she remarked presently, "I hopeyou don't mind. "

No, he minded nothing. Like herself, he was enjoying the treat to theuttermost. He had not forgotten the lantern. It was waiting by the MagicCave. He begged that she would not hasten. The tide would not turn yet. 

But Chris was in an impetuous mood. She wanted to start upon heradventure without delay. Should they not explore first and have teaafter? It should be exactly as she wished, he assured her. Was it not her_fête_?

But when at length she reached the shingle under the cliffs, she found asurprise in store for her that made her change her mind. 

A white napkin was spread daintily upon a flat-topped rock, and on thiswere set a large pink and white cake and a box of _fondants_. 

"Goodness!" ejaculated Chris. 

"_Merveilleux_!" exclaimed the Frenchman. 

She turned upon him. "Now, Bertie, you needn't pretend you are not at thebottom of it, for I am old enough to know better. No, " as he shrugged hisshoulders and spread out his hands, "it's not a bit of good doing that. It doesn't deceive me in the least. I know you did it, and you're aperfect dear, and it was sweet of you to think of it. It's the bestpicnic I ever went to. And you even thought of tea, " catching sight of asmall spirit-kettle that sang in a sheltered corner. "Let's have some atonce, shall we? I'm so thirsty. "

He had forgotten nothing. From a basket he produced cups, saucers, plates, knives, and arranged them on his improvised table. 

Chris surveyed the cake with frank satisfaction. "What a mercy the gullsdidn't seize it while your back was turned! Do cut it, quick!"

"No, no! You will perform that ceremony, " smiled Bertrand. 

"Shall I? Oh, very well. I expect I shall do it very badly. What lovelysweets! Did they come out of the Magic Cave? I hope they won't vanishbefore we come to eat them. "

"I thought that my bird of Paradise would like them, " he said softly. 

"Your bird of Paradise loves them, " promptly returned Chris. "In fact, ifyou ask me, I think she is inclined to be rather greedy. Please take thekettle off. It's spluttering. You must make the tea if I'm to cut thecake. And let's be quick, shall we? I believe it's going to rain!"

They were not very quick, however, for, as Chris herself presentlyremarked, one couldn't scramble over such a cake as that. And the raincame down in a sharp shower before they had finished, and drove them intothe Magic Cave for shelter. 

The girl's young laughter echoed weirdly along the rocky walls as sheentered, and she turned with a slightly startled expression to make surethat her companion was close to her. 

He had paused to rescue the remains of the feast. "Quick!" she called tohim. "You will be drenched. "

"_Je viens vite--vite_, " he called back, and in a few seconds was at herside. 

"_Comment_!" he said. "You are afraid, no?"

"No, " said Chris, colouring under his look of inquiry. "But it's horriblyeerie. Where is Cinders?"

A muffled bark from the depths of the cave answered her. Cinders wasobviously exploring on his own account, and believed himself to be on thetrack of some quarry. 

"Light the lantern--quick!" commanded Chris, her misgivings diverted intoanother channel. "We mustn't lose him. Isn't it cold!"

She shivered in her light dress, but turned inwards resolutely. 

"_Tenez_!" exclaimed the Frenchman, quick to catch her mood. "I will goto find the good Cinders. He is not far. "

"And leave me!" said Chris quickly. 

"_Eh bien_! Let us remain here. "

"And leave Cinders!" said Chris. 

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, then stooped without further wordsand kindled his lamp. 

The rain was still beating in fierce grey gusts over the sea andpattering heavily upon the shingle. The waves broke with a sullenroaring. Evidently a gale was rising. 

Chris, with her face to the darkness of the cave, shivered again. Somehowher spirit of adventure was dashed. 

The flame of Bertrand's lamp shone vaguely inwards, revealing a narrowpassage that wound between rugged cliff-walls into darkness. The rockgleamed black and shiny on all sides. Underfoot were stones of all shapesand sizes, worn smooth by the sea. 

"What a ghastly place!" whispered Chris, and something seemed to catchthe whisper and repeat it sibilantly a great many times as if learning itoff by heart. 

"Permit me to precede you, " said Bertrand. "You will find it not sonarrow in a moment. If you look behind you, you will see the sea as inthe frame of a picture. It is beautiful, is it not?"

His soft voice and casual words reassured her. She looked and admired, though the sea was grey and the shore all blurred with rain. 

"There will be a rainbow soon, " he said. "See! It grows more lightalready. "

But he was looking at her as he spoke, though his glance fell directlyshe turned towards him. 

"Do you come here often?" she asked. 

"But very often, " he said. 

"And what do you do here?"

"I will show you by and bye. "

"Very well, " she said eagerly. "Then we won't go any farther when we havefound Cinders. "

But this last suggestion was not so easy of accomplishment. The darknesshad swallowed Cinders as completely as though the jaws of the dragon hadclosed upon him. 

"Where can he be?" said Chris, a quiver of distress in her voice. 

"Have no fear! We will find him, " Bertrand assured her. 

He moved forward, holding the lantern to guide her. She kept very closeto him, especially when a curve in the passage hid the entrance behindher. Her fancy for exploring was rapidly dwindling. 

As he had told her, the passage soon widened. They emerged into a cave ofsome size and considerable height. 

"He will be here, " announced Bertrand, with conviction. 

But he was mistaken; Cinders was nowhere to be seen. 

Chris looked around her wonderingly. This chamber in the rock was unlikeanything she had ever seen before. The very atmosphere seemed ominous, like the air of a dungeon. 

"And you come here often!" she said again incredulously. 

He smiled, and, raising his lantern, pointed to a crevice just above hishead. "That is where I keep my magic. "

Chris stood on tiptoe, and peered curiously. He reached up with his freehand, and drew forward something that gave back dully the flare of thelamp. She saw a black tin box that looked like a miniature safe. 

He looked at her with a smile. "It contains my treasures--my black arts, "he said, "and my future. " He pushed it back again and turned. "Come! wewill find the naughty Cinders. "

Chris was on the point of asking eager questions regarding this newmystery, but before she could begin to utter them a long and piteoushowl--the howl of a lost dog--sent them helter-skelter from her mind. 

"Oh, listen!" she cried. "That's Cinders!"

She sprang forward while the miserable sound was still echoing all aboutthem. "Oh, isn't it dreadful?" she gasped. "Do you think he is hurt?"

"No, no!" Bertrand hastened to reassure her. "He is only afraid. We willgo to him. "

He stretched out a hand to her, and she put hers into it as naturally asa child. Her chin was quivering, and her voice, when she tried to call tothe dog, broke down upon a sob. 

"He will never know where we are because of the echoes, " she said. 

"He is not far, " declared the Frenchman consolingly. "See, here is thepassage. They say that it was made by the contrabandists, but it leads tonowhere; it has been blocked since many years. Do not fall on the stones;they are very slippery. "

A passage, even narrower than the first, led from the cave in which theyhad been standing. Bertrand went first, his hand stretched out behindhim, still holding hers. 

They had scrambled in this order about a dozen yards when again theyheard Cinders' cry for help--a pathetic yelping considerably farther awaythan it had been before. The unlucky wanderer seemed to have lost hishead in the darkness and to be running hither and thither in wild dismay. 

"What shall we do?" said Chris in tears. "I've never heard him cry likethat before. "

Bertrand paused to listen. "The passage divides near here, " he said. "Courage, little one! We may find him at any moment. Will you then waitwhile I search a little farther? I will leave you the lantern. I havesome matches. "

"Oh, please don't leave me!" entreated Chris. "Why can't I come too?"

"It is too rough for you, " he said. "And there are two passages. If I donot find him in the one, without doubt he will return by the other toyou. "

"You--you'd better take the lantern then, " said Chris, with a gulp. "If Iam only going to stand still, I--I shan't want it. "

"No, no--" he began. 

But she insisted. "Yes, really. You will want it. I will wait for youhere, if you think it best. Only you will promise not to be long?"

"I promise, " he said. 

"Then be quick and go, " she urged, drawing her hand from his. "We mustfind him--we must. "

But when his back was turned, and she saw him receding from her with thelight, she covered her face and trembled. It was the most horribleadventure she had ever experienced. 

For a long time she heard his footsteps echoing weirdly, but when theydied away at last and she stood alone in the utter, vault-like darkness, her heart failed her. What if he also lost his way?

The darkness was terrible. It seemed to press upon her, to hurt her. Through it came the faint sounds of trickling water from all directionslike tiny voices whispering together. Now and then something moved with asmall rustling. It might have been a lizard, a crab, or even a bat. ButChris thought of snakes and stiffened to rigidity, scarcely daring tobreathe. The roar of the sea sounded remote and far, yet insistent alsoas though it held a threat. And, above all, thick and hard andagitatingly distinct, arose the throbbing of her frightened heart. 

All the horrors she had ever heard or dreamt of passed through her brainas she waited there, yet with a certain desperate courage she keptherself from panic. Cinders might run against her at any moment--at anymoment. And even if not, even if she were indeed quite alone in thatawful place, she had heard it said that God was nearer to people in thedark. 

"O God, " she whispered, "I am so frightened. Do bring them both backsoon. "

After the small prayer she felt reassured. She touched the clammy wall oneach side of her, and essayed a tremulous whistle. It was a brave littletune; she knew not whence it came till it suddenly flashed upon her thatshe had heard it on Bertrand's lips on the day that he had drawn hispictures in the sand. And that also renewed her courage. After all, whathad she to fear?

Over and over again she whistled it with growing confidence, improvingher memory each time, till suddenly in the middle of a bar there came therush and patter of feet, a yelp of sheer, exuberant delight, and Cinders, the wanderer, wet, ecstatic, and quite shameless, leaped into her arms. 

CHAPTER VI

THE SPELL

She hugged him to her heart in the darkness, all her fears swept away inthe immensity of her joy at his recovery. 

"But, Cinders, how could you? How could you?" was the utmost reproof shecould find it in her heart to bestow upon the delinquent. 

Cinders explained in his moist, eager way that it had been quiteunintentional, and that he was every whit as thankful to be back safe andsound in her loving arms as she was to have him there. They discussed thesubject at length and forgave each other with considerable effusion, eventually arriving at the conclusion that no blame attached to either. 

And upon this arose the question, What of the Frenchman, Chris's _preuxchevalier_, who had so nobly adventured himself upon a fruitless quest?

"He promised he wouldn't be long, " she reflected hopefully. "We shalljust have to wait till he turns up, that's all. "

She would not suffer her rescued favourite to leave her arms again, andthey wiled away some time in the joy of reunion. But the minutes began todrag more and more slowly, till at length anxiety came uppermost again. 

Chris began to grow seriously uneasy. What could have happened to him?Had he really lost his way? And if so what could she do?

Plainly nothing, but wait--wait--wait! And she was so tired of thedarkness; her eyes ached with it. 

Her fears mustered afresh, fantastic fears this time. She began to seegreen eyes glaring at her, to hear stealthy footfalls above the long, deep roar of the sea, to feel the clammy presence of creatures unknownand hostile. Cinders, too, weary of inaction, began to whimper, to lickher face persuasively, and to suggest a move. 

But Chris would not be persuaded. She could without doubt have groped herway back to the cave where Bertrand kept his magic, and even thence tothe shore. But she did not for a moment contemplate such a proceeding. She would have felt like a soldier deserting his post. Sooner or laterBertrand would return and look for her here, and here he must find her. 

But her fears were growing more vivid every moment, and when Cinders, infected thereby, began to growl below his breath and to bristle underher hand she became almost terrified. 

Desperately she grappled with her trepidation and flung it from her, chidCinders for his foolish cowardice, and fell again to whistling Bertrand'smelody with all her might. 

Clear and flutelike it echoed through the desolate tunnels, startlinglydistinct to her strained nerves. Sometimes the echoes seemed to mock her, but she would not be dismayed. It might be a help to Bertrand, and itcertainly helped herself. 

A long time passed, how long she had not the vaguest notion. Cinders, grown tired of his own impatience, rested his chin on her shoulder andwent phlegmatically to sleep, secure in her assurance that there wasnothing whatever to be afraid of. Small creature though he was, her armsached from holding him, yet she would not let him go, he was too preciousfor that; and each minute that passed, so she told herself, brought theend of her vigil nearer. 

Her heart was like lead within her, but she would not give way todespair. He was bound to come in the end. 

And come in the end he did, but not till her hopes had sunk so low thatwhen she heard the first faint sound of his returning feet she would notbelieve her ears. But when Cinders heard it also, and raised his head togrowl, she suffered herself to be convinced. He really was coming atlast. 

His progress was very slow, maddeningly slow it seemed to Chris. Shewatched eagerly for the first sign of light from his lantern, but shewatched in vain. No faintest ray came to illumine the darkness. Surely itwas he; it could be none other!

Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, slow and groping. She listened tillshe could bear it no longer; then "Bertrand!" she cried wildly. "Bertie!Oh, is it you! Do speak!"

Instantly his voice came to her out of the darkness. "Yes, yes. It is me, little one. I have had--an accident. I am desolated--afflicted; there areno words that can say. And you awaiting me still, my little bird ofParadise, singing so bravely in the darkness!"

"Whistling, " corrected Chris; "I can't sing. What on earth has happened?Are you hurt?"

"No, no! It is nothing--a _bagatelle_. Ah, but you have found the goodCinders! I am rejoiced indeed!"

"Yes, he came to me--ages ago. It is you I have been waiting for all thistime. I thought you were never coming. At least, of course, I knew youwould come; but oh"--with a great sigh--"it has been a long time!"

"Ah, pardon me!" he said. "But why did you wait?"

"Of course I waited, " said Chris. "I said I would. "

"And you were not afraid? No?"

He was standing close to her now, and Cinders was wriggling to reach andwelcome him. 

"Yes, a little, " Chris admitted. "That's why I whistled. But it's allright now. Do let us get out. "

"Ah!" he said. "But I fear--"

"What?" she asked, with sudden misgiving. 

He hesitated a moment, then, "The tide, " he said. 

"Bertie!" For the first time Chris's bravely sustained courage brokedown. She thrust out a clinging hand and clutched his arm. "Are we goingto be drowned--here--in the dark?" she said, gasping. 

"No, no, no!" His reply was instant and reassuring. He took her hand andheld it. "It is not that. The water will not reach us. It is only that wecannot return until the tide permit. "

"Oh, well!" Chris's relief eclipsed her dismay. "That doesn't matter somuch, " she said. "Let us get out of this horrid little tunnel, anyhow. Oh, darling Cinders! He wants to kiss you. Do you mind?"

Bertrand laughed involuntarily. But she was droll, this English child!Was it possible that she did not realize the seriousness of the dilemmain which she found herself? Well, if not--he shrugged his shoulders--itwas not for him to enlighten her. As comrades in trouble they wouldendure their incarceration as bravely as they might. 

There was a faint spice of enjoyment in Chris's next remark: "Well, weare all together, that's one thing, and we've got the cake for supper, ifwe can only find it. Will you go first, please, so that I can hold on toyou. It will be nice to see the light again. What happened to thelantern? Did you drop it?"

"I fell, " he said. "I thought that I heard the good Cinders in front ofme, and I ran. I tripped and struck my head. It stunned me. _Après cela_, I lay--_depuis longtemps_--insensible till I awoke and heard you singingso far--so far away. "

"Whistling, " said Chris. 

"I thought it was a bird at the dawn, " he said, "flying high in the sky. And I lay and listened. "

"My dear _chevalier_, you wanted shaking, " she interposed, withpardonable severity. "Are you sure you are awake now? Oh, look! There isa ray of light! How heavenly! But why didn't you relight the lantern?"

"It was broken, " he said, "and useless. Also I found that I had onlythree matches. "

"I hope it will be a lesson to you, " she rejoined, breathing a sigh ofrelief as they emerged into the dim twilight of the cave. "Oh, isn't itnice to see again! I feel as if I have been blindfolded for years. "

"Poor little one!" he said. "Can you ever pardon me?"

They stood together in the deep gloom. They could hear the water lappingthe sides of the passage that led inwards from the shore. 

"It must be knee-deep round the bend, " said Chris. "Yes, I'll forgiveyou, Bertie. I daresay it wasn't altogether your fault, and I expect yourhead aches, doesn't it? I hope it isn't very bad. Is there a very biglump? Let me feel. "

She passed her hand over his forehead till her fingers encountered theexcrescence they sought. 

"Oh, you poor boy, it's enormous!" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell mebefore? We must bathe it at once. "

But Bertrand laughed and gently drew her hand away. "No--no! It is only a_bagatelle_. Think no more of it, I beg. I merited it for my negligence. Now, while there is still light, let us decide where you can with thegreatest convenience pass the night. "

He was prepared for some measure of dismay, as he thus presented to herthe worst aspect of the catastrophe. But Chris remained serene. She wasrapidly recovering her spirits. 

"Oh, yes, " she said. "And poor Cinders too! We must find him a nice comfycorner. He can lie on my skirt and keep me warm. Oh, do you know, I heardsuch a funny story the other day about this very cave. I'll tell youabout it presently. But do find the cake first. I'm so hungry. We needn'tgo to bed yet, need we? It must be quite early. What time do you thinkthe tide will let us get out? Poor Mademoiselle will think I'm drowned. "

Chris's awe of the Magic Cave had evidently evaporated. The picnic moodhad returned to take its place, and Bertrand knew not whether to be moreastounded or relieved. He began to feel about for the basket containingthe remnants of their feast, while Chris with much volubility and not alittle merriment explained the situation to Cinders. 

He calculated that they would be at liberty in the early hours of themorning unless he tempted Fate a second time by climbing the cliff. ButChris would not for a moment consider this proposition, and he was tooshaken by his recent fall to feel assured of success if he persisted. Moreover, he seriously doubted if any boat could be brought within reachof her while the tide remained high. 

Plainly his only course was to follow her lead and make the best ofthings. If she managed to extract any enjoyment from a most difficultsituation, so much the better. He could but do his utmost to encouragethis enviable frame of mind. 

Chris, munching cheerfully in the twilight, had evidently quite forgottenher woes. They went down the passage later as far as the bend, and lookedat the seething water, all green in the evening light, that held themcaptive. 

"I wish it wasn't going to be quite dark, " she said when they returned. "But if we hold hands and talk I shan't mind. That was a lovely cake ofyours, Bertie, I shall never forget it. "

They found a ledge to sit on, Chris with her feet curled up; and Cinders, grown sleepy after a generous meal, pressed against her. She protestedwhen Bertrand took off his coat and wrapped it round her, but he wouldtake no refusal. There was a penetrating dampness about the place that hefeared for her. 

"If you sleep, you will feel it, " he said. 

"But I'm not going to sleep, " declared Chris. "I never felt morewide-awake in my life. I often do at bedtime. I hope you are not feelingsleepy either, for I want to talk all night long. "

Bertrand professed himself quite willing to listen. "You were going totell me something about this cave, " he reminded her. 

"Oh, yes. " Chris swooped upon the subject eagerly. "Manon, the littlemaid-of-all-work, was telling me. She said that no one ever comes herebecause it is haunted. That's what made Cinders and me call it the MagicCave. She said that it was well known that no one ever came out the sameas they went in even in the daytime, and if any one were to spend thenight here they would be under a spell for the rest of their lives. Justthink of that, Bertie! Do you think we shall be? She didn't tell me whatthe spell was. I expect it was something too bad to repeat. That's howCinders and I came to make up about the knight and the dragon. I hope thedragon won't find us, don't you?"

She drew a little nearer to him and slipped a hand inside his arm. Hepressed it close to him, "Have no fear, _chérie_. No evil can touch you while I am here. "

"I should be terrified if you weren't, " she told him frankly. "Did youever hear about the spell? Do you know what it means?"

"Yes, " he said slowly; "I have heard. That was in part why I came here atfirst, because I knew that I should be alone. I had need of solitude inorder to accomplish that which I had begun. "

"Your magic?" queried Chris eagerly. 

"Yes, little one, my magic. But"--he was smiling--"I have never remainedhere for the night. And the charm, you say, is not so potent during theday. "

"You may be under it already, " she said. "I wonder if you are. "

"Ah!" Bertrand's tone was suddenly grave. "That also is possible. "

"I wonder, " she said again. "That may be what made you knock your head. One never knows. But tell me about your magic. What is it? What do youdo?"

"I think, " he said, "I calculate. And I build. "

"What do you build?"

"It is a secret, " he said. 

"But you will tell me!"

"Why, Christine?"

"Because I do so want to know, " she urged coaxingly. "And I can keepsecrets really. All English people can. Try me!" She thrust forward thelittle finger of the hand that his arm held. "You must pinch it, " sheexplained, "as hard as you can. And if I don't even squeak you will knowI am to be trusted. "

He took the finger thus heroically proffered, hesitated a second, thenput it softly to his lips. "I would trust you with my life, " he said, "with my honour, with all that I possess. Christine, I am an inventor, and I am at the edge of a great discovery--a discovery that will make theFrench artillery the greatest in the world. "

"Goodness!" said Chris, with a gasp; then in haste, "Not--not greaterthan ours surely!"

He turned to her impetuously in the darkness, her hands caught into his. "Ah, you say that because you are English! And the English--_il faut queles anglais soient toujours, toujours les premiers_--is it not so--alwaysand in all things? Yet consider! What is it--this national rivalry--thisstrife for the supremacy? We laugh at it, you and I. We know what it isworth. "

But Chris was too young to laugh. "I don't quite like it, " she said. "I'mvery sorry. Shall we talk of something else?"

But he still held her hands closely clasped. "Listen, Christine, mylittle one! These things they pass. They are as a dream in the midst of agreat Reality. They are not the materials of which we weave our life. Envy, ambition, success--what are they? Only a procession that marchesunder the windows, and we look out above them, you and I, to the greatheaven and the sun; and"--something more than eagerness thrilled suddenlyin his voice--"we know that that is our life--the Spark Eternal thatnothing can ever quench. "

He ceased abruptly. Cinders had stirred in his sleep, and she had drawnaway one of her hands to fondle him. 

There fell short silence. Then, her voice a little doubtful, she spoke--

"You are not ambitious, then?"

He threw himself back against the rock, and with the movement a certaintension went out of the atmosphere--a tension of which she had beenvaguely aware almost without knowing it. 

"Ah, yes, I am ambitious, " he said. "I am a builder. I have my work todo. And I shall succeed. I shall make that which all the world will envy. I shall be famous. " He broke off to laugh exultantly. "Oh, it will begood--good!" he said. "One does not often reach the summit while one isyet young. There are times when it seems too wonderful to be true; andyet I know--I know!"

"Is it a gun?" said Chris. 

"Yes, _mignonne_, a gun! It is also a secret--thine and mine. "

She uttered a faint sigh. "I wish it wasn't a gun, Bertie. If it wereonly an aeroplane, or something that didn't hurt anyone! Of course, youare a soldier and a Frenchman. I couldn't expect you to understand. "

He laughed rather ruefully. "But I understand all. And you do not lovethe French? No?"

"Not so very much, " said Chris honestly. "Of course, I'm not beingpersonal. I liked you from the first. "

"Ah! But really?" he said. 

"Yes, really; and so did Cinders. He always knows when people are nice. We shall miss you quite a lot when we go home. "

"Quite a lot!" Bertrand repeated the phrase musingly as if questioningwith himself how much it might mean. 

"Yes, " she went on, "we were so lonely till you came. " She broke off toyawn. "Do you know, I'm beginning to get sleepy. Is it the spell, do youthink, or only the dark?"

"It is not the spell, " he said, with conviction. 

"No?" She moved uneasily. "I'm not very comfy, " she remarked. "I wish Iwere like Cinders. He can sleep in any position. It must be soconvenient. "

"Will you, then, lean on my shoulder?" Bertrand suggested, with a touchof diffidence. 

She accepted the offer with alacrity. "Oh, yes, if you don't mind. Itwould be better than nodding one's head off, as if one were in church, wouldn't it? But what of you? Aren't you sleepy at all?"

"I have no desire to sleep, " he told her gravely. 

"Haven't you?" Chris's head descended promptly upon his shoulder. "I'venever been up all night before, " she said. "It feels so funny. How thesea roars! I wish it wouldn't. Bertie, you're sure there isn't such athing as a dragon really, aren't you?"

His hand closed fast upon hers. "I am quite sure, _chérie_. "

"Thank you. That's nice, " she murmured. "I haven't said my prayers. Doyou think it matters as I'm not going to bed? I really am tired. "

"No, dear, " he said. "_Le bon Dieu_ understands. "

She moved her head a little. "Are you going to say yours, Bertie?"

"Perhaps, little one. "

"Oh, that's all right, " she said comfortably. "Good-night!"

"Good-night, _chérie_!"

His lips were close, so close to her forehead. He could even feelher hair blow lightly against his face. But he remained rigid as asentry--watchful and silent and still. 

Once during that long night she stirred in her sleep--stirred and nestledcloser to him with an inarticulate murmur; and he turned, moving for thefirst time, and gathered her into his arms, holding her there like aninfant against his breast. Thereafter she slept a calm, unbroken slumber, serenely unconscious of him and serenely content. 

And the man sat motionless, with eyes wide to the darkness, grave andreverent as the eyes of a warrior keeping his vigil on the eve ofknighthood. But his heart throbbed all night long like the beat of a drumthat calls men into action. 

CHAPTER VII

IN THE CAUSE OF A WOMAN

To say that Mademoiselle Gautier was extremely anxious over her youngcharge's disappearance would be to state the case with ludicrousmildness. She was frantic, she was frenzied with anxiety. 

All the evening and half the night she was literally dancing withsuspense, intermingled with fits of despair that reduced her, while theylasted, to a state of absolute collapse. Before midnight all Valpré knewthat the little English _demoiselle_ was missing, and all Valpré scouredthe shore for her in vain. Some of the fishermen put out in boats andcontinued the search by moonlight as near the rocks as it was possible togo. But all to no purpose. 

When the moon went down, they abandoned the quest; but at dawn, when thetide was on the turn, they were out again, searching, searching for awhite, drowned face and a mass of red-brown hair. But the sea onlylaughed in the sunlight and revealed no secrets. 

Mademoiselle was quite prostrate by that time. She lay in a darkened roomwith her head swathed in a black shawl, and called upon all the holysaints to witness that she had always predicted this disaster. 

Chris's two young brothers slept fitfully, waking now and then to assureeach other uneasily that of course she would turn up sooner or latersound in wind and limb; she always did. 

Noel, the younger, who was more or less in Chris's confidence, gave it ashis opinion that she had eloped with someone, that officer-chap she metthe other day, he'd lay a wager! But Maxwell poured contempt upon thebare suggestion. Chris--elope with a Frenchman! He could as easily seehimself eloping with the Goat--a pet name that he and his brother hadbestowed upon Mademoiselle Gautier, and which fitted her rather well uponoccasion. 

Three hours after sunrise the prodigal returned, lightfooted, gay ofmien. She was alone when she arrived, having firmly refused Bertrand'sescort farther then the end of the _plage_, lest poor Mademoiselle, whohated men, should have hysterics. But the tale of her adventures hadpreceded her. All Valpré knew what had happened, and watched her withfurtive curiosity. All Valpré knew that the _petite Anglaise_ had spentthe night in a cave with one of the officers from the fortress, and allValpré waited with bated breath, prepared to be duly scandalized. 

But Chris was sublimely unconscious of this. Of course, she knew thatMademoiselle would be shocked, but then Mademoiselle's feelings were soextremely sensitive upon all points moral that it was almost impossibleto spend an hour in her company without in some fashion doing violenceto them. One simply tumbled over them, as it were, at every turn. 

She expected and encountered the usual storm of reproach, but whenMademoiselle proceeded to inform her that she was ruined for life, sheopened her blue eyes wide and barely suppressed a chuckle. She professedpenitence and even asked forgiveness for all the anxiety she had caused, but she could not see that what had happened possessed the tragicimportance that Mademoiselle assigned to it. According to her distractedgoverness, she had almost better have been drowned. For the life of her, Chris couldn't see why. 

When the tempest had somewhat spent itself, she retreated to herbrothers, to whom she poured out a full and animated account of thenight's happenings. They all agreed that Mademoiselle must have rats inthe upper story to make such a pother over the adventure, though Maxwell, who held himself to be approaching years of discretion, gave it as hisopinion that the whole thing was a piece of bad luck and an experimentnot to be repeated. 

"It's over anyhow, " said Chris. "And we are none the worse, are we, Cinders? So all's well that ends well, and now I'm going to get somethingto eat. "

For the next two days, Mademoiselle continuing to be hysterical atintervals, Chris was exemplary in her behaviour. Perhaps even she had hada surfeit of adventure for the time being. She certainly had no furtherurgent desire to explore caves, magic or otherwise. She was also a littletired, and inclined, after her excitement, to feel proportionately slack. But early on the morning of the third day her strenuous nature reasserteditself. 

The sea and the sunshine awoke her together and she arose and dressed, eager to revel in them both. She wondered if Bertrand were out in hisboat, and rather hoped she might encounter him. 

Bertrand, however, was nowhere to be seen, and she proceeded to enjoy hermorning bathe in solitude. It was an enchanting day, and his absence didnot depress her. The tide was low, and she had to wade out a considerabledistance through the rippling waves; but she reached deep water at lastand proceeded forthwith to enjoy herself to her utmost capacity. 

She spent a delicious half-hour thus, and it was with regret that shefinally returned to the shallows and began to wade back to the pointwhere Cinders, with her mackintosh, awaited her. 

Just beyond this spot was a fair stretch of sand, and she was surprisedas she drew nearer to the shore to hear voices and to see a group of menin the blue and red uniform of the garrison gathered upon what she hadcome to regard as her own particular playground. She peered at them forsome seconds from beneath her hand, for the sun was in her eyes; andsuddenly a queer little thrill, that was not quite fear and not solelyexcitement, ran through her. For all in a moment, ringing on the stillair of early morning, there came to her ears the clash of steel meetingsteel. 

"Good gracious!" she said aloud. "It's a duel!"

A duel it undoubtedly was. She had a clear view of the whole scene, distant but distinct, could even see the flash of the swords, the rapidmovements of the two combatants. It impressed her like a scene in atheatre. She did not wholly grasp the reality of it, though her heart wasbeating very fast. 

Knee-deep, she stood in the sparkling water, outlined against the blue ofsky and sea, watching. Several seconds passed, during which they seemedto be fighting with some ferocity. Then, obeying an impulse of which shewas scarcely aware, she moved on through the swishing waves, drawingnearer at every step, hearing every instant more distinctly the ominousclashing of the swords. 

When only ankle-deep, she paused again. Perhaps, after all, it was only agame--a fencing-match, a trial of skill! Of course, that must be it! Wasit in the least likely to be anything more serious? And yet somethingwithin told her very decidedly that this was not so. A trial of skill itmight be, but it was being conducted in grim earnest. 

She said to herself that she would slip on her mackintosh and go. But anoverwhelming desire to investigate a little further kept her dallying. She had an ardent longing to see the faces of the antagonists. Later shemarvelled at her own temerity, but at the time this overmastering desirewas the only thing she knew. 

She came out of the sea, reached her faithful attendant Cinders, slippedon the mackintosh, and advanced nearer still to the little group ofofficers upon the beach, buttoning it mechanically as she went. 

Ah, she could see them now! One faced her--a mean-visaged man, fierce, ferret-like, with glaring eyes and evil mouth. She hated him at sight, instinctively, without question. 

He was thrusting savagely at his opponent, whose back was towards her--aslim, straight back familiar to her, so familiar that she recognized himbeyond all doubting, no longer needing to see his face. And yet, involuntarily it seemed, she drew nearer. 

He was fencing without impetuosity, yet with a precision that even to heruntrained perception expressed a most deadly concentration. Lithe andactive, supremely confident, he parried his enemy's attack, and the graceof the man, combined with a certain mastery that was also in a fashionfamiliar to her, attracted her irresistibly, held her spellbound. Therewas nothing brutal about him, no hint of ferocity, only a finishedantagonism as flawless as his chivalry, a strength of self-suppressionthat made him superb. 

No one noticed Chris's proximity. All were too deeply engrossed with thematter in hand. But suddenly Cinders, who loved law and order in allthings pertaining to the human race, scented combat in the air. It wasenough. Cinders would permit no brawling among his betters if he could byany means prevent it. With tail cocked and every hair bristling, herushed into the fray, barking aggressively. 

With a cry of dismay Chris rushed after him, and in that instant the manfacing her raised his eyes involuntarily and shifted his position. Thenext instant he lunged frantically to recover himself, failed, and with aviolent exclamation received his adversary's point in his shoulder. 

It all happened in a flash, so rapidly that it was over before eitherChris or Cinders had quite reached the scene. Bertrand whirled roundfiercely, sword in hand, anger turning to consternation in his eyes as herealized the nature of the interruption. 

Chris had a confused impression that the whole party were talking at onceand blaming her, while they buzzed round the wounded man, who lay back inthe arms of one of them and cursed volubly, whether Bertrand, Cinders, or herself she never knew. 

She had the presence of mind to snatch up her belligerent favourite, whowas snapping at the prostrate officer's legs; and then, for the firsttime in her life, an overwhelming shyness descended upon her as the fullhorror of her position presented itself. 

"I couldn't help it, Bertie! Oh, Bertie, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, inan agony of contrition. 

There was a very odd expression on Bertrand's face. She did notunderstand it in the least, but thought he must be furious since he wasundoubtedly frowning. If this were the case, however, he displayedadmirable self-restraint, for he banished the frown almost immediately. 

"Mademoiselle has been bathing, yes?" he questioned briskly. "But it is asplendid morning for a swim. And le bon Cinders also! How he is droll, cebon Cinders!"

He snapped his fingers airily under the droll one's nose, and flashed hissudden smile into her face of distress. 

"_Eh bien_!" he said. "_L'affaire est finie_. Let us go. "

He stuck his weapon into the sand and left it there. Then, withoutwaiting to don his coat, he turned and walked away with her with hislight, elastic swagger that speedily widened the distance between himselfand his vanquished foe. 

Chris walked beside him in silence, Cinders still tucked under her arm. She knew not what to say, having no faintest clue to his real attitudetowards her at that moment. He had ignored her apology so jauntily thatshe could not venture to renew it. 

She glanced at him after a little to ascertain whether smile or frown hadsupervened. But both were gone. He looked back at her gravely, thoughwithout reproof. 

"Poor little one!" he said. "It frightened you, no?"

She drew a deep breath. "Oh, Bertie, what were you doing?"

"I was fighting, " he said. 

"But why? You might--you might have killed him! Perhaps you have!"

He stiffened slightly, and twisted one end of his small moustache. "Ithink not, " he said, faint regret in his voice. 

Chris thought not too, judging by the clamour of invective which theinjured man had managed to pour forth. But for some reason she pressedthe point. 

"But--just imagine--if you had!"

He shrugged his shoulders with extreme deliberation. 

"_Alors_, Mademoiselle Christine, there would have been one _canaille_the less in the world. "

She was a little shocked at the cool rejoinder, yet could not somehowfeel that her _preux chevalier_ could be in the wrong. 

"He might have killed you, " she remarked after a moment, determined tosurvey the matter from every standpoint. "I am sure he meant to. "

He shrugged his shoulders again and laughed. "That is quite possible. Andyou would have been sorry--a little--no?"

She raised her clear eyes to his. "You know I should have beenheart-broken, " she said, with the utmost simplicity. 

"But really?" he said. 

"But really, " she repeated, breaking into a smile. "Now do promise methat you will never fight that horrid man again. "

He spread out his hands. "How can I promise you such a thing! It is notthe fashion in France to suffer insults in silence. "

"Did he insult you, then?"

Again he stiffened. "He insulted me--yes. And I, I struck him. _Aprèscela_--" again the expressive shrug, and no more. 

"But how did he insult you?" persisted Chris. "Couldn't you have justturned your back, as one would in England?"

"No" Sternly he made reply. "I could not--turn my back. "

"It's ever so much more dignified, " she maintained. 

The dark eyes flashed. "Pardon!" he said. "There are some insults uponwhich no man, English or French, can with honour turn the back. "

That fired her curiosity. "It was something pretty bad, then? What wasit, Bertie? Tell me!"

"I cannot tell you, " he returned, quite courteously but with the utmostfirmness. 

She glanced at him again speculatively, then, with shrewdness: "When menfight duels, " she said, "it's generally over either politics or--a woman. Was it--politics, Bertie?"

He stopped. "It was not politics, Christine, " he said. 

"Then--" She paused, expectant. 

His face contracted slightly. "Yes, it was--a woman. But I say nothingmore than that. We will speak of it--never again. "

But this was very far from satisfying Chris. "Tell me at least about thewoman, " she urged. "Is it--is it the girl you are going to marry?"

But he stood silent, looking at her again with that expression in hiseyes that had puzzled her before. 

"Is it, Bertie?" she insisted. 

"And if I tell you Yes?" he said at last. 

She made a queer little gesture, the merest butterfly movement, and yetit had in it the faintest suggestion of hurt surprise. 

"And you never told me about her, " she said. 

He leaned swiftly towards her. There was a sudden glow on his olive facethat made him wonderfully handsome. "_Mignonne_!" he said eagerly, andthen as swiftly checked himself. "Ah, no, I will not say it! You do notlove the French. "

"But I want to hear about your _fiancée_, " she protested. "I can't thinkwhy you haven't told me. "

He had straightened himself again, and there was something rathermournful in his look. "I have no _fiancée_, little one, " he said. 

"No?" Chris smiled all over her sunny face. She looked the merest childstanding before him wrapped in the mackintosh that flapped about her bareankles, the ruddy hair all loose about her back. "Then whatever made youpretend you had?" she said. 

He smiled back, half against his will, with the eloquent shrug thatgenerally served him where speech was awkward. 

"And the woman you fought about?" she continued relentlessly. 

"Mademoiselle Christine, " he pleaded, "you ask of me the impossible. Youdo not know what you ask. "

"Don't be silly, " said Chris imperiously. The matter had somehow becomeof the first importance, and she had every intention of gaining her end. "It isn't fair not to tell me now, unless, " with sudden doubt, "it'ssomebody whose acquaintance you are ashamed of. "

He winced at that, and drew himself up so sharply that she thought for amoment that he was about to turn on his heel and walk away. Then veryquietly he spoke. 

"You will not understand, and yet you constrain me to speak. Mademoiselle, I am without shame in this matter. It is true that I foughtin the cause of a woman, perhaps it would be more true if I said of achild--one who has given me no more than her _camaraderie_, herconfidence, her friendship, so innocent and so amiable; but these thingsare very precious to me, and that is why I cannot lightly speak of them. You will not understand my words now, but perhaps some day it may be myprivilege to teach you their signification. "

He stopped. Chris was gazing at him in amazement, her young face deeplyflushed. 

"Do you mean me?" she asked at last. "You didn't--you couldn't--fight onmy account!"

He made her a grave bow. "I have told you, " he said, "because otherwiseyou would have thought ill of me. Now, with your permission, since thereis no more to say upon the subject, I will return to my friends. "

He would have left her with the words, but she put out an impulsive hand. "But, Bertie--"

He took the hand, looking straight into her eyes, all his formalityvanished at a breath. "Ask me no more, little one, " he said. "You haveasked too much already. But you do not understand. Some day I willexplain all. Run home to _Mademoiselle la gouvernante_ now, and forgetall this. To-morrow we will play again together on the shore, draw thepictures that you love, and weave anew our rope of sand. "

He smiled as he said it, but the tenderness of his speech went deep intothe girl's heart. She suffered him to take leave of her almost insilence. Those words of his had set vibrating in her some chord ofwomanhood that none had ever touched before. It was true that she did notunderstand, but she was nearer to understanding at that moment than shehad ever been before. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE ENGLISHMAN

Chris returned quite soberly to the little house on the _plage_. Themorning's events had given her a good deal to think about. That any manshould deem it worth his while to fight a duel for her sake was a novelidea that required a good deal of consideration. It was all verydifficult to understand, and she wished that Bertrand had told her more. What could his adversary of the scowling brows have found to say abouther, she wondered? She had never so much as seen the man before. How hadhe managed even to think anything unpleasant of her? Recalling Bertrand'sfiery eyes, she reflected that it must have been something veryobjectionable indeed, and wondered how anyone could be so horrid. 

These meditations lasted till she reached the garden gate, and here theywere put to instant and unceremonious flight, for little Noel hailed hereagerly from the house with a cry of, "Hurry up, Chris! Hurry up! You'rewanted!"

Chris hastened in, to be met by her young brother, who was evidently in astate of great excitement. 

"Hurry up, I say!" he repeated. "My word, what a guy you look! We've justhad a wire from Jack. He will be in Paris this evening, and we are tomeet him there. We have got to catch the Paris express at Rennes, and thetrain leaves here in two hours. "

This was news indeed. Chris found herself plunged forthwith into such aturmoil of preparation as drove all thought of the morning's events fromher mind. 

Her brothers were overjoyed at the prospect of immediate departure;Mademoiselle was scarcely less so; and Chris herself, infected by thegeneral atmosphere of satisfaction, entered into the fun of the thingwith a spirit fully equal to the occasion. The scramble to be ready wassuch that not one of the party stopped to breathe during those two hours. They bolted refreshments while they packed, talking at the tops of theirvoices, and thoroughly enjoying the unwonted excitement. Mademoiselle wasmore nearly genial than Chris had ever seen her. She did not even scoldher for taking an early dip. At the time Chris was too busy to wonder ather forbearance; but she discovered the reason later, without thepreliminary of wondering, when she came to know that it wasMademoiselle's urgent representations at headquarters regarding her owndelinquencies that had impelled this sudden summons. 

The thought of meeting her cousin added zest to the situation. Though tenyears her senior, Jack Forest had long been the best chum she had--he wasbest chum to a good many people. 

Only when by strenuous effort they had managed to catch the one and onlytrain that could land them at Rennes in time for the Paris express, onlywhen the cliffs and the dear blue shore where she had idled so many hoursaway were finally and completely left behind, did a sudden stab ofrealization pierce Chris, while the quick words that her playmate of thebeach had uttered only that morning flashed torch-like through her brain. 

Then and only then did she remember him, her _preux chevalier_, herfaithful friend and comrade, whose name she had never heard, whom she hadleft without word or thought of farewell. 

So crushing was her sense of loss, that for a few seconds she lost touchwith her surroundings, and sat dazed, white-faced, stricken, not so muchas asking herself what could be done. Then one of the boys shouted to herto come and look at something they were passing, and with an effort shejerked herself back to normal things. 

Having recovered her balance, she managed to maintain a certain show ofindifference during the hours that followed, but she looked back uponthat journey to Paris later as one looks back upon a nightmare. It washer first acquaintance with suffering in any form. 

Jack Forest, big, square, and reliable, was waiting for them at theterminus. 

The two boys greeted him with much enthusiasm, but Chris suffered her owngreeting to be of a less boisterous character. Dear as the sight of himwas to her, it could not ease this new pain at her heart, and somehow shefound it impossible to muster even a show of gaiety any longer. 

"Tired?" queried Jack, with her hand in his. 

And she answered, "Yes, dreadfully, " with a feeling that if he askedanything further she would break down completely. 

But Jack Forest was a young man of discretion. He smiled upon her andsaid something about cakes for tea, after which he transferred hisattention to more pressing matters. Quite a strategist was Jack, thoughvery few gave him credit for so being. 

Later, he sat down beside his forlorn little cousin in the great buzzingvestibule of the hotel whither he had piloted the whole party, and gaveher tea, while he plied the boys with questions. But he never noticedthat she could not eat, or commented upon her evident weariness. Mademoiselle did both, but he did not hear. 

Chris would have gladly escaped the ordeal of dining in the great_salle-à-manger_ that night, but she could muster no excuse for so doing. At any other time it would have been an immense treat, and she dared notlet Jack think that it was otherwise with her to-night. 

So they dined at length and elaborately, to Mademoiselle's keensatisfaction, but she was aching all the while to slip away to bed andcry her heart out in the darkness. She could not shake free from thememory of the friend who would be waiting for her on the morrow, drawinghis pictures in the sand for the playfellow who would never see them--whowould never, in fact, be his playfellow again. 

Returning to the vestibule after dinner to listen to the band was almostmore than she could bear; but still she could not frame an excuse, andstill Jack noticed nothing. He sent the boys to bed, but, as a matter ofcourse, she remained with Mademoiselle. 

They found a seat under some palms, and Jack ordered coffee. He got onvery well with Mademoiselle as with the rest of the world, and thereseemed small prospect of an early retirement. But at this juncture poorChris began to get desperate. She had refused the coffee almost withvehemence, and was on the point of an almost tearful entreaty to beallowed to go to bed, when suddenly a quiet voice spoke close to her. 

"Excuse me, Forest! I have been trying to catch your eye for the past tenminutes. May I have the pleasure of an introduction?"

Chris glanced quickly round at the first deliberate syllable, and saw atall, grave-faced man of possibly thirty, standing at Jack's elbow. 

Jack looked round too, and sprang impulsively to his feet. "You, Trevor!I thought you were on the other side of the world. My dear chap, why onearth didn't you speak before? You might have dined with us. MademoiselleGautier, may I present my friend, Mr. Mordaunt?"

Mademoiselle acknowledged the introduction stiffly. She had no liking forstrange men. 

But Chris looked at the new-comer with frank interest, forgetful for themoment of her trouble. His smooth, clean-cut face attracted her. His greyeyes were the most piercingly direct that she had ever encountered. 

"My little cousin, Miss Wyndham, " said Jack. "Chris, this is the greatestnewspaper man of the age. Join us, Mordaunt, won't you? I wish you hadcome up sooner. Where were you hiding?"

Mordaunt smiled a little as he took a vacant chair by Chris's side. "Ihave been quite as conspicuous as usual during the whole evening, " hesaid, "but you were too absorbed to notice me. Are you enjoying themusic, Miss Wyndham, or only watching the crowd?"

Chris did not know quite what to answer, since she had been doingneither, but he passed on with the easy air of a man accustomed to fillin conversational gaps. 

"I believe I saw you arrive this evening. Haven't you got a small dogwith a turned-up nose? I thought so. Are you taking him for a holiday?How do you propose to get him home again?"

That opened her lips, and quite successfully diverted her thoughts. "Hehas had his holiday, " she explained, "and we are taking him back. I don'tknow in the least how we shall do it. Jack will have to manage itsomehow. Can you suggest anything? The authorities are so horribly strictabout dogs, and I couldn't let him go into quarantine. He would break hisheart long before he came out. "

"A dog of character evidently!" The new acquaintance considered thematter gravely. "When are you crossing?" he asked. 

"To-morrow, " said Jack. "I'm sorry, Chris, but I came off in a hurry, asmatters seemed urgent, and I have to be back by the end of the week. "

"I wonder if you would care to entrust your dog to me, " said Mordaunt. "Iam fairly well known. I think I could be relied upon with safety tohoodwink the authorities. "

He made the suggestion with a smile that warmed Chris's desolate heart. Not till long afterwards did she know that this man had crossed theChannel only that day, and that he proposed to re-cross it on the morrowbecause of the trouble in a child's eyes that had moved him tocompassion. 

They spent the next half-hour in an engrossing discussion as to the bestmeans to be adopted for Cinders' safe transit, and when Chris went to bedat last she was so full of the scheme that she forgot after all to cryherself to sleep over the thought of her _preux chevalier_ drawing hissand-pictures in solitude. 

She dreamed instead that he and the Englishman with the level, grey eyeswere fighting a duel that lasted interminably, neither giving ground, till suddenly Bertrand plunged his sword into the earth and abruptlywalked away. 

She tried to follow him, but could not, for something held her back. Andso presently he passed out of her sight, and turning, she found that theEnglishman had gone also, and she was alone. 

Then she awoke, and knew it was a dream. 

PART I

CHAPTER I

THE PRECIPICE

The angry yelling of a French mob rose outside the court--a low, ominousroar, pierced here and there with individual execrations, and theprisoner turned his head and listened. There was a suspicion of contempton his face, drawn though it was. What did they care for justice? It wasonly the instinct to hunt the persecuted that urged them. Were he provedinnocent ten times over, they would hardly be convinced or cease fromtheir reviling. 

But he knew that no proof of innocence would be forthcoming. He washedged around too completely by adverse circumstances for that. Everything pointed to his guilt, and only he himself and one other knewhim to be the victim of a deliberate plot devised to compass hisdestruction. He was too hopelessly enmeshed to extricate himself, and theother--the only man in the world who could establish his innocence--wasthe man who had set the snare. 

Bertrand de Montville, gunner and genius, had faced this fact until hewas in a measure used to it. There was to be no escape for him. He, whohad dared to scale the heights of Olympus and had diced with the gods, was to be hurled into the mire to rise therefrom no more for ever. He hadclimbed so high; almost his feet had reached the summit. He had completedhis invention, and it had surpassed even his most sanguine hopes ofsuccess. At four-and-twenty he had been acclaimed by his superiors as thegreatest artillery engineer of his time. His genius had won him a footingthat men more than twice his age, and far above him in military rank, might have envied. He had been honoured by the highest. 

And then at the very zenith of his prosperity had come his downfall. Hisgun, the cherished invention that was to place the French artillery atthe head of the list, the child of his brain, his own peculiar treasure, was discovered to have been purchased by another Government three monthsbefore he had offered it to his own. 

None but himself--so it was believed, so it was ultimately to be provedto the satisfaction of impartial judges--had been in a position at thattime to betray the secret, for none but himself had then possessed it. And a great storm of indignation went through the whole country over therevelation. 

Passionately but uselessly he protested his innocence. There were a few, even among his judges, who secretly believed him; but the proof wasincontestable. Inch by inch he had been forced down from the heights thathe had so gallantly scaled, and now he was on the brink of the precipice, no longer fighting, only waiting with the unflinching courage of theFrench aristocrat to be hurled headlong into the abyss that yawned below. 

The yelling of the crowd outside the court was only a detail of thebitter process that was gradually compassing his condemnation. He knew hewas to be convicted. It was written in varying characters upon everyface; pity, severity, disgust--he met them on every hand. And so on thisthe fifth and last day of his court-martial he confronted destiny--thatdestiny that he had once so gaily dared--with closed lips and eyes thatrevealed neither misery nor despair, only the indomitable pride of hisrace. Do what they would to him, they would never quench that while liferemained. The worst indignity that man could inflict would provoke nooutcry here. He had protested his innocence in vain, and he had no proofthereof to offer. It remained for him to face dishonour as an honourableman, steady and undismayed. Doubtless there were those who would deem hisbearing brazen, but not his worst enemy should call him coward. 

Across the court an Englishman, with keen grey eyes that took in everydetail, sat and sketched him--sketched the proud, fearless pose of theman and the hard young face, with its faint, patrician smile. The sketchwas little more than outline, a few bold strokes; but the people inEngland who saw it a couple of days later felt as if the artist haddeliberately lifted a curtain and shown to them a man's wrung soul. Andeveryone who saw it said, "That man is innocent!"

Trevor Mordaunt said it himself many times that day before and after themaking of the sketch. He knew, as well as did the prisoner himself, thatthere would be no acquittal. Almost from the commencement of the trial hehad known it. But he knew also that two at least of the judges weredisposed towards leniency, and upon this fact he based such slender hopesas he entertained on the prisoner's behalf. As a fellow-correspondent--aFrenchman--had remarked to him earlier in the trial, whatever theverdict, they would hardly martyrize the man lest at a later date furtherquestion as to his guilt should arise and all Europe be set bubbling anewupon that much-discussed topic--French justice. 

Mordaunt was of the same opinion; but, as he watched the young officerthroughout the whole of the day's proceedings, he came to the conclusionthat the verdict was everything in this man's estimation and the sentenceless than nothing. If he were condemned to be blown from his own gun, hewould face the ordeal unshrinking, almost with indifference. Deprived ofhonour, what else was there in life?

So when the end came at last, and the inevitable verdict was pronounced, Mordaunt shut his note-book with a feeling that there was no more to berecorded. 

As a matter of fact the sentence was not pronounced at the time, and onlytranspired two days later, when it was officially made public--expulsionfrom the army and incarceration in a French fortress for ten years. 

"That, of course, will be commuted, " said one who knew the probabilitiesof the case to Mordaunt when the sentence was made known. "They willrelease him _au secret_ in a few years and banish him from the country onperil of arrest. They are bound to make an example of him, but they won'tkeep it up. The verdict was not unanimous. And, above all, they won'tmake a martyr of him now. The other _affaire_ is too recent. "

Mordaunt agreed as to the likelihood of this, but he did not find itparticularly consolatory. He had seen the prisoner's face as he wasguarded through the surging, hostile crowd; and he knew that for Bertrandde Montville the heavens had fallen. 

An innocent man had been found guilty, and that was the end. He wasbeyond the reach of any lenient influence now that justice had failedhim. They had pushed him over the edge of the precipice--this man who haddared to climb so high; and in the hissings and groanings of the crowd heheard the death-knell of his honour. 

In silence he went down into the abyss. In silence he passed out ofTrevor Mordaunt's life. Only as he went, for one strange second, asthough drawn by some magnetic force, his eyes, dark and still, met thoseof the Englishman, with his level, unfaltering scrutiny. No word oroutward sign passed between them. They were utter strangers; it wasunlikely that they would ever meet again. Only for that one secondsomething that was in the nature of a message went from one man's soul tothe other's. For that instant they were in communion, subtle butcuriously distinct. 

And Bertrand de Montville went to his martyrdom with the knowledge thatone man--an Englishman--believed in him, while Trevor Mordaunt was awarethat he knew it, and was glad. 

For he had studied human nature long enough to realize that even astranger's faith may make a supreme difference in the hour of a man'smost pressing need. 

CHAPTER II

THE CONQUEST

It was a sunny morning in the end of June, and Chris was doing her hairin curls, for she was expecting a visitor. It took a very long time todo, for there was so much of it; and she looked very worried over theprocess. She would have liked to have borrowed Aunt Philippa's maid, butthis was a prohibited luxury except on very exceptional occasions. AndHilda--dear, gentle Cousin Hilda--was away in Devon with her _fiancé's_people. So Chris had to wrestle with her difficulties in solitude. 

It was the middle of her first season, and, with a few reservations, shewas enjoying it immensely. The reservations were all directly orindirectly connected with Aunt Philippa, for whom Chris's feeling wasthat of an adventurous schoolboy for a somewhat severe headmaster. Shewas not exactly afraid of her, but she was instinctively wary in herpresence. She knew quite well that Aunt Philippa had given her thisseason as her one and only chance in life, and had done it, moreover, more than half against her will, impelled thereto by the urgentrepresentations of her son and daughter, who looked upon their merrylittle cousin as their joint _protégée_. She ought, doubtless, to havecome out the previous year, but her aunt's ill-health had precluded this, and the whole summer had been spent in the country. 

That excuse, however, would not serve Mrs. Forest this year. She hadtaken a house in town, and there was no other course open to her than tolaunch her brother's child into society, however sorely against her will. Her main anxiety had fortunately by that time ceased to exist. There wasno likelihood of Chris, with her brilliant, vivacious ways, outshiningher own daughter. For Hilda was engaged to Lord Percy Davenant, whoplainly had eyes and thoughts for none other, and the marriage was to beone of the events of the season. 

Chris was therefore accorded her chance upon the tacit understanding thatshe was to make the most of it, since Mrs. Forest still maintained herattitude of irresponsibility where her brother's children were concerned, although the said brother had drifted to Australia and died there, no onequite knew how, leaving next to nothing behind him. 

His sons and Chris had been brought up upon their mother's fortune, a sumwhich had been set aside for their education by their father at herdeath, after which, beyond providing them with a home--the ramshackleinheritance that had come to him from his father--he had made littlefurther provision for them. His eldest son, Rupert, was a subaltern in aline regiment. No one knew whether he lived on his pay or not, and no oneinquired. The second son, who possessed undeniable brilliance, had earneda scholarship, and was studying medicine. And Noel, now aged sixteen, wasstill at school, distinguishing himself at sports and consistentlyneglecting all things that did not pertain thereto. 

Undoubtedly they were a reckless and improvident family, as Mrs. Forestso often declared; but perhaps, all things considered, they had never hadmuch opportunity of developing any other qualities, though it wascertainly hard that she should be regarded as in any degree responsiblefor them. She and her brother had always been as far asunder as the polesin disposition, and neither had ever felt or so much as professed to feelthe faintest affection for the other. 

It vexed her that Jack and Hilda should take so lively an interest inChris, who was bound to turn out badly. Had she not already shown herselfto be incorrigibly flighty? But since it vexed her still more that anyoneshould regard her actions as blameworthy, she had yielded to theirpersuasions. And thus Chris had been given her chance. 

She was thoroughly appreciating it. Everyone was being kind to her, andit was all extremely pleasant. She was looking forward keenly to thecoming that morning of Trevor Mordaunt, who had been regarded as aprivileged friend ever since he had smuggled Cinders back into Englandthree years before, secreted in an immense pocket in the lining of agreat motor-coat. Not that she had seen very much of him since thatmemorable occasion. In fact, until the present summer they had scarcelymet again. He was a celebrated man in the literary world, and hetravelled far and wide. He was also immensely wealthy. Men said of himthat whatever he touched turned to gold. And fame, wealth, and a certainunobtrusive strength of personality had combined to make him popularwherever he went. 

He was more often out of England than in it, and there were even some whosuspected him of being an empire-builder, though their grounds for doingso were but slight. 

It was, however, characteristic of Chris that she never forgot herfriends, a characteristic which Trevor Mordaunt also possessed to amarked degree. Therefore it was not surprising that soon after her firstappearance in London society he had claimed and had been readily accordedthe privileges of old acquaintanceship. 

Since that day they had met casually at several functions, and peoplewere beginning to wonder a little at Mordaunt's unusual energy in asocial sense, for it was several years since he had brought himself totread the mill of a London season. 

Chris always hailed his appearance with obvious pleasure, though she wasvery far from connecting it in any sense with herself. He was always kindto her, always ready to make things go smoothly for her, and she neverknew an awkward moment in his society. There were plenty of people whospoke of him with awe, but Chris was not one of these. She never foundhim in the least formidable. 

And so it was with ingenuous pleasure that she anticipated his adventthat morning. They had met at a dance on the previous evening, and hercard had been full before his arrival. It had not occurred to her to savea dance for him. 

"I never thought you would come, " she had told him in distress. "I wish Ihad known!"

And then he had looked at her quietly for a moment with those intent greyeyes of his that never seemed to miss anything, and had asked her if hemight call on the following morning, since he was to see nothing of herthat night. 

She had responded with a pressing invitation to do so, and he had simplythanked her and departed. 

And so when the morning came Chris was still struggling with her hairwhen he arrived, having breakfasted in bed and finally arisen at ascandalously late hour. But that she knew Aunt Philippa to be also inbed, she would scarcely have ventured upon such a proceeding. AuntPhilippa knew nothing of the expected visitor. As a matter of fact Chris, in her airy fashion, had quite forgotten to mention the matter. Mrs. Forest, being still uncertain as to Mordaunt's state of mind, haddiscreetly foreborne to put the girl on her guard. She had at thebeginning of things carefully instilled into her that it was essentialthat she should miss no opportunity of making a wealthy marriage, and shehoped that Chris would have the sense to bear this in mind. 

Had she known of Mordaunt's coming she would probably have drilled hercarefully beforehand, but luckily Chris's negligence spared her this. Andso on that sunny summer morning she was sublimely unconscious of what wasbefore her, and entered Mordaunt's presence at length almost at a run. Chris at twenty was very little older than Chris at seventeen. 

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, " was her greeting. "Really Icouldn't help it. I just couldn't get up this morning. You know how onefeels after going to bed at four. It was very nice of you to come soearly. Have you had any breakfast?"

All this was poured out while her hand lay in his, her gay young faceuplifted, half-merry, half-confiding. 

Yes, Mordaunt had breakfasted. He told her so with a faint smile. "Andplease don't apologize for being late, " he added. "It is I who am early. I came early on purpose. I wanted to see you alone. "

"Oh?" said Chris. 

She looked at him interrogatively and then quite suddenly she knew whathe had come to say, and turned white to the lips. For the first time shewas afraid of him. 

"Oh, please, " she gasped rather incoherently, "please--"

"Shall we sit down?" he said gently. "I am not going to do or sayanything that need frighten you. If you were a little older you wouldrealize that I am at your mercy, not you at mine. "

She looked at him wide-eyed, imploring. "Please, Mr. Mordaunt, can'twe--can't we wait a little? I am afraid, I am so afraid of--of making amistake. "

The faint smile was still upon his face, though it did not reach hiseyes. He laid a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. 

"My dear little Chris, " he said, "I won't let you do that. "

That comforted her a little, though she still looked doubtful. Shesuffered him to lead her to a sofa and sit beside her, but she avoidedhis eyes. The crisis had come upon her so suddenly, she knew not how todeal with it. 

"Has no one ever proposed to you before?" he said. 

"No, " she whispered. 

"Well, it's all right, " he said kindly. "Don't think I am going to tradeon your inexperience. If you want to say 'No' to me, say it, and I'll go. I shall come back again, of course. I shall keep on coming back till yousay 'Yes' either to me or to some other man. But I hope it won't beanother man, Chris. I want you so badly myself. "

"Do you?" she said. "How--how funny!"

"Why funny?" he asked. 

She glanced at him speculatively; her panic was beginning to subside. "You must be ever so much older than I am, " she said. 

"I am thirty-five, " he said. 

"And I'm not quite twenty-one. " A sudden dimple appeared in the cheeknearest to him. "Fancy me getting married!" said Chris, with a chuckle. "I can't imagine it, can you?"

"You will soon get used to the idea, " he said. "Anyhow, there is nothingin it to frighten you--that is, if you marry the right man. "

She nodded thoughtfully, her brief mirth gone. "But, Mr. Mordaunt, how isone to know?"

He leaned towards her. "I believe I can teach you, " he said, "if you willlet me try. "

She slipped a shy hand into his. "But you won't ask me to marry you for along while yet, will you?" she said pleadingly. 

"Not until you have quite made up your mind to be engaged to me, " saidMordaunt. 

She looked at him quickly. "No, not then either. Not--not till I say youmay. "

He laughed a little; but there was something very protecting, infinitely reassuring, in his grasp. "And if I accept that condition, "he said--"it's a very despotic one, by the way--but if I accept it, may I consider that you are engaged to me?"

Chris hesitated. 

"Not if I tell you that I love you, " he said, "that I want you more thananything else in life, that I would give the soul out of my body to makeyou happy?"

His voice was sunk very low. There was more of restraint than emotion inhis utterance. He spoke as a man who knows himself to be upon holyground. 

And Chris was awed. The very quietness of the man made her tremble. Sheknew instinctively that here was something colossal, something thatdominated her, albeit half against her will. 

She closed her fingers very tightly upon his hand, but she said nothing. 

He sat silent for several seconds, closely watching her, seeking to readher downcast eyes. But she would not raise them. Her heart was beatingvery quickly, and her breath came and went like the breath of afrightened bird. 

At last very gently he moved, drew her to him, put his arm about her. "Are you afraid of me, Chris?"

She nestled to him with a little gesture that was curiously pathetic. With her face securely hidden against him, she whispered, "Yes. "

"My darling, why?" he said very tenderly. 

"I don't know why, " murmured Chris. 

"Surely not because I love you?" he said. 

She nodded against his shoulder. "You ought not to love me like that. It's too much. I'm not good enough. "

"My little girl, " he said, "I am not worthy to hold your hand in mine. "

His hand was on her hair, stroking, fondling, caressing. She nestledcloser, without lifting her face. 

"You don't know me in the least. I'm not a bit nice really. I get up toall sorts of pranks. I'm wild and flighty. Ask Aunt Philippa if you wantto know. "

"I know you better than Aunt Philippa, dear, " he said. 

"Oh no, you don't. You've only seen my good side. I'm always on my bestbehaviour with you. "

"Another excellent reason for marrying me, " said Mordaunt. 

"Oh, but I shan't be always. That's just it. You--you will be quiteshocked some day. "

"I will take the risk, " he said. 

"I don't think you ought to, " murmured Chris. "It doesn't seem quitefair. "

His hand pressed her head very gently. "Meaning that you don't love me?"he said. 

She made a vehement gesture of denial. "Of course not. I--I'd be a littlebeast if I didn't, specially after the way you helped me with Cinderslong ago. I never forgot that--never! Only I do think--before you marryme--you ought to know how horrid I can be. It--it's buying a pig in apoke if you don't. "

He laughed again at that in a fashion that emboldened Chris to raise herhead. 

"I am quite in earnest, " she told him, in a tone that tried to beindignant. "You'll find me out presently. And when you do--"

She stopped with a gasp. His arms were about her, holding her as shesat. He looked straight down into the shining blue eyes. "When I do, Chris--" he said. 

She met his look quite bravely. She was even smiling rather tremulouslyherself. "You will get a stick and beat me, " she said. "I know. Peoplewho have eyes like steel never make allowances for those who haven't!"

She got no further, for quite suddenly Trevor Mordaunt dropped hisself-restraint like an impeding cloak and caught her to his heart. Forthe fraction of a second her fear came back, she almost made as if shewould resist him; and then in a moment it was gone, lost in a wonder thatleft no room for anything else. For he kissed her, once and once only, sopassionately, so burningly, so possessively, that it seemed to Chris asif, without her own volition, even half against her will, she therebybecame his own. He had dominated her, he had won her, almost before shehad had time to realize that there was a stranger within her gates. 

CHAPTER III

THE WARNING

"Well, all I have to say is, 'Bravo, young un!'" Rupert Wyndham stretchedout a careless arm and encircled his sister's waist therewith. She wasperched on the arm of his chair, and she tweaked his ear airily inresponse to this encouragement. 

"Oh, you're pleased, are you?" she said. "That's very nice of you. "

"Pleased is a term that does not express my feelings in the least, " hedeclared. "I am transported with delight. You are the last person Ishould have expected to retrieve the family fortunes, but you have doneit right nobly. I'm told the fellow is as rich as Croesus. It's to behoped that he is quite resigned to the fact that he is going to haveplenty of relations when he marries. By the way, hasn't he any of hisown?"

"None that count--only cousins and things. Such a mercy!" said Chris. "And oh, Rupert, isn't it a blessing now that we never managed to sellOld Park, or even to let it? We shall be able to live there ourselves andturn it into a perfect paradise. "

"He wants to buy it, eh?" Rupert glanced up keenly. 

Chris nodded. "It's only in the clouds at present. He said somethingabout giving it to me when we marry. But of course, " rather hastily, "we're not going to be married for ever so long. It would have to belongto him till then. He is going to talk to you about it presently. Youwouldn't object, would you? You are entitled to your share now, he says, and Max will come into his directly. But Noel's will have to go intotrust till he is of age. "

"An excellent idea!" declared Rupert. "I'm damnably hard up, as yourworthy _fiancé_ has probably divined. But why this notion of not gettingmarried for ever so long? I don't quite follow the drift of that. "

"Oh, don't be silly!" said Chris, colouring very deeply. "How could wepossibly? Everyone would say I was marrying him for his money?"

"And that is not so?" questioned Rupert. 

"Of course it isn't!" She spoke with a vehemence almost fiery. "I--I'mnot such a pig as that!"

"No?" He leaned his head back upon the cushion and gazed up at herflushed face. "What are you marrying him for?" he asked. 

Chris looked back at him with a hint of defiance in her blue eyes. "Whatdo most people marry for?" she demanded. 

He laughed carelessly. "Heaven knows! Generally because they're stupidasses. The men want housekeepers and the women want houses, and neitherwant to pay for such luxuries. Those are the two principal reasons, ifyou ask me. "

Chris jumped off the arm of his chair with an abruptness that seemed toindicate some perturbation of spirit. She went to one of the long windowsthat looked across the quiet square. 

"Those are not our reasons, anyhow, " she said, after a moment, with herback to the cynic in the chair. 

He turned his head at her words and smiled, a mischievous boyish smilethat proclaimed their relationship on the instant. 

"Ye gods!" he ejaculated. "Is it possible that you're in love with him?"

Chris was silent. She seemed to be watching something in the road belowher with absorbing interest. 

"You needn't trouble to keep your back turned, " gibed the brotherly voicebehind her. "I can see you are the colour of beetroot even at thisdistance. Curious, very! But I'm glad you are so becomingly modest. It'sthe first indication of the virtue that I have ever detected in you. "

"You beast!" said Chris. 

She whirled suddenly round, half-laughing, half-resentful, seized a bookfrom a table near, and hurled it with accurate aim at her brother's head. 

He flung up a dexterous hand and caught it just as the door openedto admit Mordaunt, who had been asked to dine to meet his futurebrother-in-law. 

Rupert was on his feet in a moment. With the book pressed against hisheart, he swept a low bow to the advancing stranger. 

"You come in the nick of time, " he observed, "to preserve me from mysister's fratricidal intentions. Perhaps you would like to arbitrate. Theoffence was that I accused her of being in love--with you, of course. Sheseems to think the assertion unwarrantable. "

"Oh, Trevor, don't listen!" besought Chris. "He only goes on like thatbecause he thinks it's clever. Do snub him as he deserves!"

"Pray do!" said Rupert. "Begin by asking him how old he is, and whetherhe knows his nine-times backwards yet. Also--"

"Also, " broke in Mordaunt, with a smile, "if he can't find something moreprofitable to do than to tease his small sister. " He extended a quiethand. "I have been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time. Infact, I was contemplating running down to Sandacre for the purpose. "

"Very good of you, " said Rupert. He dropped his chaffing air and graspedthe proffered hand with abrupt friendliness. There was something aboutthis man that caught his fancy. "You would be very welcome at any time. It isn't much of a show down there, but if you don't mind that--"

"I shouldn't come for the sake of the show, " said Mordaunt. "I'd soonersee a battalion at work than at play. "

"Ah! Wouldn't I, too!" said Rupert, with sudden fire. "We hope to beordered to India next year. That wouldn't be absolute stagnation, anyhow. I loathe home work. "

Mordaunt looked at the straight young figure brimming with activity, anddecided that the more work this boy had to do the better it would be forhim morally and physically. 

"Keeps you in training, " he suggested. 

"Oh, I don't know. One is apt to get unconscionably slack. It's a fool ofa world. The work is all wrongly distributed; some fellows have to worklike niggers and others that want to work never get a look in. " Rupertbroke off to laugh. "I'm a discontented beggar, I tell you frankly, " hesaid. "But I don't expect any sympathy from you, because, being what youare, you wouldn't reasonably be expected to understand. "

"My good fellow, I haven't always been prosperous, " Mordaunt assured him. "I've had luck, I admit. It comes to most of us in some form if we areonly sharp enough to recognize it. Perhaps it hasn't come your way yet. "

"I'll be shot if it has!" said Rupert. 

"But it will, " Mordaunt maintained, "sooner or later. "

"Oh, do you believe in luck?" broke in Chris eagerly. "Because there'sthe new moon coming up over the trees, and I've just seen it throughglass. Don't look, Trevor, for goodness' sake! No, no, you shan't! Shutyour eyes while I open the window. You shall see it from the balcony. "

She sprang to the window, and Mordaunt followed with an indulgent smile. 

Rupert scoffed openly. "Chris is mad on charms of every description. Ifshe hears a dog howl in the night she thinks there is going to be anearthquake. You had better not encourage her, or there will be no end toit. "

But Chris, with her _fiancé's_ hand fast in hers, was already at thewindow. 

"If you don't believe in it, don't come!" she threw back over hershoulder. "Now, Trevor, you've got to turn your money, bow three times, and wish. Do wish for something really good to make up for my bad luck!"

Mordaunt complied deliberately with her instructions, her hand still inhis. 

"I have wished, " he announced at length. 

"Have you? What was it? Yes, you may tell me as I'm not doing any. Quick, before Rupert comes!"

Her eager face was close to his. He looked into the clear eyes andpaused. "I don't think I will tell you, " he said finally. 

"Oh, how mean! And you would have missed the opportunity but for me!"

He laughed quietly. "So I should. Then I shall owe it to you if it comestrue. I will let you know if it does. "

"You are sure to forget, " she protested. 

"No. I am sure to remember. "

She regarded him speculatively. "I don't like secrets, " she said. 

"Haven't you any of your own?" he asked. 

"No. At least--" she suddenly coloured vividly under his eyes--"none thatmatter. "

He sat down upon the balustrade of the balcony, bringing his eyes on alevel with hers. "None that you wouldn't tell me, " he suggested, stillfaintly smiling. 

She recovered from her confusion with a quick laugh. "I shouldn't dreamof telling you--some things, " she said. 

Her hand moved a little in his as though it wanted to be free, but heheld it still. He bent towards her, his grey eyes no longer searching, only very soft and tender. 

"You will when we are married, dear, " he said. 

But Chris shook her head with much decision. "Oh, no! I couldn'tpossibly. You would disapprove far too much. As Aunt Philippa says, youwould be 'pained beyond expression. '"

But Mordaunt only drew her nearer. "You--child!" he said. 

She yielded, half-protesting. "Yes, but I'm not quite a baby. I think youought to remember that. Shall we go back? I know Rupert is sniggeringbehind the curtain. "

"I'll break his head if he is, " said Mordaunt; but he let her go, as sheevidently desired, and prepared to follow her in. 

They met Rupert sauntering out "to pay his respects, " as he termed it, though, if there were any luck going, he supposed that his futurebrother-in-law had secured it all. 

"Thought you didn't believe in luck, " observed Mordaunt. 

"I believe in bad luck, " returned Rupert pessimistically. "I only knowthe other sort by hearsay. "

"Isn't he absurd?" laughed Chris. "He always talks like that. And thereare crowds of people worse off than he is. "

"Query, " remarked her brother, with a shrug of the shoulders; but aninstant later, aware of Mordaunt's look, he changed the subject. 

They were a small party at dinner, for there remained but Hilda Forest tocomplete the number. She had only that afternoon returned to town. Mrs. Forest was dining out, to Chris's unfeigned relief. For Chris was in highspirits that night, and only in her aunt's absence could she give themfull vent. 

But, if gay, she was also provokingly elusive. Mordaunt had never seenher so effervescent, so sublimely inconsequent, or so naïvely bewitchingas she was throughout the meal. Rupert, reckless and _débonnaire_, encouraged her wild mood. As his youngest brother expressed it, he andChris 'generally ran amok' when they got together. And Hilda, the sedate, rather pensive daughter of the house, was far too gentle to restrainthem. 

It was impossible to hold aloof from such light-hearted merry-making, andMordaunt went with the tide. Perhaps instinct warned him that it was thesurest way to overcome that barrier of shyness, unacknowledged but nonethe less existent, that kept him still a stranger to his little_fiancée's_ confidence. Her dainty daring notwithstanding, he was awareof the fact that she was yet half afraid of him, though when he came toseek the cause of this he was utterly at a loss. 

When he and Rupert were left alone together after dinner, they werealready far advanced upon the road to intimacy. It was the result of hisdeliberate intention; for though a girl might keep him outside her innersanctuary, it seldom happened in the world of men that Trevor Mordauntcould not obtain a free pass whithersoever he cared to go. 

Rupert tossed aside his gaiety with characteristic suddenness almost assoon as the door had closed upon his sister and cousin. 

"I suppose you want to get to business, " he said abruptly. "I'm readywhen you are. "

Mordaunt moved into an easy-chair. "Yes, I want to make a suggestion, " hesaid deliberately. "But it is not a matter that you and I can carrythrough single-handed. I want to talk about it, that's all. "

Rupert, his elbows on the table, nodded and stared rather gloomily intohis coffee-cup. "I suppose it'll take about a year to fix it up. Anythingwith a lawyer in it does. "

Mordaunt watched him through his cigarette smoke for a few seconds insilence, until in fact with a slight movement of impatience Rupertturned. 

"I'm no good at fencing, " he said, rather irritably. "You want KellertonOld Park, Chris tells me. Have you seen it?"

"No. "

"Then"--he sat back with a laugh that sounded rather forced--"that endsit, " he declared. "The place has gone to rack and ruin. You can't walk upthe avenue for the thistles. They are shoulder high. And as for thehouse, it's not much more than a rubbish-heap. It would cost more thanit's worth to make it habitable. We have been trying to get rid of theplace ever since my father's death, but it's no manner of use. People getlet in by the agent's description and go and see it, but they all comeaway shuddering. You'll do the same. "

"I shall certainly go and see it, " Mordaunt said. "Perhaps I shallpersuade Chris to motor down with me some day. But in any case, if youare selling--I'm buying. "

Rupert jumped up suddenly. "I won't take you seriously till you've seenit, " he declared. 

"Oh yes, you will, " Mordaunt returned imperturbably. "Because, you see, Iam serious. But we haven't come to business yet. I want to know whatprice you are asking for this ancestral dwelling of yours. "

"We would take almost anything, " Rupert said. 

He had begun to fidget about the room with a restlessness that wasfeverish. Mordaunt remained in his easy-chair, calmly smoking, obviouslyawaiting the information for which he had asked. 

"Almost anything, " Rupert repeated, halting at the table to drink somecoffee. 

The hand that held the cup was not over-steady. Mordaunt's eyes restedupon it thoughtfully. 

"I should like to know, " he said, after a moment. 

Rupert gulped his coffee and looked down at him. "Murchison said tenthousand when my father died, " he said. "He would probably begin bysaying ten now, but he would end by taking five. "

"Murchison is your solicitor?"

"And trustee up to a year ago. "

"I see. " Mordaunt reached for his own coffee. "And you? You think tenthousand would be a fair price?"

Rupert broke again into his uneasy laugh. "I think it would be aninfernal swindle, " he said. 

"I will talk it over with Mr. Murchison, " Mordaunt said quietly. "I onlywanted to be sure that you were quite willing to sell before doing so. "

Rupert took a turn up the room. He looked thoroughly ill-at-ease. Comingback, he halted by the mantelpiece and began to drum a difficult tattooupon the marble. 

"I don't want you to be let in by Murchison, " he said suddenly. "You willfind him damnably plausible. If he thinks you really want the place hewill squeeze you like a sponge. "

"Thanks for the warning!" There was a note of amusement in Mordaunt'svoice. He finished his coffee and rose. "You have done your best tohandicap your man of business, but I think he will get his price in spiteof it. You see, I really do want the place. "

"Without seeing it!"

"Yes. "

Rupert whizzed round on his heels, and faced him. "Soundsrather--eccentric, " he suggested. 

Mordaunt smiled in his quiet, detached way. "I can afford to beeccentric, " he said. "And now look here, Wyndham. You said something justnow about having to wait a year to fix things up. I don't see thenecessity for that, situated as we are. Since you are willing that Ishould buy Kellerton Old Park, and since we are agreed upon the price, Isee no reason to delay payment. I will write you a cheque for your shareto-night. "

"What?" said Rupert. 

He stood up very straight, staring at the man before him as if he were anentirely novel specimen of the human race. 

"Is it a joke?" he asked at length. 

Mordaunt flicked the ash from his cigarette without looking at him. Perhaps he felt that he had studied him long enough. 

"No, " he said. "I don't see any point in jokes of that sort. Of course, Iknow it's not business, but the arrangement is entirely betweenourselves. I don't see why even Murchison should be let into it. We cansettle it later without taking him into our confidence. "

"It's a loan, then?" said Rupert quickly. 

"If you like to call it so. "

"May as well call it by its name, " the boy returned bluntly. "You'redeuced generous, Mr. Mordaunt. "

"I know what it is to be hard up, " Mordaunt answered. "And since we areto be brothers we may as well behave as such, eh--Rupert?"

Rupert's hand came out and gripped his impulsively. For a second heseemed to be at a loss for words, then burst into headlong speech. 

"Look here! I think I ought to tell you, before you take us in hand tothat extent, that we're a family of rotters. We're not one of us sound. Oh, I'm not talking about Chris. She's a girl. But the rest of us arebelow par, slackers. Our father was the same. There's bad bloodsomewhere. You are bound to find it out sooner or later, so you may aswell know it now. "

Mordaunt's grey eyes looked his full in the face. "Is that intended as awarning not to expect too much?" he asked. 

Rupert's eyelids twitched a little under that direct look. "Yes, " he saidbriefly. 

"And if I don't listen to warnings of that description?"

"You will probably get let down. "

Rupert spoke recklessly, yet almost as if he could not help it. Undoubtedly there was something magnetic about Trevor Mordaunt at times, something that compelled. He was conscious of relief when the steady eyesceased to scrutinize him. 

"Not by you, I think, " Mordaunt said, with his quiet smile. "You may be arotter, my boy, but you are not one of the crooked sort. "

"I've never robbed anyone, if that's what you mean. " Rupert's laugh hadin it a note of bitterness that was unconsciously pathetic. "But I'm upto the eyes in debt and pretty desperate. If I could have persuadedMurchison to raise money on the estate, I'd have done it long ago. That'swhy this offer of yours seemed too good to be true. "

Mordaunt nodded. "I thought so. It's foul work floundering in that sortof quagmire. I wonder now if you will allow me to have a look into youraffairs, or if you prefer to go to the devil your own way. "

Rupert coloured and threw back his shoulders, but he did not takeoffence. The leisurely proposal held none. "I'm not over keen on going tothe devil, " he said. "But neither am I going to let you pay my debts, thanks all the same. "

Mordaunt glanced at him and smiled. "I think you will cancel that 'but, '"he said, "in view of our future relationship. "

Rupert hesitated, obviously wavering. "It's jolly decent of you, " he saidboyishly. "You make it confoundedly difficult to refuse. "

"You are not going to refuse, " said Mordaunt. "No one knows betterthan I do that it's ten times pleasanter to give than to receive. Butthat--between friends--is not a point worth considering. "

"I should think you have a good many friends, " said Rupert. 

"I believe I have. "

"Well, "--the boy spoke with a tinge of feeling beneath hisbanter--"you've added to the list to-night, and I wish you joy of youracquisition! But don't say I didn't warn you. "

"No, " said Mordaunt quietly. "I won't say that. " He added a moment later, as he dropped the end of his cigarette into his coffee-cup, "I believe inmy friends, Rupert. "

"Till they let you down, " suggested Rupert. 

"They never do. "

"Then allow me to say that you are one of the luckiest fellows I haveever met. "

"Perhaps. "

"And the best, " Rupert added impulsively. 

There was a moment's silence, then, "Shall we join the ladies?" suggestedTrevor Mordaunt, in a tone that sounded rather bored. 

CHAPTER IV

DOUBTS

"He's nice, isn't he?" said Chris. 

She was seated on a hassock close to her cousin's knee, a favouriteposition of hers. 

Hilda's fingers fondled the sunny hair. Her eyes looked thoughtful. "I amso glad for you, dear, " she said. 

"I knew you would be, " chuckled Chris. "Aunt Philippa is delighted too. It's the first time I've ever known her pleased with me. It feels sofunny. Ah! There is my sweet Cinders! I must just let him in. "

She sprang up to admit her favourite, whose imperious scratch at the doortestified to the fact that he was not accustomed to being kept waiting. There ensued a tender if somewhat pointless conversation between himselfand his mistress before she returned to her seat and her confidences. 

"Did you ever refuse to marry anybody, Hilda?" she wanted to know then. 

"Yes, dear. "

"Many?"

"Three, " said Hilda. 

"Goodness!" Chris looked up with shining eyes of admiration. "How everdid you do it?"

"I wasn't in love with them, " said Hilda simply. 

"Oh! And you are in love with Percy?"

"Yes, dear. " Again with the utmost simplicity the elder girl made answer. 

"How nice!" said Chris. "But I can't think how you knew, " she said, aftera moment. 

Hilda leaned forward to look into the clear eyes. A faint gleam ofanxiety showed for a moment in her own. "But surely you know, Chris!" shesaid. 

"I!" said Chris, with a gay shake of the head. "Oh, no, I don't. Youknow, I don't believe it's in me to fall in love in the ordinary way. Iwas quite angry with Rupert only this evening for jeering at me, as if Iwere. Oh, no, Hilda, I'm not in love like that. "

"But, my dear--" Hilda looked down in grave perplexity, not unmixed withapprehension. 

Chris leaned back against her quite unconcernedly, her hands claspedround her knees, and laughed like an elf. "Darling, don't look at me likethat! It's too funny. Don't you know that it's only you staid, goodpeople who ever fall in love properly? The rest of us only pretend. That's where the romance comes in. "

"But, dear, Trevor Mordaunt is in love with you, " Hilda reminded hergently. 

"Oh yes, " said Chris, "I know. That's why I had to accept him. I don'tbelieve even you could have said No to him. "

Hilda's face cleared a little. She pinched the soft cheek nearest to her. "After that, don't talk to me about not being in love!"

"Oh, but really I don't think I am, " Chris assured her quite seriously. "I have only once in my life met anyone with whom I could possiblyimagine myself falling in love. And he was not a bit like Trevor. "

"What was he like?" asked Hilda. "A sort of fancy person? Or someone outof a book?"

"Oh no, he was quite real--the nicest man. " A faraway look came intoChris's eyes; she suddenly spoke very softly as one in the presence of avision. "I think--I am not sure--that he belonged to the old French_noblesse_. He was not tall, but beautifully made, just right in everyway, and very handsome, with eyes that laughed--the sort of man onedreams of, but never meets. "

"And yet he was real, " Hilda said. 

"Oh yes, he was real. But it was ages and ages ago. He may have changedby this time. He may even be dead--my _preux chevalier_. " Chris came outof her dream with a shaky little laugh. "Ah, well, I've given up cryingfor him, " she said. "Anyhow it was only a game. Let's talk of somethingelse. "

"It was the man at Valpré, " said Hilda. 

"Yes, it was the man at Valpré. I never told you about him, did I? Inever told anyone. Somehow I couldn't. People made such a horrid fuss. But the very thought of him used to make me cry at one time. Wasn't itsilly? But I missed him so. I couldn't help it. We won't talk about himany more. It makes me melancholy. Hilda, wouldn't it be a novel idea ifyour bridesmaids carried fans instead of Prayer Books? You could have themarriage service printed on them in gold with illuminated capitals. WouldAunt Philippa think it immoral, do you think?"

To anyone who did not know Chris this sudden change might have seemedbewildering; but Hilda was never taken unawares by her swift transitions. She did not even deem her flippant, as did her mother. For Chris was verydear to her. She knew and loved her in all her lightning moods. It waspossible that even she did not wholly understand her, but she was nearerto doing so than any other in Chris's world just then. 

When Chris danced across to the piano and began her favourite waltz tothe accompaniment of muffled howls from Cinders, she knew that the hourfor confidences was past. Nor had she any desire to prolong it, for itseemed better to her to leave the hero of Chris's girlhood in obscurity. She had not the smallest doubt that her young cousin invested him withall the glamour of a vivid imagination. He was fashioned of the substanceof dreams, and she fancied that Chris herself was more than half aware ofthis. 

But still her faint misgiving did not wholly die away. Though TrevorMordaunt had secured for himself the girl of his choice, she could notsuppress a grave doubt as to whether he had yet succeeded in winning herheart. He would ultimately win it; she felt convinced of that. He was aman who was bound sooner or later to rule supreme. And thus she strove toreassure herself; but still, in spite of her, the doubt remained. Chriswas so young, so gay, so innocent. She could not bear to think of thetroubles and perplexities of womanhood descending upon her. She was soessentially made for the joy of life. 

She sat and watched her unperceived, the slim young figure in the shadedlamplight, the shining hair, the slender neck--all vivid, instinct withlife; and she comprehended the witchery that had caught Mordaunt's heart. Of the man himself she knew but little. He was not expansive, andcircumstances had not thrown them together. But what she knew of him sheliked. She was aware that her brother valued his friendship veryhighly--a friendship begun on a South African battlefield; and thoughthey had met but seldom since, the intimacy between them had remainedunshaken. 

Trevor Mordaunt was a man of many friends--friends in all ranks and ofmany nationalities. No one knew quite how he made them; no one ever sawhis friendships in the making. But all over the world were men who hailedhis coming with pleasure and saw him go with regret. 

She supposed him capable of a vast sympathy, a wide understanding. Itseemed the only explanation. But would he understand her little Chris?she wondered. Would he make full allowance for her dear caprices, herwhimsical fancies, her butterfly temperament? Would he ever thread hisway through these fairy defences to that hidden shrine where throbbed herwoman's heart? And would he be the first to enter there? She hoped so;she prayed so. 

"Hilda"--imperiously the gay voice broke through her reverie--"if Percywants to know what sort of pendants to give the bridesmaids, be sure yousay turquoise and pearl. It's most important. "

She was still strumming her waltz, and did not hear Mordaunt enter behindher. 

"I saw a most lovely thing to-day, " she went on. "One of thoseheart-shaped things that are still hearts even if you turn them upsidedown. "

"Is that an advantage?" asked Mordaunt. 

She whizzed round on the music-stool. "Trevor! I wish you wouldn't makeme jump. Of course it is an advantage if a thing never looks wrong wayup. You will remember, won't you, Hilda? Turquoise and pearl. "

"Are you going to be chief mourner?" asked Rupert. 

"Don't be horrid! I'm going to be chief bridesmaid, if that's what youmean?"

"And turquoise and pearl is to be the order of the day?" queriedMordaunt. 

"A white muslin frock and a blue sash, I suppose, " supplemented Rupert. "Hair worn long and tied with a blue bow rather bigger than anordinary-sized sunshade. No shoes and no stockings, but some pale bluesandals over white lace socks. Result--ravishing!"

Chris glanced round for a missile, found none, so decided to ignore him. 

"Yes, " she said to her _fiancé_, "and we are going to carry bouquets ofwheat and cornflowers. "

"Sounds like the ingredients of a pudding, " said Rupert. 

Chris rose from the piano in disgust, and her brother instantly slippedinto her place. "I say, Hilda, " he called, "come and sing! There's no oneto listen to you but me; but that's a detail. Trevor and Christina, prayconsider yourselves excused. "

"We don't want to be excused, " said Chris mutinously "Do stop, Rupert!Cinders doesn't like it. "

Rupert, however, was already crashing through Mendelssohn's WeddingMarch, and turned a deaf ear. She picked the discontented one up tocomfort him, and as she did so Trevor moved up to her. He stood besideher for a few seconds, stroking the dog's soft head. 

Chris looked hot and uncomfortable, as if Rupert's music pounded on hernerves; but yet she would not make a move. She stood hushing Cinders asif he had been an infant. 

"Shall we go outside?" Mordaunt said at last. 

She shook her head. 

"Come!" he said gently. 

She turned without a word, laid the dog tenderly in a chair, whispered tohim, kissed him, and went to the open window. 

They stepped out together, and the curtains met behind them. 

The moon had passed out of sight behind the houses, but the sky wasalight with stars. A faint breeze trembled through the trees in the quietsquare garden, and the faint, wonderful essence of summer came from them. From a distance sounded the roar of countless wheels--the deep chorus ofLondon's traffic. 

They stood side by side in silence while behind them Rupert played theWedding March to a triumphant end. Then quiet descended, and there came along pause. 

Chris broke it at last, moved, and shyly spoke. "Trevor!"

"What is it, dear?"

She drew slightly towards him, and at once he put a quiet arm about her. "I want to tell you something, " she said. 

"Something serious?" he questioned. 

"I--I don't know. " A faint note of distress sounded in her voice. Shelaid her cheek suddenly against his shoulder with a very confidinggesture. "I'm not quite happy, " she said. 

He held her closer. "Tell me, Chris!" he said very tenderly. 

She uttered a little laugh that had a sob in it. "It's only that--that Ican't help feeling that you're making rather a bad bargain. You know, theother day--when--when you proposed to me--I didn't have time to think. I've been thinking since. "

"Yes?" he said. 

"Yes. And now and then--only now and then--I feel rather bad. I--I likefair play, Trevor. It isn't right for me to take so much and give--solittle. " Her voice quivered perceptibly, and she ceased to speak. Hepressed her closer to him, but he remained silent for several seconds. 

At last, "Chris, " he said, "will it comfort you to know that what youcall a little is to me the greatest thing on earth?"

His voice was deep and very quiet, yet a tremor went through her at hiswords. 

"That's just what frightens me, " she said. 

"It shouldn't frighten you, " he said. "It need not. "

"But it does, " said Chris. 

He was silent for another space, still holding her closely. In the roombehind them they could hear the cousins talking; but they were alonetogether, shut off, as it were, from ordinary converse, alone under thestars. 

"Suppose, " said Mordaunt gently, "you leave off thinking for a bit, andtake things as they come. "

"Yes?" she said rather dubiously. 

He bent down to her. "Chris, I will never ask more of you than you areable to give. "

She moved at that in her quick, impulsive way, reached up and clasped hisneck. "Oh, Trevor, I do love you!" she said, with a catch in her voice. "I do want you to have--the best!"

Her face was raised to his. For the first time she offered him her lips. They were nearer to understanding each other at that moment than they hadever been before. 

But as he bent lower to kiss her the notes of the piano floated out tothem again, this time in a soft melody, inexpressibly sweet, full of asubtle charm, the fairy gold of romance. 

She kissed him indeed--and it was the first kiss she had ever given him;but he felt her stiffen in his hold even as she did it. And the nextmoment, almost with passion, she spoke--

"I wish Rupert wouldn't play that thing! He knows--he knows--that I can'tbear it!"

"What is it?" Mordaunt asked in surprise. 

She answered him with a laugh that did not ring quite true. "It is the'_Aubade à la Fiancée_. ' He is only playing it to torment us. Let us goin and stop him!"

She turned inwards with the words, disengaging herself from his arm ascasually as she might have pushed aside a chair. Mordaunt followed her insilence. There were no further confidences between them that night. 

CHAPTER V

DE PROFUNDIS

It was pouring with rain, and the man with the flute at the cornershivered and pulled his rags more closely about him. He had not beenlucky that day, or, indeed, for many days, as the haggard eyes thatstared out of his white face testified. 

He had spent the past three nights in the open, but to-night--to-nightwas cruelly wet. He questioned with himself what he should do. 

In his pocket was that which might procure a night's lodging or a meagresupper; but it would not supply both. He had to decide between the two, unless he elected to go on playing till midnight in the drenching rain onthe chance of augmenting his scanty store. 

Though it was June, he was chilled to the bone. In the intervals betweenhis flute-playing his teeth chattered. He looked horribly ill, but no onehad noticed that. Men who wander about the streets with musicalinstruments seldom have a prosperous appearance. Passers-by may flingthem a copper if they have one handy, but otherwise they do not even lookat them. There are so many of these luckless ones, and each looks morewretched than the last. Most of them look degraded also, but, save forhis rags, this man did not. There was a foreign air about him, but he didnot look the type of foreigner that lives upon English charity. There wasnothing hang-dog about him. He only looked exhausted and miserable. 

At the suggestion of a policeman he abandoned his corner. After all, hewas doing no good there. It was not worth a protest. He turned andtrudged up a side-street, with head bent to the rain. 

It was growing late, high time to seek some shelter for the night if thatwere his intention. But he pressed on aimlessly with dragging feet. Perhaps he had not yet decided whether to perish from cold or hunger, orperhaps he regarded the choice as of small importance. Possibly even, hehad forgotten that there was a choice to be made. 

The street he travelled was deserted, but he heard the buzz of a motor ata cross-road, and mechanically almost he moved towards it. He was notquite master of himself or his sensations. He may have vaguely rememberedthat there is sometimes money to be earned by opening the door of a taxi, but it was not with this definite end in view that he took his way. For, as he went, he put his flute once more to his lips, and poured a sudden, silvery melody--the "_Aubade à la Fiancée_"--that a young French officerhad onced hummed so gaily among the rocks of Valpré--into the rain andthe darkness. 

It began firm and sweet as the notes of a thrush, exquisitely delicate, with the high ecstasy that only music can express. It swelled into apositive paen of rejoicing, eager, wonderful, almost unearthly in itspurity. It ended in a confused jumble like the glittering fragments of abeautiful thing shattered to atoms at a blow. And there fell a silencebroken only by the throbbing of the taxi, and the drip, drip, drip, ofthe rain. 

The taxi came to a stand close to the lamp-post against which theflute-player leaned, but he made no move to open the door. The lightflared on his ashen face, showing it curiously apathetic. His instrumentdangled from one nerveless hand. 

A man in evening dress stepped from the taxi. His look fell upon thewretched figure that huddled against the lamppost. For a single instanttheir eyes met. Then abruptly the new-comer wheeled to pay his fare. 

"He's in for a wet night by the looks of him, " observed the chauffeurfacetiously. 

"The gentleman is a friend of mine, " curtly responded the man in eveningdress. 

And the taxi-cab driver, being quite at a loss, shot away into thedarkness to hide his discomfiture. 

The flute-player straightened himself with a manifest effort and turnedaway. If he had heard the words, he had not comprehended them. His witsseemed to be wandering that night, but he would not even seem to beg analms. 

But a hand on his shoulder detained him. "Monsieur de Montville!" a quietvoice said. 

He jerked round, bringing his heels together with instinctive precision. Again, in the glare of the lamp-post their eyes met. 

"I have not--the pleasure, " he muttered stiffly. 

"My name is Mordaunt, " the other told him gravely. "You will remember mepresently, though not probably by name. Come in out of the rain. It isimpossible to talk here. "

He spoke with a certain insistence. His hand held the Frenchman's arm. Itwas obvious that he would listen to no refusal. And the man in ragsattempted none. He went with him meekly, as if bewildered into docility. His single flash of pride had died out like the final flicker of a match. 

With the Englishman's hand supporting him, he stumbled up a flight ofsteps that led to the door of one of the houses in the quiet street, waited till the turning of a latch-key opened the door, and again numblyyielded to the steady insistence that drew him within. 

He stood on a mat under a glaring electric lamp. The wet streamed downhim in rivulets; he was drenched to the skin. 

Mechanically he pulled the cap from his head and tried to still hischattering teeth. His lips were blue. 

"This way, " said the quiet voice. "Take my arm. "

"But I am so damp, monsieur, " he protested shakily. "It will make youdamp also. "

"What of it? I daresay I shall survive it if you do. " Very kindly thevoice made answer. He could not see the speaker plainly, for his brainwas in a whirl. He even wondered in a dull fashion if it were all adream, and if he would wake in a moment from his uneasy slumber to hearthe rain splashing down the gutters and the voice of a constable in hisear bidding him move on. 

He went up a flight of stairs, moving almost without his own volition, the Englishman's arm around him, urging him upwards. 

They came to the threshold of a room of which Mordaunt switched on thelight at entering, and in a moment more the tottering Frenchman foundhimself pressed down into a chair. He covered his face with his hands andsat motionless, trying to still the confusion in his brain. He wasshivering violently from head to foot. 

There followed a pause of some duration, during which he must have beenalone; then again his unknown friend touched him, patted his shoulder, spoke. 

"Here's a hot drink. You will feel better when you have had it. Afterwards you shall go to bed. "

He raised his head and stared about him. Mordaunt, holding a cup ofsteaming milk that gave out a strong aroma of brandy, was stooping overhim. There was another man in the room, evidently a servant, engaged inkindling a fire. 

Slowly the vagabond's gaze focussed itself upon Mordaunt's face. He sawit clearly for the first time and gave a slight start of recognition. 

"I have seen you before, " he muttered, frowning uncertainly. "Where?Where?"

"Never mind now, " returned the Englishman gently. "Drink this. You needit. "

He lifted a shaking hand and dropped it again. All the strength seemed tohave gone out of him. 

"Monsieur will pardon my feebleness, " he murmured almost inarticulately. "I am--a little--fatigued. It is nothing. It will pass. "

"Drink!" Mordaunt said insistently. 

He held the rim of the cup against the trembling lips, and perforce theFrenchman drank, at first slowly, then with avidity, till at last heclasped the cup in both his quivering hands and drained it. 

His eyes sought Mordaunt's apologetically as he gave it back. The apathyhad gone out of them. They looked out of his pinched face withbrightening intelligence. His lips were no longer blue. 

"Ah!" he said, with a deep breath. "But how it was good, monsieur!"

He glanced downwards, discovered himself to be sitting in achintz-covered chair, and blundered hastily to his feet. 

"Tenez!" he exclaimed almost incoherently. "But how I forget! See, Ihave--I have--"

He groped out before him suddenly, words failing him, and only Mordaunt'spromptitude spared him a headlong fall. 

"Bit light-headed, sir?" suggested the servant, glancing round with aninscrutable countenance. 

"No, he'll be all right. Go and turn on the hot water, " said Mordaunt. 

To the Frenchman as the man departed he spoke as to an equal. "Monsieurde Montville, I am offering you the hospitality of a friend, and I hopeyou will accept it. In the morning if you are well enough we will talkthings over. But to-night you are not fit for anything beyond a hot bathand bed. "

The Frenchman nodded. Certainly his senses were returning to him. Hiseyes were growing brighter every instant. "It is true, " he said. "I wasill. But your--so great--kindness has revived me. I will not, then, trespass upon you longer, except to render to you a thousand thanks. I amwell now. I will go. "

"No, " Mordaunt said gently. "You will stay here till morning. You are notwell. You are feverish. And the sooner you get to bed the better. Come!We are not strangers. Need we behave as if we were?"

Again de Montville looked at him doubtfully. "I wish that I couldrecall--" he said. 

"You will presently, " Mordaunt assured him. "In the meantime, it reallydoesn't matter, and it is not the time for explanations. I am very gladto have met you. You surely will not refuse to be my guest for a fewhours. "

He spoke with the utmost kindness, but also with inflexibledetermination. The Frenchman still looked dubious, but quite obviously hedid not feel equal to a battle of wills with his resolute host. Heuttered a sigh and said no more. 

He firmly declined the assistance of Mordaunt's man, however, and it wasMordaunt himself who waited upon him, ignoring protest, till hisshivering _protégé_ was safe in bed. 

He seemed to resign himself to his fate then, being too exhausted to dootherwise. A heavy drowsiness came upon him, and he very soon fell into adoze. 

Mordaunt sat in an adjoining room, opening and answering letters. Hisdemeanour was quite serene. Save that he paused now and then and leanedback in his chair to listen, there was nothing about him to indicate thatanything unusual had taken place. 

It was nearing midnight when his man came softly in with a cup ofbeef-tea. 

"All right, Holmes! I'll see to him. You can go to bed, " he said then. 

Holmes paused. "I've made up the bed in the spare-room, sir, " he said. 

"Oh, thanks! I shall not want it though. I will sleep on the sofa here. "

"Very good, sir. " Holmes still paused. He never expressed surprise atanything his master saw fit to do; he only did his utmost to give hisproceedings as normal an aspect as possible. His acquaintance withMordaunt also dated from a South African battlefield; they knew eachother very well indeed. 

"I was only thinking to myself, " he said, in answer to Mordaunt's look, "I could just as easy attend to the gentleman as you could, sir. I'm moreor less up in night duty, as you might say, and I'll guarantee as hewants for nothing if you'll put him in my charge. "

Holmes had been a hospital orderly in his time, and Mordaunt knew him tobe absolutely trustworthy in a responsible position. Nevertheless hedeclined the offer. 

"Very good of you, Holmes! But I would rather you went to bed. Ishouldn't be turning in yet in any case. I have work to do. I don't fancyhe will give any trouble. If he does, I will call you. "

Holmes withdrew without further argument, and a few minutes laterMordaunt, armed with the beef-tea, went to his guest's bedside. 

He found him dozing, but he awoke at once, looking up with fever-brighteyes to greet him. 

"Ah! but you are too good--too good, " he said. "And I have no hunger now. I am only yet a little fatigued. I shall repose myself, and I shall findmyself well. "

"Yes, you will be better after a sleep, " Mordaunt said. "You shall settledown when you have had this, and sleep the clock round. "

He was aware once more of the Frenchman's puzzled eyes watching him as hesubmissively took the nourishment, but he paid no heed to them. It wasnot his intention to encourage any discussion just then. 

Outside, the rain pattered incessantly, beating against the windows. At asudden gust of hail de Montville shivered. 

"Monsieur, " he said, choosing his words with care, "your great kindnessis such as I can never hope to repay, but permit me to assure you that mygratitude will constrain me to regard myself your debtor till death. Ifit is ever in my power to serve you, I will render that service, costwhat it may. You have called me by my name. It appears that you know me?"

He paused for an answer. 

"Yes, I know you, " Mordaunt said. 

"And for that you extend to me the hand of friendship?" questioned theFrenchman, his quick eyes still searching the Englishman's quiet face. 

Mordaunt's eyes looked gravely back. "I also happen to believe in you, "he said. "Otherwise I should probably have helped you because you neededit; but I most certainly should not have brought you here. "

"Ah!" Sudden understanding flashed into de Montville's face; he leanedforward, stuttering with eagerness. "You--you--I know you now! I knowyou! You are the English journalist, the man who believed in me evenagainst reason, against evidence--in spite of all! I remember youwell--well! I remember your eyes. They sent me a message. They gave mecourage. They told me that you knew--that you were my friend--the onlyfriend, monsieur, that was not ashamed of me. And I thanked _le bon Dieu_that night--that terrible night--simply because I had looked into youreyes. "

He broke off in quivering agitation. Trevor Mordaunt's hand was on hisshoulder. "Easy--easy!" the quiet voice said. "You are exciting yourself, my dear fellow, and you mustn't. You must go to sleep. This matter willvery well keep till morning. "

De Montville's face was hidden in his shaking hands. "If I could thankyou--if I could make you comprehend--" he murmured brokenly. 

"I do comprehend. I comprehend perfectly. " Mordaunt's voice was soothingnow, almost motherly. He stroked the bent shoulders with a consolingtouch. "Come, man! You are used up; you are ill. Lie down and rest. "

He coaxed his forlorn guest down upon the pillows again and drew thebedclothes over him. Then for a space he sat beside him, divining that hewould recover his self-command more quickly with him there than left tohis own devices. 

A nervous hand, bony as a skeleton's, came hesitatingly forth to him atlength, and he gripped and held it for several quiet seconds more. 

Finally he rose. "I'll leave you now. If you are wanting anything, youhave only to ask for it. I shall be in the next room. Quite comfortable?"

Yes, he was quite comfortable. He assured him of this in unsteady tones, and begged that Mr. Mordaunt would give himself no further trouble on hisaccount. He would sleep--he would sleep. 

As the assurance was uttered somewhat incoherently, through lips halfclosed, Mordaunt judged that he could be trusted to carry out thisintention, and so left him, to return to his writing-table in theadjoining room. 

Ten minutes later he crept back noiselessly and found him in a deepsleep. He stood a moment to watch him, and noted with compassion a faint, pathetic smile that rested on the worn features. 

But he did not guess that Bertrand de Montville had returned in hisdreams to a land of enchantment, where the sun was always shining, andthe sea was at peace, even that land where first he had forgotten thegreat goal of his ambition and had halted by the way to listen to agirl's light laughter while he drew for her his pictures in the sand. 

CHAPTER VI

ENGAGED

"My dear Trevor, do let me warn you against making yourself in any wayresponsible for Chris's brothers. "

Mrs. Forest spoke impressively. She was rather fond of warning people. Itwas in a fashion her attitude towards life. 

"You will find, " she continued, "that Chris herself will need a firmhand--a very firm hand. Though so young, she is not, I fear, verypliable. I have known her do the most unheard-of things, chiefly, I mustadmit, from excess of spirits. They all suffer from that upon occasion. It is a most difficult thing to cope with. "

"But not a very serious failing, " said Mordaunt, with his tolerant smile. 

"It leads to very serious complications sometimes, " said Mrs. Forest, inthe tone of one who could reveal much were she so minded. 

But Mordaunt did not seem to hear. His eyes had wandered to a lightfigure in the doorway--a girl with wonderful hair that shimmered likeburnished copper, and eyes that were blue as a summer sea. It was aSunday afternoon, and several people had dropped in to tea. Theengagement had been announced the previous day, and Mordaunt had droppedin also to give his young _fiancée_ the benefit of his support. Chris, however, was not, to judge by appearances, needing any support. Sheseemed, in fact, to be frankly enjoying herself. The high spirits whichher aunt deplored were very much in evidence at that moment. Her gaylaugh reached him where he sat. Being engaged was evidently the greatestfun. 

"They are all like that, " continued Mrs. Forest, with her air of onefulfilling an unpleasant duty--"all except Max, who is franklyobjectionable. Gay, _débonnaire_, fascinating, I grant you, but sodeplorably unstable. Those boys--well, I have never dared to encouragethem here, for I know too well what it would mean. If you are reallythinking of buying their old home for yourself and Chris, do be on yourguard or you will never keep them at arms' length. "

"Kellerton Old Park will be Chris's property exclusively, " Mordauntreplied gravely. "If she cares to have her brothers there, she will bequite at liberty to do so. "

"My dear Trevor, you are far too kind, " protested Mrs. Forest. "I see youare going to spoil them right and left. They will simply live on you ifyou do that. You won't find yourself master in your own house. "

"No?" said Mordaunt, with a smile. 

Chris was coming towards him. He rose to meet her. 

"Oh, Trevor, " she said eagerly, "I can go down to Kellerton with youto-morrow, and Max has written to say he will join us there. I am so gladhe can get away. I haven't seen him since Christmas. "

"Isn't he coming to your birthday party?" asked Jack Forest, strolling upat that moment. 

He addressed Chris, but he looked at his mother, who, after the briefestpause, made reply, "Of course Chris can ask whom she likes. "

"Oh, can I?" exclaimed Chris. "How heavenly! Then I will get Rupert tocome too. I wish Noel might, but I suppose he is out of the question. "

She slipped a hand surreptitiously inside Jack's arm as her aunt movedaway, and squeezed it. She knew quite well that the party itself had beenof his devising--an informal dance to celebrate her twenty-firstbirthday, which was less than a fortnight away. 

Jack smiled upon her indulgently. "Are you going to ask me to yourbirthday party, Chris?"

"No, " said Chris. "I shall never ask you anywhere. You have a free passalways so far as I am concerned. "

He made her a low bow. "You listening, Trevor? I'll bet she never saidthat to you. "

But Chris turned swiftly away towards her _fiancé_. "There is no need tosay anything of that sort to Trevor, " she said, in her quick way. "Heunderstands without. "

"Thank you, " said Trevor quietly. 

Jack laughed. "One to you, my boy! I admit it frankly. By the way, Iheard a funny story about you yesterday. Someone said you were turningyour rooms in Clive Street into a home for sick organ-grinders. Is ittrue by any chance?"

"Not strictly, " said Mordaunt. 

"Nor strictly untrue either, " commented Jack. "I know the sort of thing. You are always doing it. Was it a child or a woman or a monkey thistime?"

"It was a man, " said Mordaunt. 

"A man! A friend of yours, I suppose?" Jack smiled over the phrase. Hehad heard it on Mordaunt's lips more than once. 

"Exactly. A friend of mine. " The tone of Mordaunt's reply did notencourage further inquiries. 

Chris, glancing at him, saw a slight frown between his brows, andpromptly changed the subject. 

"It's really rather good of Aunt Philippa to let me have the boys here, "she said later, when they were alone together for a moment just before hetook his departure. "She never gets on with them, especially Max. Ofcourse it's partly his fault. I hope you will like each other, Trevor. "

By which sentence Trevor divined that this was her favourite brother. 

"We shall get on all right, " he said. 

"It isn't everyone that likes Max, " she said. "But he's tremendously nicereally, and very clever. What time will you be here to-morrow? I must trynot to keep you waiting. "

But of course when the morning came she did keep him waiting. With thebest intentions, Chris seldom managed to be ready for anything. AndMordaunt had nearly half an hour to wait before she joined him. 

She raced down at last with airy apology. "I'm very sorry really. But itwas Cinders' fault. We went to be photographed, and I couldn't get him tosit at the right angle. And then when I got back I had to dress, andeverything went wrong. "

She was carrying Cinders under her arm and evidently meant him to jointheir expedition. She did not look as if everything had gone wrong withher, neither did she look particularly penitent. She laughed up at himmerrily, and he--because he could not help it--drew her to him and kissedher. 

"Oh, but you should kiss Cinders too, " she said. "I love kissing Cinders. He is like satin. "

"If we don't start we shall never get there, " observed Mordaunt. 

"What an obvious remark!" laughed Chris. "Let's start at once. I hope youare going to scorch. Wouldn't it be funny if the motor broke down and wehad to spend the night under a hedge? We should enjoy that, shouldn't we, Cinders? We would pretend we were gipsies or organ-grinders. Oh, Trevor, it is a sweet motor! Do let me drive!"

"While I sit behind with Cinders?" he said. "Thanks very much, but I'drather not. Do you think we want Cinders, by the way?"

She opened her eyes wide in astonishment. Her motor-bonnet gave her avery babyish appearance. She hugged her favourite to her as she mighthave hugged a doll. 

"Of course we want Cinders! Why, he has been looking forward to it forever so long. Kellerton is home to him, you know. "

"Oh, very well! Jump in, " said Mordaunt, with resignation. "Are you goingto sit beside me?"

"Of course we are. We can see better in front. Oh, Trevor, I am horrid. Iquite forgot to thank you for that lovely, lovely ring. I'm wearing itround my neck, because I had to wash Cinders this morning, and I wasafraid of hurting it. I've never worn a ring before. And it was so dearof you to remember that I liked turquoise and pearl. I was furious withAunt Philippa because--" She broke off abruptly. 

Mordaunt was starting the motor, but as they skimmed smoothly away hespoke. "Aunt Philippa thought it ought to have been diamonds, I suppose?"

"Well, yes, " Chris admitted, turning very red. "But I--I didn't agreewith her. Diamonds are not to be compared with pearls. "

"You are not old enough for diamonds, dear, " he said. "I will give youdiamonds later. "

"Oh, but I don't want any. " Shyly her hand pressed his knee. "Pleasedon't give me too much, Trevor, " she said. "I shall never dare to ask forthe things I really want if you do. Aunt Philippa thinks I'm gettinghorribly spoilt as it is. "

"I don't, " he said. 

"How nice of you, Trevor! Do you know I'm so happy to-day, I want tosing. "

"You may sing to your heart's content when we get out into the country, "he said. 

She laughed. "No, no! Cinders would howl. How cleverly you drive! Youwill teach me some day, won't you? Do you know, I dreamt I was drivingyour organ-grinder last night. Do tell me about him. Is he really afriend of yours?"

"Yes, really, Chris. "

"How exciting!" said Chris, keenly interested. "And what are you going todo with him?"

"I haven't decided at present. He has had a pretty bad spell ofstarvation. I don't know yet what he is fit for. "

"It must be dreadful to starve, " said Chris soberly. "It's bad enough notto have any pocket-money. But to starve--Is he ill, then?"

"He has been. He is getting better. "

"And you are taking care of him?"

"Yes, I'm housing him for the present. "

"Trevor, it was good of you not to send him to the workhouse. "

Mordaunt frowned. "It was not a case for the workhouse. He would probablyhave died before he came to that. "

"Oh, how dreadful!" A shadow crossed her vivid face. "But--he won't dienow, you think?"

"Not now, no!"

"And you won't let him go organ-grinding any more?"

"No. "

"That's all right; though I don't think it would be at all bad on finedays in the country, if one had a nice little donkey to pull the organ. "

"Nice little donkeys have to be fed, " Mordaunt reminded her. 

"Oh yes. But they eat grass and thistles and things. And they never die. Isn't that extraordinary? One would think the world would get overrunwith them, wouldn't one?"

"So it is, more or less, " observed Mordaunt. 

"Trevor! What a disgusting insinuation!" The merry laugh pealed out. "I've a good mind to turn round and go straight back. "

"If you think you could, " he said. 

"Of course I could!" Chris leaned forward and laid a daring hand on thewheel. 

"Yes, " he said. "But that won't do it, you know. "

"But if I were in earnest?" she said, a quick note of pleading in hervoice. "If I really wanted you to turn round?"

He kept his eyes fixed ahead. "Are you ever really in earnest, Chris?" hesaid. 

"Of course I am!"

Mordaunt was silent. They were crossing a crowded thoroughfare, and hisdriving seemed to occupy his full attention. 

Chris waited till he had extricated the car from the stream of traffic, then impulsively she spoke--

"Trevor, I didn't think you were like Aunt Philippa. I thought youunderstood. "

She saw his grave face soften. "Believe me, I am not in the least likeyour Aunt Philippa, " he said. 

"No; but--"

"But, Chris?"

"I think you needn't have asked me that, " she said, a little quiver inher voice. "Even Cinders knows me better than that. "

"Cinders ought to know you better than anyone, " remarked Mordaunt. "Hisopportunities are unlimited. "

She laughed somewhat dubiously. "I knew you would think me horrid as soonas you began to see more of me. "

He laughed also at that. "My dear, forgive me for saying so, but you areabsurd--too absurd to be taken seriously, even if you are serious--whichI doubt. "

"But I am, " she asserted. "I am. I--I am nearly always serious. "

Mordaunt turned his head and looked at her with that in his eyes whichshe alone ever saw there, before which instinctively, almost fearfully, she veiled her own. 

"You--child!" he said again softly. 

And this time--perhaps because the words offered a way of escape of whichshe was not sorry to avail herself--Chris did not seek to contradict him. She pressed her cheek to Cinders' alert head, and said no more. 

CHAPTER VII

THE SECOND WARNING

Rupert's description of Kellerton Old Park, though unflattering, was notfar removed from the truth. The thistles in the drive that wound from thedeserted lodge to the house itself certainly were abnormally high, sohigh that Mordaunt at once decided to abandon the car inside the greatwrought-iron gates that had been the pride of the place for many years. 

"That nice little donkey of yours would come in useful here, " heobserved, as he handed his _fiancée_ to the ground. 

She tucked her hand engagingly inside his arm. "Ah! but isn't the parklovely? And look at all those rabbits! No, no, Cinders! You mustn't!Trevor, you do like it?"

"I like it immensely, " he answered. 

His eyes looked out over the wide, rough stretch of ground before himthat was more like common land than private property, dwelt upon a beltof trees that crowned a distant rise, scanned the overgrown carriage-roadto where it ended before a grey turret that was half-hidden by a greatcedar, finally came back to the sparkling face by his side. 

"So this is to be our--home, Chris?" he said. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" she said proudly. "Oh, Trevor, you don't know whatit means to me to feel it isn't going to be sold after all. "

He smiled. "I understood it was going to be sold and presented to my wifefor a wedding-gift. "

She turned her face up to his. "Trevor, you don't think I'm ungratefultoo, do you?"

"My darling, " he said, "I think that gratitude between you and me is outof place at any time. Remember, though I give you this and a thousandother things, you are giving me--all you have. "

She pressed his arm shyly. "It doesn't seem very much, does it?" shesaid. 

He laid his hand upon hers. "You can make it much, " he said very gently. 

"How, Trevor?"

"By marrying me, " he said. 

"Oh!" Her eyes fell instantly, and he saw the hot colour rise andoverspread her face. "Oh, but not yet!" she said, almost imploringly. "Please, not yet!"

His own face changed a little, hardened almost imperceptibly, but he gaveno sign of impatience. "In your own time, dear, " he said quietly. "Heavenknows I should be the last to persuade you against your will. "

"Aunt Philippa is always worrying me about it, " she told him, with acatch in her voice. "And I--I--after all, I'm only twenty-one. "

"What does she worry you for?" he said, a hint of sternness in his voice. 

She glanced at him nervously. "Because--because I've no money. Shesays--she says--"

"Well, dear, what does she say?"

"I don't want to tell you, " whispered Chris. 

"I think you had better, " he said. 

"Yes--I suppose so. She says that as I am bringing you nothing, I have noright to--to keep you waiting--that beggars can't be choosers, and--andthings like that. "

"My dear Chris!" he said. "And you take things like that to heart!"

"You see, they are true!" murmured Chris. 

"They are not true. But all the same"--he began to smile again--"I can'tfor the life of me imagine why you won't marry me and get it over. "

"No?" Chris suddenly looked up again; she was clinging to his arm verytightly with both hands. "It does seem rather silly, doesn't it?" shesaid, with resolute eyes raised to his. "Trevor, I--I'll think about it. "

"Do!" he said. "Think about it quietly and sanely. And don't let yourselfget frightened at nothing. As you say, it's silly. "

"But you won't--press me?" she faltered. "You--you promised!"

"I keep my promises, Chris, " he said. 

But he was frowning slightly as he said it, and she was quick to note thefact. "Ah! don't be vexed with me, " she pleaded very earnestly. "I knowI'm foolish. I can't help it. It's the way I'm made. "

She was on the verge of tears, and at once his hand closed with a warmand comforting pressure upon hers. "Chris! Chris! When will you learn notto be afraid of me?" he said. "I am not vexed with you, child. I am onlywondering. "

"Wondering?" she said. 

"Wondering if I had better go away for a spell, " he answered. 

"Go away!" she echoed blankly. 

"And give you time to know your own mind, " he said. 

"Trevor!" She turned suddenly white, so white that he thought for aninstant that she was in physical pain; and then, feeling her clinging tohim, he understood. "Oh, no!" she said vehemently. "No, no! Trevor, youwon't? Say you won't! I--I couldn't bear that. Please, Trevor!"

"My dear, " he said, "I shall never go away while you want me. But thequestion is, do you want me?"

"I do!" she declared, almost passionately. "I do!"

"You are quite sure?" He looked suddenly deep into her eyes, so suddenlythat she could not avoid the look. 

She quivered under it, but he did not release her. He searched herupturned face closely, persistently, relentlessly, till, with a movementof entreaty, she stretched up one hand and tremblingly covered his eyes. 

"I am--quite sure, " she said in a whisper. "And I--I don't like you tolook at me like that. "

He stood still, suffering himself to be so blinded, till, gainingconfidence, she took her hand away. 

"You won't ask me again, please, Trevor?" she said. 

He smiled at her very kindly, but his voice, as he made answer, wasgrave. "No, dear, I shall never ask you that again. "

She took his arm once more with evident relief. "Let us go up to thehouse, " she said. "I expect Max is there already, waiting for us. "

So they went up the weed-grown drive, and presently came into full sightof the house. It was a large, rambling building of stone, some of it veryancient, most of it covered with immense stacks of ivy. Another pair ofiron gates divided park from garden, and as they approached these alounging figure sauntered into view and came through to meet them. 

Chris uttered a squeak of delight, and sprang forward. "Max!"

"Hullo!" said the new-comer. 

He was a thick-set youth, with heavy red brows and a somewhat offhanddemeanour. His eyes were green and very shrewd. They surveyed Mordauntwith open criticism. He was smoking a very foul-smelling cigarette. 

Chris was very rosy. "Max, " she said, "this is Trevor!"

"Hullo!" said Max again. 

He extended a careless hand and gave his future brother-in-law a hardgrip. There was no particular friendliness in the action, it wasevidently his custom to grip hard. 

"Come to investigate your new abode?" he said. "Are you going to pull itdown?"

"It is not my present intention, " Mordaunt said. 

"Of course he isn't!" said Chris. "Don't be absurd, Max. It is going tobe made lovely inside and out, and we are all going to live here. "

"Are we?" said Max, with a sudden grin. "Who says so?"

He glanced at Mordaunt with the words, and it was Mordaunt who answeredhim--

"I hope you and your brothers will continue to look upon it as your homeuntil you have homes of your own. "

"Very rash of you!" commented Max, swinging round again to the gate. "Well, come inside and see it. "

They went within, went from room to room of the old place, Max with theair of a sardonic showman, Mordaunt gravely attentive to details, Chrislight-footed, eager with many ideas for its reformation. The mildewedwalls and partially dismantled rooms, with their moth-eaten furniture andthreadbare carpets, had no damping effect upon her spirits. She had aboundless faith in her _fiancé's_ power to transform her ancient homeinto a palace of delight. 

"If you really mean to buy it as it stands, I should recommend you tomake a bonfire of the contents, " said Max presently, as they stood alltogether in the deep bay window of a room on the first floor that lookedout upon the park, with a glimpse beyond of distant hills. "But the placeitself is an absolute ruin. I can't imagine how you are going to patch itup. "

"I think it can be done, " Mordaunt said. He was staring out somewhatabsently, and spoke as if his thoughts were wandering. 

Both brother and sister glanced at him. Then, "When are you going to getmarried?" asked Max. 

Mordaunt came out of his reverie. "That, " he said deliberately, "hasstill to be decided. "

"Who is going to decide? You or Chris?" Max lighted another cigarette andpitched the match, still burning, from the window. 

"Oh, Max!" exclaimed Chris. "How dangerous! Look! There is Cinderssniffing along the terrace! He is sure to burn his nose!"

She was gone with the words, and Max, with a brief laugh, returned to thecharge. 

"I conclude the decision rests with her. "

"Well?" said Mordaunt. He spoke curtly; perhaps he resented the boy'sinterference, or perhaps he had had enough of the subject for that day. 

"Look here, " said Max. "I know Chris. She will keep you dangling for thenext ten years if you will put up with it. If you want to be marriedsoon, you will have to assert yourself. "

Mordaunt was silent. 

Max waited. Below them Chris flashed suddenly into view, darting with abutterfly grace of movement to the rescue of her pet. 

Abruptly Mordaunt spoke. "I sometimes wonder if she is too young to bemarried. "

"What?" Max removed his cigarette and stared at him. "She is as old as Iam!"

Mordaunt looked back, faintly smiling. "Yes, I know. But--well, that's noargument, is it?"

"I suppose not. All the same"--Max leaned back nonchalantly against thewindow-frame--"if you mean to wait till she grows up, you'll wait aprecious long time, and she will probably run away with another fellowwhile you are thinking about it. "

Mordaunt clapped a restraining hand on his shoulder. "My friend, " hesaid, "I don't permit that sort of thing to be said of Chris. "

Maxwell's green eyes twinkled. "You don't, eh? That's rather decent ofyou. But, you know, there is such a thing as being too trusting. And thefamily of Wyndham are not conspicuously famous for their honourablescruples. Now, Chris is as much a Wyndham as the rest of us, and--I'mgoing to say it whether you like it or not, it's the truth also--sheis a deal more likely to keep out of mischief if she marries young. Youare no fool by the look of you. You know there is reason in what I say. "

"You have said enough, " Mordaunt said, with a touch of sternness. 

"All right. The subject is closed. But--just tell me this. Do you--or doyou not--want to marry her before the summer is over?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know. "

"Well"--Mordaunt's eyes studied him for a few seconds--"it is anunnecessary question. "

"Because I know the answer?" questioned Max. 

"Exactly. "

"Very well. " He straightened himself with a smile. "I think I can managethat for you. "

"Wait!" Mordaunt said. "You mean well, but--I would rather you didn'tattempt it. I would rather that Chris were left to settle this matter forherself. "

"So she will. I know what I'm about, bless your heart! Chris always asksmy advice and generally takes it. She will marry you all right before theend of the season. You leave it to me. "

He turned from the window with the words, still smiling. "Give me fiveminutes alone with her, " he said. 

And Mordaunt, though more than half against his will, yielded the point, and let him go. 

They lunched in the old oak-beamed dining-room--a meal presided over byMax, who played the host with a half-mocking air, while Chris, stilleager upon the renovations, poured out plans, practicable and otherwise, for her _fiancé's_ consideration. 

"What a pity we have to get back!" she said regretfully when the time fordeparture drew near. "I want to begin right away, Trevor. Why can't wespend the night here? Wire to Aunt Philippa, Max. Say we are busy. "

Max grinned. "What says Trevor?"

"Quite impossible, " said Mordaunt, with a smile at her ardent face. "There isn't a bed for you to sleep on. "

"I could sleep on the sofa with Cinders, " she said. "We can sleepanywhere. "

"They've slept on a heap of stones before now, " remarked Max. 

"I'm sure we haven't!" She whisked round upon him with a suddenness thatwas almost a challenge. "We haven't, Max!" she repeated. 

He stuck a cigarette into his mouth. "All right, my dear girl. Mymistake, no doubt. I thought you had. "

"Don't be absurd!" ordered Chris, colouring vividly "We never didanything so--so disreputable. " She twined her arm impulsively inMordaunt's. "Don't believe him, Trevor!"

"I don't, " he said, with his quiet eyes upon her upturned face. 

Max laughed aloud. "Why don't you tell him the joke, Chris?"

"Because there isn't any joke, and you're very horrid, " she returned withspirit. "Trevor, let's go!"

"I am ready, " he said. 

"Very well, then. " Chris turned round with relief in her face and hastilytied her veil. "Please find Cinders, Max, " she said. "And bring Trevor'scoat. It's in the billiard-room. I suppose we really must go back thistime, but you will bring me again, won't you, Trevor?"

"As often as you care to come, " he said. 

"Ah, yes! Only I'm so full of engagements just now. It's such a nuisance. One can never get away. "

"What! Tired of London?" he said. 

"Oh no, not really. But I want to be here, too. I love this place. Youwon't do anything in it without me, will you?"

"Not without your approval, certainly, " he promised. 

She turned back to him with her quick smile. "Trevor, thank you! I--I'vedecided to marry you as soon as ever I can--as soon as Hilda comes backfrom her honeymoon. "

He was smoking a cigarette. He took it from between his lips and droppedit into an ash-tray. For a moment his face was turned from her. He seemedto be watching the smouldering ash. Then, "Really, Chris?" he said, looking down at her again. 

She was tugging at her gloves. She thrust her hand out to him. "Buttonit, please!" she said, rather breathlessly, as if the exertion hadexhausted her somewhat. 

He took it, bent over it, suddenly pressed his lips to the soft wrist. 

"Oh, don't!" said Chris, and snatched it from him. 

When Max came back she was standing by the window, still fumbling at herglove, with her back turned, while her _fiancé_ leaned against themantelpiece, finishing his cigarette. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE COMPACT

Wearily Bertrand de Montville turned his head upon the sofa-cushion, andopened his heavy eyes. He seemed to be listening for something, butevidently he considered that he had listened in vain, for his eyelidsbegan to droop again almost immediately. He seemed to drift into a stateof semi-consciousness. 

The evening sunlight was screened from his face by blinds, but even soits deep shadows were painfully distinct. He looked unutterably tired. 

There came a slight sound at the door, and again his eyes were open. In amoment, with incredible briskness, he was off the couch and half-wayacross the room before, seized with sudden dizziness, he began to falter. 

Trevor Mordaunt, entering, made a dive forward, and held him up. 

"Now, my friend, lie down again, " he said, "and stay down till furtherorders. "

"Ah, pardon me!" the Frenchman murmured, clutching vaguely for support. "I am strong, more strong than you think. I--I--"

"Lie down, " Trevor reiterated. "You don't give yourself a chance, man. You forget you have been a helpless invalid for the past ten days. There!How's that? Comfortable?"

"You are always so good--so good!" panted de Montville very earnestly. "Iknow not how to thank you--how to repay. "

"Just obey orders, that's all, " said the Englishman, faintly smiling. "Iwant to get you well. No, you are not well yet--say what you like, you'renot. I've let you get up for an experiment, but if you don't behaveyourself back you go. Now lie still, quite still, while I open myletters. When you have quite recovered your breath we will have a talk. "

He had assumed this tone of authority from the outset, and de Montvillehad submitted, in the first place because he was too ill to do otherwise, and later because, somewhat to his surprise, he found himself impelledthereto by his own inclination. It did not in any fashion wound hispride, this kindly mastery. He wondered at himself for tolerating it, andyet he offered no resistance. It was too great a thing to resist. 

So, still panting a little, he subsided obediently upon Mordaunt's sofawhile the latter busied himself with his correspondence. 

There was a considerable pile of letters. Mordaunt opened one afteranother with the deliberation that marked most of his actions, but thepile dwindled very quickly notwithstanding. Some letters he dropped atonce into a waste-paper basket, upon others he scribbled a few notes;two or three he laid aside for further consideration. 

The last of all he held in his hand for several seconds unopened. Theenvelope was a large one and stiff, as if it contained cardboard. It wasdirected in an irregular, childish scrawl. Mordaunt, sitting at hiswriting-table, with his back to his guest, studied it gravely, thoughtfully. Finally very quietly he broke the seal. 

There was a crackle of tissue-paper, and he drew out a photograph--thephotograph of a laughing girl with a diminutive terrier of doubtfulextraction clasped in her arms. Without any change of countenance hestudied this also. 

He laid it at last upon his table, and turned in his chair. "Have you hadanything to drink?"

De Montville looked slightly disconcerted by the question. "But no!" hesaid. "I have not--that is to say, I would not--"

Mordaunt stretched a hand to the bell. "Holmes should have seen to it. What do you drink? Afraid I can't offer you absinthe. "

"But I never drink it, monsieur. "

"No? Whisky and soda, then?"

"What you will, monsieur. "

"Very well. Whisky and soda, Holmes, and be quick about it. " Mordauntglanced at the clock, looked again at the photograph at his elbow, finally rose. "I want a talk with you, M. De Montville, " he said, "if youfeel up to it. Don't get up, please. There is no necessity. "

But de Montville apparently thought otherwise, for he drew himself to asitting position and faced his benefactor. 

"I also, " he said, "have desired to talk with you since long. "

Mordaunt pulled up a chair. "Do you mind if I talk first?" he said. 

"But certainly, monsieur. " With quick courtesy the Frenchman made reply. His dark eyes were very intent. He fixed them upon the Englishman's faceand composed himself to listen. 

"It's just this, " Mordaunt said. "I think we know each other well enoughto dispense with preliminaries, so I will come to the point at once. Nowyou have probably realized by this time that I am a very busy man--havebeen for several years past. In my profession there is not much time forsitting still, nor, till lately, have I wanted it. But there comes a timein most men's lives when they feel that they would like to get out of therash and enjoy a little leisure, take it easy--in short, settle down andgrow old in comfort. "

De Montville nodded several times with swift intelligence. "_Alors_, monsieur contemplates marriage, " he said. 

Mordaunt laughed a little. "Exactly, _mon ami_, and that speedily. "

He broke off at the entrance of his servant, and for the next few secondsbusied himself with the mixing of drinks. De Montville continued to watchhim with keen interest. As Mordaunt handed him his glass he clutched thesofa-head and stood up. 

"I drink to your future happiness, " he said, with a sudden smile and bow, "and to the lady who will be so fortunate as to share it!"

Mordaunt held out his hand. "Thank you. Much obliged. But sit down, mydear fellow. I haven't quite finished what I want to say. And you are tooshaky to be bobbing up and down. I was just going to point out where youcome in. "

De Montville gripped his hand with all his strength. "I can serve you, then? You have only to speak. "

But Mordaunt would not speak till he was recumbent again. Then veryquietly he came to the point. 

"The upshot of it is that I want a secretary to take things off my handsa bit, and since I would rather have a pal than a stranger in thatcapacity I am wondering if you will take on the job. "

"I!" Utter amazement sounded in de Montville's voice. He sat bolt uprightfor a space of seconds, staring into the impassive British face beforehim. "But you--you--joke!" he said at last, his voice very low. 

"No, I am quite in earnest. " Gravely Mordaunt returned his look. "Ibelieve we might pull together very well. Think it over, M. De Montville, and if you feel inclined to give it a trial--"

"I wish that you would call me Bertrand, " de Montville broke inunexpectedly. "It would be more convenient. My name is known in England, and--I do not like publicity. As for your--so generous--suggestion, monsieur, I have no words. I am your debtor in all things. I know wellthat it is of my welfare that you think. For myself I do not need toconsider for a moment. I would accept with joy and gratitude the mostprofound. But, I ask you, are you altogether wise in thus reposing yourconfidence in a man of whom you know nothing, except that he was triedand condemned for an offence of which you had the goodness to believe himinnocent? I repeat, monsieur, are you altogether wise?"

"From my own point of view--absolutely. " Mordaunt spoke with a smile. Heheld up his glass. "You accept, then?"

"How could I do other than accept?" protested the Frenchman, withoutspread hands. 

"Then drink with me to the success of our alliance, " said Mordaunt. "Ibelieve it will work very well. "

He prepared to drink, but de Montville made a swift movement to arresthim. "But one moment! First, monsieur, you will give me your promise thatif in any manner I fail to satisfy you, you will at once inform me ofit?"

Mordaunt paused, regarding him steadily. "Yes, I will promise you that, "he said. 

"Ah! Good! Then I drink with you, monsieur, to the success of ourcompact. It will be my pleasure and privilege to serve you to the utmostof my ability. "

He drank almost with reverence, and set down his glass with a hand thattrembled. 

Mordaunt got up. "That is settled, then. By the way, the question ofsalary does not seem to have occurred to you. I don't know if you haveany ideas upon the subject. Four hundred pounds per annum is what Ithought of offering. "

"Four hundred pounds!" De Montville stared at him in amazement. "Fourhundred pounds!" he repeated, in rising agitation. "But no, monsieur! Itis too much! I will not--I cannot--take--even from you--a gift so great. I--I--"

He waxed unintelligible in his distress, and would have risen, butMordaunt's hand upon his shoulder kept him down. Mordaunt bent over him, very quiet and friendly, very sure of himself and of the man headdressed. 

"That's all right, _mon ami_. It is not too much. It's a perfectlyfair bargain, and--to please me if you like--I want you to accept it. You will find there is plenty to do, possibly more than you anticipate. So--suppose we consider it settled, eh?"

De Montville was silent. 

"We'll call it done, " Mordaunt said. "Have a cigarette!"

He held his case in front of the Frenchman, and after a moment deMontville took one. But he only balanced it in his fingers, still sayingnothing. 

"A light?" suggested Mordaunt. 

He made a jerky movement, and glanced up for an instant. "Mr. Mordaunt, "he said, speaking with evident difficulty, "what is--a pal?"

"A pal, " Mordaunt said, smiling slightly, "is a special kind of friend, Bertrand--the best kind, the sort you open your heart to in trouble, thesort that is always ready to stand by. "

"Such a friend as you have been to me?" questioned de Montville slowly. 

"Well, if you like to say so, " Mordaunt said. "I almost think we mightcall ourselves pals by this time. What say you?"

"I, monsieur?" He reached up and grasped the hand that rested on hisshoulder. "For myself I ask no better, " he said, in a voice that quiveredbeyond control, "than to be to you what you have been to me. And I willsooner die by my own hand than give you cause to regret your kindness. "

"Which you never will, " Mordaunt said. "Come, light up, man! Here's amatch!"

He held it up, and de Montville had perforce to place the cigarettebetween his lips. His throat was working spasmodically, but with avaliant effort he managed to inhale a mouthful of smoke. He choked overit badly the next moment, however, and Mordaunt patted his back with muchgoodwill till he was better. 

"There, my dear fellow, lie down now and take it easy. I'm dining out;but Holmes has special orders to look after you; and if you are wantinganything, in the name of common-sense ask for it. "

With that he turned from the sofa, took up the photograph that layupon his writing-table, hesitated an instant, then thrust it into hisbreast-pocket, and strolled out of the room. 

CHAPTER IX

A CONFESSION

"So you don't like my photograph!" said Chris. 

"Why do you say that?"

"I could see you didn't. What's the matter with it? Isn't it prettyenough? It's just like me. "

"Yes, it's just like you, " Mordaunt admitted. 

"Then you don't like me?" suggested Chris. 

He smiled at that. "Yes, I like you very much. But--"

"Well?" said Chris, her deep-sea eyes full of eager curiosity. "Go on, please!"

"Well, " he said, "that photograph is not one that I could show to myfriends. "

"But why not--if it's just like me?"

He took her chin and turned her face gently to the light. "Try again, " hesaid, "without Cinders. "

"Without Cinders!" She stared at him mystified, then began to laugh. "Trevor, I believe you are jealous of Cinders!"

"Perhaps, " he said. "Anyhow, I should prefer your portrait without him. You look like a baby of six cuddling a toy. "

"I wonder what makes you so anxious to marry me, " said Chrisunexpectedly. 

Mordaunt still smiled at her. "Strange, isn't it?" he said. 

"Yes, I can't understand it in the least. " She shook her head with apuzzled expression. "It's a pity you don't like that photograph. I'm sureCinders has come out beautifully. And he isn't a bit like a toy. "

"Yes, but I don't want Cinders. "

Chris looked at him with sudden misgiving. "But, Trevor, when--when weare married--"

"Oh, of course, " he said at once. "I didn't mean that. I haven't thesmallest wish to part you from him. It's only his photograph I have nouse for. "

Her face cleared magically. "Dear Trevor, I quite understand. And I wouldgo and be done again to-morrow if I had the money, but I haven't. "

"Are you very hard up?" he asked. 

She nodded. "Horribly. I'm very extravagant, too--at least, Aunt Philippasays so. I can't bear asking her for money. In fact, I--I--"

She hesitated, avoiding his eyes. "Shall I tell you something, Trevor?"she said in a whisper. "It's something I haven't told anyone else!"

"Of course tell me!" He took her two hands into his, holding them upagainst his heart. 

"Well--it's a secret, you know--I--I--" She raised her face in suddenpleading. "Promise you won't be cross, Trevor. "

"I promise, dear, " he answered gravely. 

"Well, I'm afraid it's rather bad of me. I haven't been paying for thingslately. I simply couldn't. London is a dreadful place for spending money, isn't it? It's all quite little things, but they mount up shockingly. And--and--Aunt Philippa is bound to give me some money presently formy--my trousseau. So I thought--I thought--" She came nearer to him; shelaid her cheek coaxingly against his breast. "Trevor, you said youwouldn't be cross. "

He put his hand on her bright hair. "I am not cross, dear. I am onlysorry. "

Chris was inclined to be a little tearful. She did not quite know whathad led her to tell him--it had been the impulse of a moment--but it wasa vast relief to feel he knew. 

"I'm not a very good manager, I'm afraid, " she said. "But there arecertain things one must have, and they do add up so. I believe it's theodd halfpennies and farthings that do it. Don't you ever find that?"

"I can quite imagine it, " he said. 

"Yes, they're so deceptive. I wonder why two-and-elevenpencethree-farthings sound so much less than three shillings. It's a snare anda delusion. I don't think it ought to be allowed. " She raised her headwith her April smile. "I'm very glad I told you, Trevor. You're very niceabout things. I was afraid you would be like Aunt Philippa, but you arenot in the least. "

"Thank you, Chris. Now I want to say something very serious to you. Willyou listen--and take it seriously?"

She gave a little sigh. "I know exactly what it is. "

"No, you don't know. " Mordaunt looked at her with eyes that were gravelykind. "You are not to jump to conclusions where I am concerned, " he said. "You don't know me well enough. What I have to say is this. I can't haveyou in difficulties for want of a little money. Those debts of yours mustbe settled at once. "

"But, Trevor, Aunt Philippa--"

"Never mind Aunt Philippa. It has nothing to do with her. It is a matterbetween you and me. We will settle it without her assistance. "

"Oh, Trevor, but--"

"There is no 'but, ' Chris, " he said, interrupting her almost sternly. "Iam nearer to you than your aunt. Tell me--as nearly as you can--whatthose debts amount to. "

Chris was looking a little startled. "But I--I don't know, " she said. 

"Well, find out and tell me. " He smiled at her again. "It's all right, dear. Don't be afraid of me. I know it's hard to keep within bounds whenthere is a shortage of means. But I don't like debts. You won't run upany more?"

Chris still looked at him somewhat doubtfully. "I won't if I can helpit, " she said. 

"You will be able to help it, " he rejoined. 

"Yes, but, Trevor, please let me say it. I don't think you ought to--togive me money before--before--Oh, do understand!" she broke offhelplessly. "You generally do. "

"I quite understand, " he said, his hand on her shoulder. "But, my child, I think, considering all things, that you need not let that scrupletrouble you. Since we are to be married in six weeks--"

"In six weeks, Trevor!" Again that startled look that was almost one ofconsternation. 

"In six weeks, " he repeated, with quiet emphasis. "Your cousin willprobably be back from her honeymoon, and it will be the end of theseason. Since, then, our marriage is to take place in six weeks, and thatI shall then be responsible for you, I do not think you need be troubledabout letting me help you out of this difficulty now. No one will know ofit. It will set your mind at rest--and mine also. "

"Ah, but, Trevor--" Chris spoke somewhat breathlessly--she was rubbingher hand nervously up and down his sleeve--"I'm not quite sure that--thatit will set my mind at rest. I'm not sure that--that I want you to do it, or that I ought to let you even if I did, because, you see, because--"

"Because--?" he said. 

She turned her head aside, avoiding his direct look. "Don't be angry, will you? But just--just supposing something happened, and--and--and wedidn't get married after all?"

She ended rather desperately, in an undertone. But for the quiet hand onher shoulder she would have moved away from him; she might even have beentempted to flee altogether. As it was, she stood still, trembling alittle, wondering if she had outrun his patience at last or if he had itin him still to bear with her. 

He did not speak at once. She waited with a beating heart. 

"Well?" he said, and at the sound of his voice she thrilled with relief. "It's as well to look all round a thing, I admit. We will consider thatsupposition if you like. Say something happens to prevent our marriage. What then? Is it to put an end to our friendship also?"

She turned slightly towards him. "I might never be able to repay you, "she murmured. 

"I see. And that would trouble you--even though we remained friends?"

She was silent. 

"It has always been a puzzle to me, " he said, "why money--which is themost ordinary thing in life--is the one thing that friends scruple toaccept from each other. Gifts of any other description, all sorts ofsacrifices, down to life itself, are offered and taken with no scruple ofpride. But when it comes to money, which is of very small value incomparison, people begin to worry. Why, Chris, what are pounds, shillings, and pence between you and me? Surely we have climbed abovethat sort of thing, haven't we?"

The tenderness of his tone moved her, in a fashion compelled her. Shewent into his arms impulsively, she clung about his neck. Yet even thenher scruples were not quite laid to rest. 

"But--Trevor dear--just supposing we quarrelled? We might, you know, about Cinders or anything. And then--and then--"

"My dear, " he said, "we certainly shall not quarrel about Cinders. Ican't for the life of me picture myself quarrelling with you under anycircumstances whatsoever. And even if we did, I don't think you wouldhate me so badly as to grudge me the satisfaction of knowing that I hadbeen of use to you at an awkward moment. Don't you think we are gettingrather morbid, Chris?"

"I don't know, " she said, clinging closer. "I only know that you aremiles and miles too good for me. And whatever makes you want me I can'tthink. "

He put his hand under her chin, and turned her face up to his own. "I'll tell you another time. At the present moment I want to talkabout--getting married. "

He spoke the last two words very softly, holding her close lest sheshould shrink away. 

But Chris, with her eyes on his, kept still and silent in his arms. Onlyshe turned rather white. 

He continued with the utmost gentleness. "Your cousin is going to bemarried on the fifteenth of this month. Can't we arrange our wedding forthe fifteenth of next?"

"The fifteenth!" said Chris. "Isn't that St. Swithin's Day?"

She spoke so briskly that even Mordaunt was for the moment taken bysurprise. 

"St. Swithin's Day!" he echoed. "Well, what of it?"

She broke into her gay laugh. "Oh, please not St. Swithin's Day! Justimagine if it rained!"

"Chris!" he said. "You're incorrigible!"

His arms had slackened, and she drew away from him, breathing ratherquickly. 

"No, but really, wouldn't it be tragic? I shouldn't like a wet honeymoon, should you? Hadn't we better wait till August? Or shall you be wanting togo to Scotland?"

"No, " he said. "I am not going to Scotland this year. "

His eyes were still upon her, gravely watchful, but they expressednothing of impatience or exasperation. Very quietly he waited. 

"Shall we say August, then?" said Chris, in a small, shy voice, notlooking at him. 

"Will your aunt remain in town for August?" he asked. 

"But we are not obliged to be married in town, " she pointed out. 

"Nor are we obliged to have a honeymoon, Chris, " he said. "Shall we saySt. Swithin's Day, and forego the honeymoon--if it rains?"

"Go straight home, you mean?" She turned back to him eagerly. "Oh, Trevor, I should like that! I do want to superintend everything there. Yes, let's do that, shall we? I always did think honeymoons were rathersilly, didn't you?"

He smiled in spite of himself. "I daresay they are--from some points ofview. It is settled, then--St. Swithin's Day?"

She nodded. "Yes. And we will go straight to Kellerton afterwards, andwork--like niggers. It won't matter a bit then whether it rains or not. And Noel can spend his holidays with us and help. How busy we shall be!"

She laughed up at him, all shining eyes and dimples. 

Again--in spite of himself--he laughed back, pinching her cheek. "Willthat please you, my little Chris?"

"Oh, ever so!" said Chris. 

He stooped and lightly kissed her hair. "Then--so let it be!"

CHAPTER X

A SURPRISE VISIT

It was raining--one of those sudden, pelting showers that descend fromJune thunder-clouds, brief but drenching. It was also very dark, andBertrand had switched on the light. He was seated at Mordaunt'swriting-table, his black head bent over a pile of letters. The pen heheld moved busily, but not very quickly. He was writing with extremecare. It was evident that he meant his first day's work to be a success. He scarcely noticed the heavy downpour, being profoundly intent upon thework he had in hand. Only at a sharp clap of thunder did he glance upmomentarily and shrug his shoulders. But he was at once immersed again inhis occupation, so deeply immersed that at the opening of the door he didnot turn his head. 

Holmes paused just inside the room. "If you please, sir--"

"Ah, put it down, put it down!" said the Frenchman impatiently. "I ambusy. "

But Holmes, being empty-handed, did not comply with the request. Heremained hesitating, obviously doubtful, till with a sharp jerk deMontville turned in his chair. 

"What is it, then? I have told you--I am busy. "

Holmes looked apologetic. He found the abrupt ways of the new secretarysomewhat disconcerting. "It's a young lady, sir, " he explained ratherdiffidently. "It's Miss Wyndham. She run in here for shelter, and, seeingas Mr. Mordaunt be out, I didn't know whether you would wish me to showher up or not, sir. "

Bertrand was on his feet in a moment. "A young lady! Miss Wyndham! Whois--Miss Wyndham?"

"It's the young lady as Mr. Mordaunt is a-going to marry, " said Holmes, dropping his voice confidentially. "I told her as Mr. Mordaunt weren'tin, and she said as she'd like to wait. Didn't know quite what to do, sir. Would you like me to show her up?"

"But certainly!" De Montville's eyebrows had gone up an inch, but helowered them hastily and smiled. Doubtless it was an English custom, this; he must not display surprise. "Beg her to ascend, " he said. "Mr. Mordaunt may return at any moment. He would not wish his _fiancée_ toremain below. "

"Very good, sir. " Holmes withdrew, leaving the door ajar. 

Bertrand remained upon his feet, watching it expectantly. 

At the sound of voices on the stairs he smiled involuntarily. But howthey were droll--these English ladies! Would he ever accustom himself--

"Miss Wyndham, sir!" It was Holmes again, opening the door wide to usherin the unexpected visitor. 

Bertrand bowed low. 

The visitor paused an instant on the threshold, then came brisklyforward. "Oh, " she said, "are you the organ-grinder?"

He straightened himself with a jerk; he looked at her. And suddenly a cryrang through the room--a cry that came straight from a woman's heart, inarticulate, thrilled through and through with a rapture beyond words. And in a moment Bertrand de Montville, outcast and wanderer on the faceof the earth, had shed the bitter burden that weighed him down, hadleaped the dark dividing gulf that separated him from the dear land ofhis dreams, and stood once more upon the sands of Valpré, with a girl'shands fast clasped in his. 

"_Mignonne_!" he gasped hoarsely. "_Mignonne_!" And again "_Mignonne_!"

Her answering voice had a break in it--a sound of unshed tears. "Bertie--dear! Bertie--dear!"

The door closed discreetly, and Holmes departed to his own premises. Itwas no affair of his, he informed himself stolidly; but it was a rum go, and he couldn't help wondering what the master would make of it. 

"But why wasn't I told?" said Chris, yet hovering between tears andlaughter. "They--Bertie--they said you were an organ-grinder!"

He let her hands go, but his dark eyes still shone with the wonder andthe joy of the encounter. 

"Ah!" he said. "And they told me--they told me--that you were--" Hestopped abruptly with the dazed expression of a man suddenly hit in avital place. All the light went out of his face. He became silent. 

"Why--what is it?" said Chris. 

He did not answer at once, and in the pause that ensued he resumed hisburden, he re-crossed the gulf, and the sands of Valpré were left very, very far away. 

In the pause also she saw him as he was--a man broken before his prime, haggard and tired and old, with the fire of his genius quenched for everin the bitter waters of adversity. 

With an effort he spoke. "It is nothing, _chérie_. You are the same. Butwith me--all is changed. "

"Changed, Bertie? But how?"

He looked at her. His eyes dwelt upon the vivid, happy face, but all thespontaneous gladness had died out of his own; it held only an infinitemelancholy. 

"He--Mr. Mordaunt--has not told you?"

"No one has told me anything, " she said. "What is it, Bertie? Have thingsgone wrong with you? Tell me! Was it--was it the gun?"

He bent his head. 

"Oh, but I'm so sorry, " she said. "Was it a failure, after all?"

She drew near to him. She laid a sympathetic hand upon his arm. 

A sharp tremor went through him. He stooped very low and kissed it. "Itwas--worse than that, " he said, his voice choked, barely audible. "Itwas--it was--dishonour. "

"Dishonour!" She echoed the word, uncomprehending, unbelieving. 

He remained bent over her hand. She could not see his face. "Have younever heard, " he said, "of ex-Lieutenant de Montville--the man whom allFrance execrated three years ago as a traitor?"

"Yes, " said Chris. "I've heard of him, of course. But"--doubtfully--"Idon't read the papers much. I didn't know what he was supposed to havedone. I only knew that everyone in England said he hadn't. "

The Frenchman sighed heavily. "The people in England did not know, " hesaid. 

"No? Then you think he was guilty?"

He stood up sharply and faced her. "I know that he was innocent, " hesaid. "But it could not be proved. That is what the English could neverrealize. And--_chérie_--I was that man. I was Lieutenant de Montville. "

Chris was gazing at him in amazement. "You!" she said incredulously. 

"I, " he said. "They accused me of treason. They thought that I would sellmy own gun--my own gun. They sent me to prison--_mon Dieu_! I know nothow I survived. I suffered until it seemed that I could suffer no more. And then they gave me my liberty--they banished me from France. I came toEngland--and I starved. "

"You starved, Bertie!" Her blue eyes widened with horrified pity. "You!"she said. "You!"

He smiled with wistful humour. "Men more worthy than I have done thesame, " he said. 

"Oh, but you, my own _preux chevalier_!" Chris's voice trembled upon thewords. 

He made a quick, restraining gesture. "But no--not that!" he said. "Yourfriend always, _petite_, but your _preux chevalier_--never again!"

Chris smiled, with quivering lips. "You will never be anything but my_preux chevalier_ so long as you live, " she said. "Oh, Bertie, I'm sodistressed--so grieved--to think of all you have had to bear. I neverdreamt of its being you. You know, I never heard your name. We wentaway so suddenly from Valpré. I had no time to think of anything. I--Iwas very miserable--afterwards. " Her voice sank; her eyes were full oftears. "I knew you would think I had forgotten, but indeed, indeed itwasn't that!"

"Ah, _pauvre petite_!" he said gently. 

"And you didn't know my name either, did you?" she said. "I kept tellingmyself you would find out somehow and write--but you never did. "

He spread out his hands. "But what could I do? Your name was not known. And I--I could not leave Valpré to seek you. My duties kept me at thefortress. And so--and so--I said that I would wait until my fortune waswell assured, and then--then--" He stopped. "But that is past, " he said, with an odd little smile that somehow cut her to the heart. "_Etmaintenant_ tell me of yourself, _petite_, of all your affairs. Much mayarrive in four years. But first--you are happy, yes?"

Eagerly the dark eyes sought hers as he asked the question. 

Chris looked back at him with a little frown. "Yes, I am happy, Bertie. At least--I should be happy--if it weren't for thinking of you. Oh, Bertie, that horrid gun! I always hated it!"

Again her voice quivered on the verge of tears, and again with a quickgesture he stayed her. 

"We will speak of it no more, " he said. "See! We turn another page in thebook of life, and we commence again. Let us remember only, Christine, that we are good comrades, you and I. But it is a good thing, this_camaraderie_. It gives us pleasure, yes?"

She gave him her hands impulsively. "Bertie!" she cried. "We shall alwaysbe pals--always--all our lives; but don't--dear, don't smile at me likethat! I can't bear it!"

He held her hands very tightly; he had wholly ceased to smile. But stillgallantly he shielded her from the danger she had not begun to see. Hedid it instinctively, because of the love he bore her, and because of theinnocence in her eyes. 

"But what is it?" he said. "It is necessary that we smile sometimes, _chérie, _ since to weep is futile, and laughter is always more preciousthan tears. Ah! that is better. You smile yourself. It is always thusthat I remember my little friend of Valpré. She was ever too brave fortears. "

He pressed her hands encouragingly, and again he let them go. But thestrain was telling upon him. There was one subject which he could nottrust himself to broach. 

And for some reason Chris could not broach it either. She took refuge inevery-day affairs; she told him of the giddy doings that kept heroccupied from morning till night, of Cinders (the mention of whose namekindled a reminiscent gleam in the Frenchman's eyes), of the comingbirthday dance, which he must promise to attend. 

He shook his head over that; such gaieties were not for him. But Chrispressed the point with much persistence. Of course he must come. It wouldbe no fun without him. Did he remember that birthday picnic at Valpré, and--and the night they had passed in the Magic Cave? She spoke of itwith heightened colour and a hint of defiance which was plainly notdirected against him. 

"And I was afraid of the dragon, " she said. "And you held my hand. Iremember it so well. And afterwards I went to sleep, and slept all nightlong with my head on your shoulder. "

"You were but a child, " he said softly. 

"But it seems like yesterday, " she answered. 

And then it was that the door opened very quietly, and Trevor Mordauntcame in upon them, sitting together in the gloom. 

CHAPTER XI

THE EXPLANATION

There was nothing hurried in his entrance, nothing startling; but yet asudden silence fell. 

Out of it almost immediately came Bertrand's voice. "Ah, Mr. Mordaunt, you return to find a visitor. Miss--Wyndham is here. Shecame to seek you, but she found only--" he spread out his handscharacteristically--"the organ-grinder. "

He had risen with the words; so also had Chris. She went forward, butwithout her usual impetuosity. 

"I have found an old friend, Trevor, " she said, speaking quickly, as ifembarrassed. "I have known Mr. --Mr. --what did you say your name was?"turning towards him again. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "I am called Bertrand, mademoiselle. "

She smiled in her quick way. "I have known--Bertrand--for years. Atleast, we used to know each other years ago, and--and we knew each otheragain the moment we met. It was a great surprise to me--to us both. "

"And a great pleasure, " said Bertrand, with a bow. 

"An immense pleasure, " said Chris, with enthusiasm. 

"But, my dear girl, " Mordaunt said, his quiet voice falling almost coldlyupon their explanations, "what on earth made you come here of allplaces?"

"Oh, " said Chris, leaping to this new point almost with relief, "it wasraining, and thundering too. I hadn't an umbrella and I knew I should bedrenched, and this was the nearest shelter I could think of, so I justcame. It seemed the most sensible thing to do. I thought perhaps youwould be pleased to see me. I even fancied you might give me tea. "

There was a faint note of wistfulness in her voice though she wassmiling. She stood before him with something of the air of a culprit. 

"Of course Aunt Philippa wouldn't approve, " she said. "I know that. But--you always say you are not like Aunt Philippa, Trevor. "

He took her hand very gently but with evident purpose into his own. 

"I will give you tea with pleasure, " he said, "but not here. Holmes shallcall a taxi. I am afraid you must say good-bye to your friend now, unless--" he paused momentarily--"unless, Bertrand, you care to accompanyus. "

"Oh do, Bertie!" she said eagerly. "I want you. Please come!"

But Bertrand's refusal was instant and final. 

"It is impossible, " he declared. "I thank you a thousand times, but Ihave yet many letters to write, and the post will not wait. "

"Letters?" said Chris curiously. 

"M. Bertrand is my secretary, " said Mordaunt quietly. 

"Oh, is he? And you never told me! But what a splendid idea!" Chris stoodbetween the two men, flushed, eager, charming. "I'm so glad, Bertie, " shesaid impulsively. "You may think yourself very lucky. Mr. Mordaunt isquite the nicest man in the world. "

Bertrand bowed low. "I believe it, " he said simply. 

"Then we shall see quite a lot of each other, " went on Chris. "That willbe great fun--just like old times. Oh, must I really go? I don't want toat all, and nothing will make me sorry that I came. " She threw a gaysmile at her _fiancé_, and withdrew her hand to give it to the friend ofher childhood. "_Au revoir, preux chevalier_! You will come to mybirthday party? Promise!" Then, as he still shook his head: "Trevor, ifyou don't bring him, I shall come all by myself and fetch him. "

"No, you mustn't do that, " Mordaunt answered with decision. 

"Then will you bring him?"

"I will do my best, " he promised gravely. 

"Will you really? Oh, thank you, Trevor. I shall expect you then, Bertie. Good-bye!"

Her hand lay for a couple of seconds in his, and he bent low over it, buthe did not speak in answer. 

She went out of the room with the silent Englishman. He heard herlaughing as they went downstairs. He heard her gay young voice a whilelonger in the hall below. Then came the throb of a motor and the closingof the street door. She was gone. 

He stood quite motionless, listening to the taxi as it whirred away. Andeven after he ceased to hear it he did not move. He was gazing straightbefore him, and his eyes were the eyes of a man in a dream. They sawnaught. 

Stiffly at last he moved, and something like a shudder went through him. He crossed the room heavily, with the gait of one stricken suddenly old. He sat down again at the writing-table, and took up the pen that he haddropped--how long ago!

He even wrote a few words slowly, laboriously, still with that fixed lookin his eyes. Then quite suddenly he was assailed by a violent tremor. Hepushed back his chair with a sharp exclamation, half-rose, then asswiftly flung himself forward and lay across the table, face downwards, gasping horribly, almost choking. His hands were clenched, and hammeredupon the papers littered there. The pen rolled unheeded over the polishedwood and fell upon the floor. 

Seconds passed into minutes. Gradually the bony fists ceased theirconvulsive tattoo. The laboured breathing grew less agonized. The man'srigid pose relaxed. But still he lay with his arms outspread and his headbowed between them, a silent image of despair. 

Slowly the minutes crawled by. Down in the street below a newsboy wasyelling unintelligibly, and in the distance a barrel-organ jangled thelatest music-hall craze; but he was deep, deep in an abyss of suffering, very far below the surface of things. There was something almost boyishlyforlorn in his attitude. With his face hidden, he looked patheticallyyoung. 

The sound of the opening door recalled him at last, and he startedupright. It was Holmes with the evening paper. 

The man spied the pen upon the floor and stooped for it. Bertrandstretched out a quivering hand, took it from him, and made as if he wouldresume his writing. But the pen only wandered aimlessly over the paper, and in a moment fell again from his nerveless fingers. 

Holmes paused. Bertrand sat with his head on his hand as if unaware ofhim. 

"Can I get you anything, sir?" he ventured. 

Bertrand made a slight movement. "If I might have--a little brandy, " hesaid, speaking with obvious effort. 

"Brandy? I'll get it at once, sir, " said Holmes, and was gone with thewords. 

Returning, he found Bertrand so far master of himself as to force asmile, but his face was ghastly. There was a blue, pinched look about hismouth that Holmes, reminiscent of his hospital days, did not like. He hadseen that look before. 

But the first taste of spirit dispelled it. Very courteously Bertrandthanked him. 

"You are a good man, Holmes. And I think that you are my friend, yes?"

"Very pleased to do anything I can for you, sir, " said Holmes. 

"Ah! Then I will ask of you one little thing. It is that you rememberthat this weakness--this malady of a moment--remain a secret between ustwo--between--us--two. _Vous comprenez; non_?"

His eyes, very bright and searching, looked with a certain peremptorinessinto the man's face, and Holmes, accustomed to obey, made instinctiveresponse. 

"You mean as I am not to mention it to Mr. Mordaunt, sir?"

"That is what I mean, Holmes. "

"Very good, sir, " said Holmes. "You're feeling better, I hope, sir?"

Very slowly de Montville rose to his feet, and stood, holding to the backof his chair. 

"I am--quite well, " he said impressively. 

"Very good, sir, " said Holmes again, and withdrew, shaking his headdubiously as soon as he was out of the Frenchman's sight. 

As for de Montville, he went slowly across to the window and, leaningagainst the sash, gazed down upon the empty street. 

Not until he heard Mordaunt's step outside more than half an hour laterdid he move, and then very abruptly he returned to the writing-table andseized the pen anew. He was writing with feverish rapidity when Mordauntentered. 

Very quietly Mordaunt came up and looked over his shoulder. "My boy, " hesaid, "I am very sorry, but that is not legible. "

His tone was unreservedly kind, and Bertrand jerked up his head as ifsurprised. 

He surveyed the page before him with pursed lips, then flashed a quicklook into Mordaunt's face. 

"It is true, " he admitted, with a rueful smile. "I also am sorry. "

"Leave it, " Mordaunt said. "You are looking fagged, Yes, I mean it. Itwill keep. "

"But I have done nothing!" Bertrand protested, with outspread hands. 

"No? Well, I don't believe you ought to be doing anything at present. Come and sit down. " Then, peremptorily, as Bertrand hesitated: "I won'thave you overworking yourself. Understand that! I have had troubleenough to get you off the sick list as it is. "

He spoke with that faint smile of his that placed most men at their easewith him. Bertrand turned impulsively and grasped his hand. 

"You have been--you are--more than a brother to me, monsieur, " he said, with feeling. "And I--I--ah! Permit me to tell you--I--am glad thatMademoiselle has placed herself in your keeping. It was a great surprise, yes. But I am glad--from my heart. She will be safe--and happy--withyou. "

He spoke with great earnestness; his sincerity was shining in his eyes. Mordaunt, looking straight down into them, saw no other emotion thansheer friendliness, a friendliness that touched him, coming from one whowas so nearly friendless. 

"I shall do my best to make her so, " he made grave reply. "She has beentelling me about you, Bertrand. "

"Ah!" The Frenchman's eyes interrogated him for a moment and instantlyfell away. "I am surprised, " he said, "to be remembered after so long. No, I had not forgotten her; but that is different, _n'est-ce pas_? Ithink that no one would easily forget her. " He smiled as thoughinvoluntarily at some reminiscence. "_Christine et le bon Cinders_!" hesaid in his soft voice. "We were all friends together. We were--" againhis eyes darted up to meet the Englishman's level scrutiny--"what youcall 'pals, ' monsieur. "

Mordaunt smiled. "So I gathered. It happened at Valpré, I understand. "

Bertrand nodded. His eyes grew dreamy, grew remote. "Yes, " he saidslowly, "it happened at Valpré. The little one was lonely. We made gamesin the sand. We chased the crabs; we explored the caves; we playedtogether--as children. " He stifled a sudden sigh, and rose. "_Eh bien_, "he said, "we cannot be children for ever. We grow up--some quick--someslow--but all grow up at last. "

He broke off, and took up the evening paper to cut the leaves. 

Mordaunt watched him in silence--a silence through which in some fashionhe conveyed his sympathy; for after a moment Bertrand spoke again, stilldexterously occupied with his task. 

"Ah! you understand, " he said. "I have no need to explain to you thatthis meeting with my little friend who belonged to the happy days thatare past has given me almost as much of pain as of pleasure. I do not tryto explain--because you understand. "

"You will get over it, my dear fellow, " Mordaunt said, with quietconviction. 

"You think it?" Bertrand glanced up momentarily. 

"I do, " Mordaunt answered, with a very kindly smile. "In fact, I think, with all due respect to you, that you are younger than you feel. "

"Ah!" There was not much conviction in Bertrand's response. Hestood up and handed the paper to Mordaunt with a quick bow. "But--allthe same--you understand?" he questioned, with a touch of anxiety. 

"Of course I understand, " Mordaunt answered gently. 

CHAPTER XII

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

"At last!" said Chris. 

It was her birthday party, and she stood at the head of the stairs by heraunt's side, receiving her guests. 

Very young she looked, a child still, despite her twenty-one years, andsupremely happy. Her aunt, one of those ladies whose very smile is initself an act of condescension, was treating her with unusualgraciousness that night, and there was not a star awry in Chris'sfirmament. 

She had just caught a glimpse of her _fiancé_ in the crowd below her, anda hasty second glance had shown her that he was not unaccompanied. Aslight man, olive-skinned, with a very small, black moustache and quickeyes that searched upwards restlessly, was ascending the stairs with him. In the instant that she looked those eyes found her, and flashed theirquick recognition. 

Chris waved her fan in eager greeting. "Ah, there he is!" she criedaloud. 

"My dear child!" said Aunt Philippa. 

Impetuously Chris turned to her. "He is a friend of mine, and Trevor'ssecretary. I told Trevor to bring him. He is French, and his name isBertrand. "

Her cheeks were flushed with excitement as she made this hastyexplanation. She had purposely left it till a crowded moment, for AuntPhilippa was apt to be very searching in her inquiries, and Chris shrankat all times from being catechized by this somewhat formidable relativeof hers. 

"Trevor knows all about him; they are friends, " she added, in response toa slight drawing of the brows, with which she was tragically wellacquainted. 

"All?" murmured Max in her ear from her other side, with a mischievoustwinkle in his green eyes. 

Chris ignored him, but she turned a vivid crimson, and the hand shestretched to Mordaunt was quivering with agitation. But in his quietgrasp it became still. She looked up into his eyes and smiled a welcomewith recovered self-possession. 

"Oh, Trevor, here you are! And you've brought Bertie as you promised. "She gave her other hand to Bertrand with the words, but she did not speakto him--she went on talking to her _fiancé_. "I've had a tremendous day, and thank you a million times for--you know what. It's a good thing youbooked your dances beforehand, for I haven't any left. "

"Not one for me?" murmured Bertrand, as he bent over her hand. 

She turned to him with a radiant smile. "Yes, yes, of course! Should I belikely to forget all old pal like you? Trevor, will you introduce him toAunt Philippa?"

"My friend Mr. Bertrand, " said Mordaunt promptly. 

Mrs. Forest acknowledged the introduction with extreme chilliness. Shestrongly disapproved of Chris's faculty for developing unexpectedfriendships. The child was so regrettably free-and-easy in all her ways. Of course, if Trevor Mordaunt approved of their intimacy, and apparentlyhe did, there was nothing to be said, but she herself could not regard itwith favour. Once more she congratulated herself that herresponsibilities where Chris was concerned were nearly at an end. 

But if her greeting were cold, Bertrand scarcely had time to remark it, for his attention was instantly diverted by the red-haired youth wholounged behind her. Max, whose presence had been annoying his aunt allday, thrust out a welcoming hand to the new-comer. 

"Hullo!" he said. "You, is it?"

Bertrand raised his brows. He gave his hand, after an instant'shesitation, with a non-committing, "Myself--yes. "

Max drew him aside out of the crowd. "It's all right. I'm Chris'sbrother, and I shan't give you away. But how long do you expect to remainincog. , I wonder? I knew your face the moment I saw you on the stairs. "

"You know me?" said Bertrand, drawing back a little. 

"Of course I know you. Who could help it? Your face is one of the bestknown in Europe. So you are the hero that Chris used to worship atValpré! She mentioned the one fact to me, but not the other. She knows, Isuppose?"

"Ah, yes, but it is a secret. " Bertrand spoke wearily, as if reluctant todiscuss the matter. "It is not my desire to be recognized. She knows thatalso. "

"I never knew Chris could keep a secret before, " commented Max. 

A quick gleam shot up in the Frenchman's eyes. "Then you do not know hervery well, " he said. 

Max smiled shrewdly, but did not contest the point. He seldom argued, andChris herself at this moment intervened. 

"Bertie, I've saved the supper extras for you. Don't forget. Max, youknow most of the people here. Do introduce him, or find Jack--he will. I'm dancing the first with Trevor. Good-bye!"

She flashed her smile upon him, and was gone. Bertrand stood and watchedher as she went away through the throng with Trevor Mordaunt. Everyonewatched her, and nearly everyone smiled. She was so naïvely, so sublimelyhappy. 

Her gay young laugh rang out as they began to dance. "Isn't it fun?" shesaid; and then, with her eyes turned to his, "Trevor, I've such a crowdof things to thank you for that I don't know where to begin. "

"Then, my dear child, don't begin!" he said, with his indulgent smile. 

She frowned at him. "You are not to call me 'child' any longer. I'mgrown-up. "

His smile remained. "Since when?" he said. 

"That's a rude question which I am not going to answer. But, Trevor, you--you shouldn't have sent me all that money. It's much more than Iwant. "

"I'm glad to hear it, " he said; and, after a moment, "I hope you willspend it profitably. "

"Oh, yes. " Eagerly she made reply. "I've bought a new collar forCinders--such a beauty, with bells! I thought it would be so useful if hewent rabbiting. "

"What! To warn the rabbits?"

"Oh, no! I never thought of that! Poor Cinders! It would spoil his sport, wouldn't it? And he's such a sportsman. I suppose I shall have to keep itfor Sundays after all. What a pity! I thought it would help us to findhim if he got lost. "

"But he always turns up again, " said Mordaunt consolingly. 

Her blue eyes flashed their sunshine. "Yes, yes, of course. And anotherthing I did which ought to please you very much. "

The indulgence turned to approval on Mordaunt's face. "I can guess whatthat was, " he said. 

"Can you?" Chris looked delighted. "Well, you mustn't tell Aunt Philippa, because she would call it shocking extravagance, and I really only did itto please you. "

"Oh! Then I am afraid I haven't guessed right. " Mordaunt's expressionbecame one of grave doubt. 

Chris laughed aloud. "You will have to guess again. No, please go ondancing. One only gets hotter standing still. "

"But, Chris, " he said, "I want to know. "

His tone was perfectly kind, as gentle as it always was when he addressedher, and yet the quick glance that she threw him was not without a hintof misgiving. The slender young body stiffened ever so slightly againsthis arm. 

"I wonder if Bertie has found a partner, " she said. "Do you think weought to go and see?"

He guided her towards the entrance. A good many people were standingabout, and one after another accosted Chris. She answered blithelyenough, her hand still upon her _fiancé's_ arm, but yet there was thatabout her that made him aware that she was not wholly at her ease. Whenhe drew her towards a room beyond that led to a conservatory, she hungback. 

"I want to find Bertie. Where is he?"

Jack Forest appeared at that moment, and she turned to him with evidentrelief. "Oh, Jack, where is Mr. Bertrand? I told Max to hand him over toyou. He knows no one, and I do want him to have a good time. "

"Be easy, my child, " said Jack, with a cheery grin. "He is having thetime of his life. The mater has taken him under her wing. "

"Jack!" Chris stood aghast. 

"Don't agitate yourself, " said Jack. "It's all serene. He is thoroughlyenjoying himself. Where are you two off to? Going to sit out in the dark?Shall I come and mount guard?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" protested Chris. "Jack, remember our dance isthe next. "

Jack bowed with his hand on his heart. "I don't forget such things. Makethe most of your time, Trevor. It's nearly up. "

He departed with a careless swagger, and Chris turned to her quietcompanion and gave a little shiver. "Why did we leave off dancing? I'mcold. "

He led her across the hall to a settee. Someone had thrown a scarf uponit. He put it round her shoulders. 

"It isn't mine, " she said, "and it isn't that sort of cold either. I hopeAunt Philippa isn't teasing Bertie. Do you think she is?"

"I think he can take care of himself, " Mordaunt said. 

"Do you? I don't. Aunt Philippa is sure to say horrid things to him. Ithink we ought to go and find them--really. "

There was a note of pleading in her voice, but Mordaunt did not respondto it. He sat and contemplated her, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. 

He leaned forward at last and spoke very quietly. "Chris, " he said, "forgive me for asking, but--you have paid your debts?"

The colour surged up all over her fair face. She began to pluckrestlessly at her fan. But she said no word. Only as he took it gravelyfrom her, she glanced up as though compelled, and for a single instantsheer panic looked at him out of her eyes. 

"My dear, " he said, "will you attend to the matter to-morrow?"

But still she was silent, quiveringly, piteously silent. The colour hadgone out of her face now; she was as white as the dress she wore. 

"You will?" he said gently. 

She made a little sound that was like a repressed sob, and put her handsharply to her throat. 

"You will?" he said again. 

"Yes, " she whispered. 

He dismissed the matter instantly, opened the fan he had taken from her, and began to admire it. 

"Jack gave it to me, " she said. "It's a birthday present. He always givesme nice things. So do you, Trevor. Your pendant is the loveliest thing Ihave ever seen. "

He had sent her a pendant of turquoise and pearl, and it hung upon herneck at the moment. She fingered it lovingly. 

"I shall go to bed in it, " she said, "so as to have it all night long. Itfeels so delicious. I wish I could see it. It was the very thing I saw inBond Street a few weeks ago, and wanted to wear at Hilda's wedding. " Shebroke off with a sudden sigh. "It will be horrid when Hilda's married. "

"Will it?" he said. 

"Yes, horrid, " she repeated with vehemence. "Aunt Philippa is going toturn all her attention to me then. Of course, I know she is very kind, but--well, I feel as if this is my last week of freedom. I shall bealmost glad when--" She broke off abruptly. "Do let us go and rescueBertie, " she said, "before we get swallowed up in the crowd. "

He got up at once and silently offered his arm. She slipped her handwithin it, and gave it a little squeeze. 

"We'll dance to the _finale_ next time, " she said lightly. "It's muchmore fun than talking. "

She added carelessly, as they moved away together: "By the way, I had myphotograph taken this morning. I don't know if you will like it. Shall Isend you one?"

"Do, " he said. And after a moment, smiling faintly: "Was that the thingthat was to please me?"

She nodded, not looking at him. 

He laid his hand for an instant upon hers. "Thank you, Chris, " he said. 

She turned instantly and smiled upon him. "You can give it to Bertie ifyou don't like it, " she made blithe response. 

CHAPTER XIII

PALS

"Ah! now for a good talk, " said Chris. "We have got at least half anhour. Are you tired, Bertie, or only bored?"

But he was neither, he assured her. He had enjoyed his evening greatly. No, he had not danced. He had found it enough diverting to look ontranquilly in a corner. _Mais oui_, everybody had been most kind, including his hostess, to whom he paid a special tribute of appreciation. He had found her as gracious as she was beautiful. 

"Did she try to pump you?" asked Chris. 

He raised his brows in humorous bewilderment. But to pump--what was it?To ask questions? Ah yes, she had asked him several questions. He had notanswered all of them. He feared she had found him a little stupid. Butshe had been very patient with him, ah! so patient--he spread out hishands, with the old, quick smile, and Chris's peal of laughter echoed farand wide. 

"Bertie, you're too heavenly for words! Then she didn't find out aboutValpré? She thinks--I suppose she thinks--that Trevor introduced us toeach other. "

"I do not know what she thinks, " the Frenchman made answer. "But no, wedid not speak of Valpré! That is a secret, _hein_?"

"Not exactly a secret. I told Max. But Aunt Philippa--oh, she is sodifferent. She never understands things, " said Chris. "I daresay she willfind out from Trevor as it is; but I hope she won't--I do hope shewon't!"

He smiled comprehendingly. "But Mr. Mordaunt--he understands, yes?" hesaid. 

She hesitated. "I never told even him about that night in the Magic Cave, Bertie. "

"No?" he said, his quick eyes upon her. "But why not?"

She shook her head with vehemence. "I couldn't. Everyone--even Jack--madesuch a fuss at the time--as if--as if"--she turned crimson--"I had donesomething really wicked. I'm sure I don't know why. I always said so. "

There was defiance as well as distress in her voice. Bertrand leaned alittle towards her. 

"Mr. Mordaunt would not think like that, " he said, with conviction. 

She looked at him dubiously. "I'm not so sure. He has extraordinary viewson some things. I never quite know how he will take anything. Otherpeople are the same. You are the only person I am quite sure of. "

He smiled, but not as if greatly elated. "That is because we are pals, "he said. 

"Yes, I know. It's good to have a pal who understands. " Chris spoke alittle wistfully, but almost instantly dismissed the matter. "Why, I amforgetting! You haven't seen Cinders yet, and I told him you were coming. He is upstairs. Shall we go and find him?"

They went up together. Half-way up she slipped her hand into his, with asoft little laugh. "It's like old times, Bertie. Don't break the spell, _preux chevalier_. Let us pretend--just for to-night!"

They found Cinders imprisoned in a little sitting-room at the top of thehouse which Chris shared with her cousin. His greeting of Bertrand waseffusive, even rapturous. Like his mistress, he never forgot a friend. 

Afterwards they sat and talked of many things, chiefly connected withValpré. There was so much to remember--Mademoiselle Gautier and herqueer, conventual prejudices, Manon, the maid-of-all-work, and her funnystories of the shore. 

"She quite believed in the spell, " Chris said. "She almost frightened mewith it. "

"Without doubt there was a spell, " said Bertrand gravely. 

"You really think so? I never believed in it after that night. "

"No?" he said. "And yet it was there. "

Chris peered at him. "You talk as if it were something quitesubstantial, " she said. 

"It was substantial, " he made answer, and then with a sudden smile intoher wondering eyes: "As substantial, _chérie_, as my rope of sand thatwas to make my work endure like--like the Sphinx and Cleopatra's Needleand--and--" He broke off with his eloquent shrug, paused a moment, then--"and--our friendship, if you will, " he ended. 

"Ah, fancy your remembering that!" she said. "But I believe you remembereverything. "

"That is the spell, " he said. 

"Is it, Bertie? And do you remember the duel, and how you wouldn't tellme what it was all about? Tell me now!" she begged, as a child pleadingfor a story. "I always wanted to know. "

But his face darkened instantly. "Not that, _petite_. He was bad. He was_scélérat_. We will not speak of him. "

"But, Bertie, I'm grown-up now. I'm quite old enough to know, " she urged, with a coaxing hand upon his arm. 

He took the hand, turned it upwards, stroked the soft palm veryreverently. "I pray that you will never be old enough, Chris, " he said, and in the shaded lamplight she saw that his face had grown suddenlymelancholy, almost haggard. "The knowledge of evil is a poisonous thing. Those who find it can never be young again. "

His manner awed her a little. She did not pursue the point with hercustomary persistence. "Well, tell me what happened afterwards, " shesaid. "He got well again?"

"Yes, _petite_. "

"And--you forgave each other?"

"Never!" Bertrand raised his head and shot out the word with emphasis. 

"Never, Bertie?" Chris looked at him, slightly startled. 

He looked back at her, faintly smiling, but with the melancholy still inhis eyes. "Never, " he repeated. "That shocks you, no?"

"Not really, " she said loyally. "I'm sure he was horrid. He looked it. Then--you are enemies still?"

"Enemies?" He shrugged his shoulders. "No, I think he would not considerme as an enemy now. "

"And yet you never forgave him?"

"No, never. " Again his denial was emphatic. After a moment, seeing herbewilderment, he proceeded to explain. "If he had apologized, if he hadretracted the insult, then it is possible that a reconciliation mighthave been effected between us. "

"But he didn't?" said Chris. "Then what happened? Did he do nothing atall?"

"For a long time--nothing, " said Bertrand. 

"And then?"

"Then, " very simply he made reply, "he ruined me. "

"Bertie!" She gazed at him with tragedy dawning in her eyes. "He ruinedyou! He!"

"He supplied the evidence against me, " Bertrand said. "But it was clever. He spread a net--so"--he flung out his hands with an explanatorygesture--"a net that I see not nor suspect, and then when I am entrappedhe draw it close--close, and--I am a prisoner. " He shut his teeth with aclick, and for an instant smiled--the smile of the man who fights withhis back against the wall. 

But the tragedy had grown from shadow to reality in the turquoise blueeyes of the girl beside him. "Oh, Bertie, " she said, with a break in hervoice, "then it was all my fault--mine!"

He turned towards her swiftly. "No, no, no! Who has said that? It is nottrue!" he declared, with vehemence. 

"You said it yourself--almost, " she told him. "And it is true, for if youhadn't fought him it would never have happened. Oh, Bertie! I'm beginningto think it was a dreadful pity I ever went to Valpré!"

He caught her hands and held them. "You shall not say it!" he declaredpassionately. "You shall not think it! _Mignonne_, listen! Those days atValpré are to me the most precious, the most sacred, the most dear of mylife. They can never return, it is true. But the memory of them is minefor ever. Of that can no one deprive me. While I live I shall cherishthem in my heart. "

He cheeked himself abruptly; she was gazing at him with a sort ofspeculative wonder that had arrested the tragedy in her eyes. At hissudden pause she began to smile. 

"Bertie, dear, forgive me, but I can't help thinking what a funnyEnglishman you would have made! So you really don't think it was myfault? I'm so glad. I should break my heart if it were. "

He stooped, catching her hands up to his lips, whispering inarticulately. 

She suffered him, half-laughing. "Silly Frenchman!" she said softly. 

And at that he looked up and let her go. "You are right, " he said, speaking rather thickly. "I am foolish. I am mad. And you--you have thepatience of an angel to support me thus. "

"Oh no, " said Chris. "I'm not a bit like an angel. In fact, I'm ratherwicked sometimes--not very, you know, Bertie, only rather. Now let meshow you my presents. I brought them up here on purpose. "

So gaily she diverted the conversation, mainly because she had caught agleam of tears in her friend's eyes and was aware that they had not beenfar from her own. It would never do for them to sit crying together onher birthday night. Besides, it was too ridiculous, for what was there tocry about? Bertrand was in a better position now than he had been foryears. And she--and she--well, it was her birthday, and surely that wasreason enough for being glad. 

It was Bertrand who at length gently drew her attention to the time. Theyhad been talking for the best part of an hour. 

"Will not the supper dances be nearly finished?" he suggested. 

"Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Chris. "Yes, long ago. We must fly. Saygood-bye to Cinders. You will come and see him again soon, won't you?Come just as often as you can. "

At the door she paused a moment, slipped a warm hand into his, and forthe first time shyly broke her silence upon the subject of herapproaching marriage. 

"I'm so glad you are coming to live with us when we are married, " shesaid. "I shall never feel lonely with you there. "

"You would not be lonely without me, " he made quick response. "You willhave always your husband. "

She caught her breath, and then laughed. "To be sure. I hadn't thought ofthat. But Trevor is always busy, and he is going to write a book too. "She looked at him with sudden mischief in her eyes. "Yes, I am very gladyou are coming, " she said again. "When he doesn't want you with him youcan come and play with me. And when it's summer"--her eyes fairlydanced--"we'll go for picnics, Bertie, lots of picnics. You'll like that, _preux chevalier_?"

He smiled back upon her; who could have helped it? But he stifled a sighas he smiled. Would life be always a picnic to her, he asked himself? Hecould not imagine it otherwise, and yet he knew that even upon this childof mirth and innocence the reality of life must dawn some day. Would itbe a gracious dawning of pearly tints and roselit radiance, graduallyfilling that eager young soul to the brim with the greater joys of life?Or would it be fiery and terrible, a blinding, relentless burst of light, from which she would shrink appalled, discerning the wrath of the godsbefore ever she had realized their bounty?

Could it be thus with her, his little comrade, his bird of Paradise, hisdarling? He thought not. He believed not. And yet deep in the heart ofhim he feared. 

And because of that lurking fear he vowed silently over the littlefriendly hand that lay so confidingly in his that never while breathremained in his body would he leave her until he knew her happiness--theultimate happiness of her womanhood--to be assured. 

It seemed to him that it was for this alone that he had been introducedonce more into her book of life. All his hopes and dreams had passed; hewas an old man before his time; but this one thing, it seemed, was leftto him. For a while longer his name would figure with hers across thepage. Only when the page turned his part would be done. She would notneed him then. She would be a woman; and--_eh bien_, it was only thechild Chris who could ever be expected to need him now. When she ceasedto be a child the need--if such, indeed, existed--would be for ever past;and he would be no more to her than a memory--the memory of one who hadplayed with her a while in the happy land of her childhood and had sharedwith her the picnics of those summer days. 

This was the sole remaining aspiration of Bertrand de Montville--the manwho in the arrogance of his youth had diced with the gods, and had lostthe cast. 

CHAPTER XIV

A REVELATION

"My dear, it is quite useless for you to attempt to justify your conduct, for it was simply inexcusable. No argument can possibly alter that fact. Everyone was waiting about for a considerable time in the supper-room, desirous of drinking your health, while you, it transpires, were hidingin a corner with this very questionable foreigner whom Trevor has beeneccentric enough to befriend, but of whom I can discover practicallynothing. "

"But Trevor knows all about him, Aunt Philippa, " pleaded Chris. 

"That, " said Aunt Philippa, "may or may not be the case. But so long asyou are in my charge, I, and not Trevor, am the one to direct your choiceof acquaintances, and I very strongly object to the inclusion of thisFrenchman in the number. It is my desire, Chris, that you do not see himagain during the rest of the time that you are under my roof. I intend tospeak to Trevor upon the matter at the earliest opportunity. I considerthat, in the face of what has occurred, he would be extremely ill-advisedto retain this unknown foreigner in his employment, though I shouldimagine he has already arrived at that conclusion for himself. I couldsee that he was seriously displeased by your behaviour last night. "

"Oh, was he?" said Chris blankly. "He didn't say so. "

"He probably realized that it would be useless to express his displeasureat such a time. But let me warn you, Chris. He is not a man to stand anytrifling. I have heard it from several quarters. Jack, as you are aware, knows him well, and he will tell you the same. You may try his patiencetoo far, and that, I presume, is not your intention. Should it happen, Ithink that you would regret it all your life. "

"But I haven't trifled! I don't trifle!" protested Chris, divided betweendistress and indignation. 

Aunt Philippa smiled unpleasantly--she seldom displayed any other varietyof smile. "That, my dear, is very much a matter of opinion. You hadbetter go now to Hilda. She is waiting to see your bridesmaid's dresstried on. "

Chris went, with a worried pucker between her brows. How curious it wasthat some people failed so completely to take a reasonable view ofthings! They made mountains out of molehills, and expected her to climbthem--she, whose unwary feet were accustomed to trip so lightly alongeasy ways. And Trevor too--she caught her breath with a sharp shiver--washe really seriously displeased with her? He had given no hint of it whenthey had danced together, save that he had been somewhat grave andsilent. But then, he was naturally so. She had not thought much of it;in fact, she had been thinking mainly of Bertie. 

And here a sudden throb of dismay sent the blood to her heart. AuntPhilippa was going to speak to him upon this subject, was going tosuggest unspeakable things, was going to talk over her conduct with himand make him furious in earnest. And then it would all come out about herhaving met Bertrand all those years ago. Trevor would mention that in thenatural course of things, and then Aunt Philippa would tell him--wouldtell him--

"Chris, dear, what is the matter? You are as white as a ghost. "

It was Hilda's voice gently recalling her. She came to herself with astart, and the hot blood rose to her cheeks with a rush. 

"Are you very tired after yesterday?" her cousin asked. "I am afraid yougot up too early. "

"Oh, no!" said Chris. "I wasn't early at all. I didn't ride this morning. Jack has promised to come for me this evening instead. "

She diverted Hilda's attention desperately. She could not makeconfidences in the presence of the dressmaker. Moreover, she was not surethat she wanted to talk even to Hilda about her pal from Valpré. It wastrue Hilda understood most things, but Aunt Philippa had somehow managedto inspire her with a sense of guilt. She knew she could not speak ofBertrand with ease to anyone now. 

Besides, there was no time. The moment she was free she must managesomehow to communicate with Trevor. She must warn him of Aunt Philippa'sintentions. She must explain to him. 

She did not want him to know about that night in the Magic Cave. Everyone who heard of it was shocked, everyone except Max, and he madea speciality of never being shocked at anything. Why, it was evenpossible--here a new thought leaped up and struck her an unexpectedblow--was it not more than possible that it was this self-same event thathad given rise to the insult that had led to the duel? Of course thatmust be it! That was why Bertrand so persistently refused to enlightenher. How was it she had never before thought of it? It was the truth ofcourse! How had she failed to see anything so glaringly apparent?

Yes, it was the truth. She had blundered upon it unawares, and now shesurveyed it horror-stricken, remembering Bertrand's warning that theknowledge of evil was a poisonous thing. So must Eve have felt when firsther eyes were opened to the wisdom of the gods. 

She was free at last, and sped up to her room. The scribbled message thatreached her _fiancé_ an hour later was only just legible, but it spokemore eloquently of the state of mind of the writer than she knew. 

"DEAR TREVOR, --

"Aunt Philippa says you are angry with me. Please don't be. Really thereis nothing to be angry about, though she thinks there is, and she isgoing to try and persuade you to send Bertie away. Trevor, don't listento her, will you? And, whatever you do, don't tell her about Valpré. I'mvery bothered about it. Do be as kind as you always are to

"Your lovingCHRIS. "

Mordaunt's answering note reached her late in the afternoon just beforeshe set forth for her ride in the Park with Jack. 

"MY DEAR LITTLE CHRIS, --

"My love to your Aunt Philippa, and I am just off to Paris for the insideof a week. I shall be back for your cousin's wedding. Ask her to reserveher lecture till then. Our friend Bertrand sends his _amitiés_. I sendnothing, for you have it all. 

"Yours, TREVOR. "

Chris kissed the note with a rush of tenderness--greater than she hadever managed to bestow upon the writer. That brief response to her appealstirred her as she had never been stirred before. It was sweet of him totrust her so. She would never forget it, never, as long as she lived. 

When Jack appeared to escort her, he noted her radiant face and shiningeyes with approval. 

"Why, you're looking almost pretty for once, " he said. "What has happenedto bring it about? It must be a recipe worth having. "

"Don't be absurd!" she retorted, beaming upon him. "Who wants to bepretty?"

"It's better to be good certainly, " he said. "I know you couldn't beboth. But what's the joke? I think you might let me help laugh. "

"There isn't a joke, " she said. "And I'm not laughing. I've had a letterfrom Trevor, that's all. And he's going to Paris. "

"Oh-ho!" said Jack. 

"Now you're horrid!" she protested. "I don't want him to go in theleast. "

"Of course not, " said Jack. "I've observed how remarkably depressed youwere by the news. "

"I shall be cross with you in a minute, " said Chris. 

"Heaven forbid!" said Jack. "When is he coming back?"

"In time for Hilda's wedding. "

"And does he take the French secretary with him?"

"Oh, no, he can't go to France. I mean--I mean--"

Chris stopped in sudden confusion. 

"I know what you mean, " said Jack. "They would take too keen an interestin him over there. Isn't that it?"

"How did you know?" said Chris. 

He laughed. "The proverbial little bird! I might add that a good manypeople know by this time. "

"Oh, Jack, do they?" Chris looked at him in consternation. "He didn'twant anyone to know. "

"My dear child, in that case he should not have courted publicity as theguest of the evening last night. "

"Jack! He wasn't the guest of the evening! How dare you say such things!"

Chris's rare displeasure actually was aroused now. Her slight figurestiffened, and she tapped her knee with her riding-switch. She nevertouched her animal with this weapon, whatever his idiosyncrasies, andcertainly the horses she rode generally behaved with docility. 

Jack surveyed her with amused eyes as they turned up under the trees. "All right, " he said imperturbably. "He wasn't. My mistake, no doubt. Butwhere on earth were you hiding during the supper extras? He was missingtoo. Curious, wasn't it?"

Chris came out of her temper with a winning gesture of appeal. "Jackdear, don't! I've heard such a lot about it from Aunt Philippa already. And why shouldn't I talk to my pals? You wouldn't like it if I didn'ttalk to you sometimes. "

"Is he that sort of pal?" asked Jack. 

She nodded. "Just that sort. And Trevor knows all about it andunderstands. I've just had a line from him to tell me so. "

"Have you, though?" said Jack. "Then all I can say is Trevor is abrick--a very special kind of brick--and I hope you realize it. "

"He's just the sweetest man in the world, " said Chris with enthusiasm. "He is never horrid about things, and he never thinks what isn't. "

"Lucky for you!" said Jack. 

"Why?" She turned towards him sharply. 

He began to smile. "Because, my dear, you have rather an unfortunateknack of making things appear--as they are not. "

"I don't know what you mean, " she protested. "It's very horrid of peopleto imagine things, and it certainly isn't my fault. Trevor understandsthat. He always understands. "

"Let us hope he always will, " said Jack. 

"He would trust me even if he didn't, " said Chris. 

"At the same time, " said Jack, "I shouldn't try his faith too far if Iwere you. If you ever overstepped it, I have a notion that it mightbe--well, somewhat unpleasant for you. "

He spoke the words with a smile, but the silence with which they werereceived had in it something that was tragic. Chris was gazing straightbefore her as they rode. Her expression was curiously stony, as if, bysome means, her customary animation had been suspended. Jack wondered alittle. After a moment she spoke, without looking round. "Jack!"

"Your humble servant!" said Jack. 

"I'm not laughing, " she said. "I want you to tell me something. You knowTrevor. You knew him years before I did. Have you ever seen him--reallyangry?"

"Great Jove! yes, " said Jack. 

"Many times?" There was a little quiver in her voice, but it did notsound exactly agitated. 

"No, not many times. He isn't the sort of fellow to let himself go, youknow, " said Jack. 

"No, " she said. "But what is he like--when he is angry?"

Jack considered. "He's rather like a devil that's been packed in ice fora very long time. He doesn't expand, he contracts. He emits a species ofcondensed fury that has a disastrous effect upon the object thereof. Heis about the last man in the world that I should choose to quarrel with. "

"But why?" she said. "Would you be afraid of him?"

Jack considered this point too quite gravely and impartially. "I reallydon't know, Chris, " he said at last. "I believe I should be. "

"He can be terrible, then, " she said, as if stating a conclusion ratherthan asking a question. 

"More or less, " Jack admitted. "But he is never unreasonable. I havenever seen him angry without good cause. "

"And then--I suppose he is merciless?"

"Quite, " said Jack. "I saw him shoot a Kaffir once for knocking a woundedman on the head. It was no more than the brute deserved. I was lyingwounded myself, and he took my revolver to do it with. But it was a nastyjolt for the Kaffir. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him andwhy, before it happened. Afterwards, when Trevor came back to me, he wassmiling, so I suppose it did him good. He's a very deliberate chap. Somepeople call him cold-blooded. He never acts on impulse. And I've neverknown him make a mistake. "

"I see. " Chris swallowed once or twice as if she felt an obstructionin her throat. "I expect he would be like that with anyone, " she said. "I mean if he had reason to be angry with anyone, he wouldn't sparethem--whatever they were. I always felt he was like that. "

"He's one of the best chaps in the world, " said Jack warmly. 

She assented, but not with the enthusiasm that had marked her earliereulogy. She seemed, in fact, to have become a little _distrait_, andJack, remarking the fact, suggested a canter. 

They met several people whom they knew before they turned homewards, andit was not until they were leaving the Park that any further conversationwas possible. 

Then very suddenly Chris reined in and spoke. "Jack, before we go back, Iwant to ask you something. "

"Well?" said Jack. 

She made a pathetic little gesture towards him, and touched his kneewith her riding-switch. Her blue eyes besought him very earnestly. "Jack, we--we are pals, aren't we? Or I couldn't possibly ask it of you. Jack, I--I've been foolish--and extravagant. And--" she became suddenlybreathless--"I want twenty pounds--to pay some debts. Jack, couldyou--would you--"

"You monkey!" said Jack. 

"I couldn't help it, " she declared piteously. "I've spent a frightful lotof money lately. I don't know how it goes. It runs away like water. ButI--want to get out of debt, Jack. If you will help me just this once, I'll pay you back when--when--when I'm married. "

"Good heavens, child!" he said. "You shall have it twice over if youlike. But why on earth didn't you tell me before? Don't you know it'svery naughty to run up debts?"

She nodded. "Yes, I know. But I couldn't help it. There were things Iwanted. And London is such an expensive place. You do understand, dearJack, don't you?"

Jack thought he did. He was, moreover, too fond of his young cousin totreat her with severity. But he considered it his duty to deliver a brieflecture on the dangers of insolvency, to which Chris listened withbecoming docility, thanking him with a quick, sweet smile when he haddone. 

Jack did not flatter himself that he had succeeded in making a very deepimpression. He wondered a little what Trevor Mordaunt would have saidunder similar circumstances. 

"I hope she will be straightforward with him, " was his reflection. "Butshe is a Wyndham of the Wyndhams, and everyone knows that her fatherdidn't suffer over-much from that complaint. "

Which was true. Chris's father had been one of those baffling persons whoare always in want of money and yet seem quite incapable of giving aclear account of their wants. His affairs had been in a perpetual muddlefrom the beginning of his career, and had probably ended so. 

"Most unsatisfactory!" as Aunt Philippa invariably remarked, as asuitable conclusion to any discussion on the subject of her brother orany of his family. How she personally had managed to escape the generalblight that rested upon them was a mystery that no one--not Aunt Philippaherself--had ever been able to solve. 

CHAPTER XV

MISGIVINGS

Hilda Forest's wedding was one of the events of the season. All Londonwent to it. Lord Percy Davenant, the bridegroom, was a man of manyfriends, and the bride's mother prided herself upon the width of her ownsocial circle. 

In the midst of the fuss and tumult the bride, very grave and serene, with shining eyes, went her appointed way. Everyone was loud in herpraise. Her bearing was admirable. She was as one on whom a veil ofhappiness had fallen, and external things scarcely touched her. 

She went through her part steadfastly and well, forgetful utterly of thewatching crowds, conscious only of one being in all that criticalmultitude, holding only one thought in the silent sanctuary of her soul. 

And Chris, the chief bridesmaid, walking alone behind her, watched andmarvelled. She liked Lord Percy Davenant. He was big, good-natured, rollicking, and many a joke had they had together. But no faintest tingeof romance hung about him in her opinion. She could not with the utmosteffort of the imagination see what there was in him to bring that lightinto Hilda's eyes. 

It was odd, thought Chris, very odd. If it had been Trevor, now--Shecould quite easily have understood it if Hilda had fallen in love withhim. And they would have been eminently well suited to one another, too. Yes, it was very strange, quite unaccountable! Here she remembered thatTrevor was probably somewhere in the crowd behind her, and peeped overher shoulder surreptitiously to get a glimpse of him. 

She was not successful, but she caught the eye of one of the bridesmaidsimmediately behind her, who leaned forward with a merry smile to whisper, "Your turn next!"

Chris turned back sharply. The words had a curious effect upon her; theygave her almost a sensation of shock. Her turn next to face this ordealthrough which Hilda was passing with such supreme confidence! Would shefeel as Hilda felt when she came to stand with Trevor before the altar?Would that thrill of deep sincerity be in her voice also as she repeatedthe vows irrevocable which were even now leaving Hilda's lips? Would hereyes meet his with the same pure gladness of love made perfect?

A sudden tremor went through her. She shivered from head to foot. Thescent of the flowers she held--Hilda's flowers and her own--seemed toturn her sick. She felt overpowered--lost!

Desperately she clutched her wavering self-control. This ghastly, unspeakable doubt must not conquer her. No one must know it--no one mustsee!

But she was as one slipping down a steep incline, faster and faster everysecond. The beating of her heart rose up and deafened her. It was likesomeone beating a tattoo in the church. She could not hear another wordof the service. And she was suffocating with the nauseous sweetness ofthe bridal flowers. Wildly she looked around her. Where was Trevor? Hewould help her. He would understand--he always understood. But she soughthim in vain. There was only the long line of bridesmaids behind her anda sea of indistinct faces on each side. 

She lifted her head and gasped. She felt as if she were being smotheredin flowers. Their heavy perfume stifled her. She understood now why somepeople wouldn't have flowers at their funerals. She had always thought itodd before. 

She was slipping more and more rapidly down that fatal slope. Thesunlight that lay in a great bar of vivid colours across the churchdanced before her eyes. She no longer saw the bridal couple in front ofher. They had faded quite away, and in their stead was a terrible abyssof flowers--bridal flowers that made her sick and faint. 

She swayed as she stood. Who was that speaking? Certain solemn words hadpierced her reeling brain. She heard them as if they came from anotherworld--

"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. "

Those words would be uttered over her next. Perhaps they were meantfor her even now. Surely it was her own wedding and not Hilda's, after all! She was being married, and she wasn't ready! Oh, it washorrible--horrible! And where was Trevor, or Bertie, or someone--anyone—to hold her back from that dreadful, scented darkness?

Ah! An arm supporting her! A steady hand that took the flowers away!Trevor at last! She turned and clung to him weakly, crying like afrightened child. Her knees would not support her any longer, theydoubled under her weight. But he lifted her without effort, almost as ifshe had been a child indeed, and carried her away. 

He bore her to an open door that led out from the vestry, and there inthe fresh air Chris revived. He set her on her feet, and made her leanagainst him. Jack hovered in the background, but he dismissed him. 

"She is all right again. Go and tell your mother. It was an atmosphere toasphyxiate an ox. "

Chris laughed very shakily. "I'm so sorry, Trevor. Did I make a scene?"

She would have withdrawn from his support, but he kept his arm about her. "No, dear. I chanced to be looking at you, and I saw you were going tofaint. I am glad I was able to get you away in time. "

"I couldn't help it, " she said, not looking at him. "It was--it was--theflowers. "

"I know, " he said gently. 

She leaned her head against him. It was throbbing painfully. "Oh, Trevor--it wasn't--only--the flowers, " she whispered. 

He put his hand over her aching temples. "Tell me presently, dear, " hesaid. 

She reached up and found the hand, drew it down over her face, and heldit so for seconds, speaking no word. She touched it softly with her lipsat last, and let it go. 

"I'm well now, " she said. "Take me back. "

He looked at her searchingly. "You are sure?"

She smiled at him, though her eyes were still heavy. "Yes, I'll be quitegood. I mustn't spoil Hilda's wedding by being silly, must I? You haven'tbrought Bertie, I suppose?"

He smiled a little. "He didn't get an invitation. "

"Of course not. Trevor, you didn't think I was--flirting with him thatnight?"

"My dear child--no!"

"Because I never flirt, " said Chris very earnestly. "It's a horrid thingto do. You'll never think that of me, will you? Or that I have evertrifled with you--or anyone?"

Trevor's eyes rested upon her with grave kindness. "My dear, why should Ithink these things of you?" he said. 

She shook her head. "I don't know. Lots of people do. But you aredifferent. I think you understand. You'll stay after it's over and have atalk, won't you?"

"Yes, " he said. 

She slipped her hand into his. "Now let's go back. "

They went back. The ceremony was very nearly over. Chris took her placeagain, and followed the bride into the vestry afterwards. 

Later, at the crowded reception, she was among the merriest, and very fewnoticed that she was paler than usual or that her eyes were deeplyshadowed. 

The wedded pair left early, and immediately afterwards the guests beganto disperse. Mordaunt, who had been making himself generally useful, looked round for Chris as soon as a leisure moment arrived. But he lookedin vain; she was not to be found. 

He went through every room in search of her, but all to no purpose. For awhile he lingered, waiting for her, talking to the few people whoremained. But at length, as there was still no sign of her, he preparedto take his departure also, with the intention of presenting himselfagain later. 

He was actually on the doorstep when Jack came striding after him. "Isay, Chris wants you. I forgot to mention it. Make my apologies, forHeaven's sake! She must have been waiting an hour or more. "

"What?" Mordaunt turned back sharply, frowning. 

"Don't scowl, there's a dear chap, " said Jack. "I'm awfully sorry. I hadsuch a shoal of things to see to. She's upstairs, right at the top of thehouse, first door you come to. She said you were to go up and have teawith her and Cinders. Really, I'm horribly sorry. "

"All right. So you ought to be, " Mordaunt said, and left him to hisregrets. 

He was somewhat breathless when he arrived outside the door of Chris'slittle sanctum, but he did not pause on that account. He knocked with hishand already upon the handle, and almost immediately turned it. 

"I can come in?" he asked. 

A muffled bark from Cinders was the only answer--a warning bark, asthough he would have the intruder tread softly. 

Mordaunt trod softly in consequence, softly entered, softly closed thedoor. 

He found his little _fiancée_ crouched on the floor beside an ancientsofa, her arms resting upon it and her head sunk upon them. Cinders, veryalert, bristling with importance, mounted guard on the sofa itself. 

For Chris was asleep, curled up in her bridesmaid finery, a study inwhite and blue, with a single splash of vivid red-gold where the sunlighttouched her hair. 

Cinders growled below his breath as Mordaunt approached. He also waggedhis tail, though without effusion. The visitor was welcome so far as hewas concerned, but he must make no disturbance. A canny little beast wasCinders. 

And so, noiselessly, Mordaunt drew near, and bent above the child uponthe floor. He saw that she had been crying. Even in repose her facelooked wan, and there was a soaked morsel of lace that had evidently beenquite inadequate for the occasion crumpled up in one hand. 

What was the trouble? he wondered, and wished with all his heart thatCinders could impart it. He had no doubt that Cinders knew. 

It seemed almost cruel to awake her, but neither could he bring himselfto leave her as she was. He looked to Cinders for inspiration. AndCinders, with a flash of intelligence that proved him more than beast, ifless than human, lowered his queer little muzzle and licked hismistress's face. 

That roused her. She stretched out her arms with a vague, sleepy murmur, smiled, opened her eyes. 

"Oh, Trevor!" she said. "You!"

He stooped over her. "Chris, is anything the matter?"

She looked at him. "I don't know, " she said slowly. "I forget. "

"Poor child!" he said. "It's a shame to make you remember. But I'm afraidit is inevitable. Won't you lie on the sofa? You will find it morecomfortable. "

"No, " said Chris. "I like the floor the best. You can sit on the sofa, ifCinders doesn't mind. Has everyone gone, downstairs? Hasn't it been adreadful day?" She leaned her head against his knee with a sigh ofweariness. "I do think getting married is a dreadful business, " she said. 

His hand was on her hair, the beautiful, burnished hair that MademoiselleGautier had deemed one of her most dangerous possessions. He did not tryto see her face, and perhaps for that very reason Chris leaned againsthim with complete confidence. 

"So you don't want to be married?" he said, after a moment. 

"No, I don't!" she said, with vehemence. "I think marriage isdreadful--dreadful, when you come to look at it close. " She moved herhead under his hand; for an instant her face was raised. "Trevor, youdon't mind my saying it, do you?"

"I want you to say exactly what is in your mind, " he made grave reply. 

"I knew you would. " She nestled down again, and pulled his handover her shoulder, holding it against her cheek. "I know I'm veryunorthodox, " she said. "Perhaps I'm wicked as well. I can't help it. I think marriage--except for good people like Hilda--is a mistake. It's so terribly cold-blooded and--and irrevocable. "

She spoke the last words almost in a whisper. She was holding his handvery tightly. 

He sat very still, and she wondered if he were shocked by her views, butshe could not bring herself to ascertain. She went on quickly, with atouch of recklessness--

"It's only the good people like Hilda who can be quite sure they willnever change their minds. In fact, I'm beginning to think that it's onlythe good people who never do. Trevor, what should you do if--if you weremarried to me, and then you--changed your mind?"

"I can't imagine the impossible, Chris, " he said. 

She moved restlessly. "Would it be quite impossible?"

"Quite. "

"Even if you found out that I was--quite worthless?"

"That also is impossible, " he said gravely. 

She was silent for a space, then, "And what if I--changed mine?" shesaid, her voice very low. 

"Have you changed your mind?" he asked. 

She shrank at the question, quietly though it was uttered. 

His hand closed very steadily upon hers. "Don't be afraid to tell me, " hesaid. "I want the truth, you know, whatever it is. "

"I know, " she said, and suddenly she began to sob drearily, hopelessly, with her head against his knee. 

He bent lower over her; he lifted her till he held her in his arms, pressed close against his heart. 

"Yes, hold me!" she whispered, through her tears. "Hold me tight, Trevor!Don't let me go! I don't feel so--so frightened when you are holding me. "

"Tell me what has frightened you, " he said. 

"I can't, " she whispered back. "I'm just--foolish, that's all. And, Trevor, I can't--I can't--be married as Hilda was to-day. I can't faceit--all the people and the grandeur and the flowers. You won't make me, Trevor?"

"My darling, no!" he said. 

"It frightened me so, " she said forlornly. "It seemed like being caughtin a trap. One felt as if the guests and the flowers were meant to hideit all, but they didn't--they made it worse. I don't think Hilda feltlike that, but then Hilda is so good, she wouldn't. Oh, Trevor dear, Iwish--I wish we could go to Kellerton and live there without beingmarried at all. "

The words came muffled from his shoulder; she was clinging to him almostconvulsively. 

"But we can't, Chris, " he said, his quiet voice coming through heragitation with a patience so immense that it seemed to dwarf even herdistress. "At least, dear, you can go and live there if you wish, but Ican't. Perhaps I am not indispensable. "

"No, no!" she said quickly, as though the suggestion hurt her. "I wantyou. "

"Then I am afraid you will have to marry me, " he said. "We won't have abig wedding. It shall be as private as you like. I suppose you will wantyour brothers to be there. "

"Why can't we run away together and get married all by ourselves?"suggested Chris. She raised her head and regarded him with suddenanimation. "Wouldn't it be fun?" she said. "You could come for me in themotor, and we could fly off to some out-of-the-way village and be marriedbefore anyone knew anything about it. There would be no one to gloat overus and make silly jokes, no horrid show at all. Trevor, " her face flashedinto gaiety once more, "I'll go with you to-morrow!"

He smiled at her eagerness. "If I were to agree to that, you would runaway in the night. "

"Run away from you!" said Chris. She wound her arm swiftly about hisneck. "As if I should!" she said reproachfully. 

He looked at her, baffled in spite of his determination to understand. "You wouldn't want to do that, then?" he said. 

She nestled to him with a gesture most winning. "Never, never, unless--"

"Unless--?" he repeated. 

"Unless--for any reason--you were angry with me, " she murmured, with herface hidden again. 

He folded his arms more closely about her. "My little Chris, never beafraid of that, " he said. 

"Oh, but you might be, " she protested. 

"Never, Chris. " He spoke gravely, with absolute conviction. 

She turned her lips quickly to his. "Then let's run away together, shallwe?"

He kissed her with great tenderness before he answered. "No, dear, no. Itcan't be done. What would your aunt say to it?"

"Surely if I don't mind that, you needn't!" she said. 

But he shook his head. "I won't let you be pestered with preparations. Wewill keep it a secret from everyone outside. But I think we must let yourAunt Philippa into it. I think you owe her that. "

"P'raps, " admitted Chris, without enthusiasm. "But she is sure to want abig show, Trevor. "

"Leave that to me, " he said. "I promise you shall not have that. We willget it done early, and we will be at Kellerton for luncheon. "

Her eyes shone. "How lovely! And the boys, too--and Bertie?"

He surveyed the eager face for a few seconds in silence. Then, "Chris, "he said, "would it mean a very great sacrifice to you if I asked for thefirst fortnight with you alone?"

He was watching her closely, watching for the faintest suggestion ofdisappointment or hesitancy in the clear eyes, but he detected neither. Chris beamed upon him tranquilly. 

"Why, I should love it! There's no end of things I want to show you. And we can make it all snug before Bertie and the boys come. But, ofcourse"--she became suddenly serious--"I must have Cinders with me. "

"Oh, we won't exclude Cinders, " he said. 

She laughed--the gay, sweet laugh he loved to hear. "That's settled, then. And you'll make Aunt Philippa promise not to tell, for of coursethat would spoil everything. Oh, and Trevor, you won't discuss Bertrandwith her? Promise!"

He looked at her keenly for a moment, met only the coaxing confidence ofher eyes, and decided to ask no question. 

"My dear, " he said, "as far as Bertrand is concerned, your Aunt Philippaand I have nothing to discuss. "

"That's all right, " said Chris, with relief. "Trevor, you've done me alot of good. You are quite the most comforting man I know. I'm notfrightened any more, and I'll never be such a little idiot again as longas I live. "

She rose with the words, stood a moment with her hand on his shoulder, then stooped and shyly kissed his forehead. 

"You always understand, " she said. "And I love you for it. There!"

"I am glad, dear, " he said gently. 

But he did not look particularly elated notwithstanding. There had beenmoments in their recent conversation when, so far from understanding her, he had felt utterly and completely at a loss. He had not the heart totell her so, for he knew that she was quite incapable of explainingherself; but the fact remained. And he wondered with a vague misgiving ifhe had yet succeeded--if, indeed, he ever would wholly succeed--infinding his way along the many intricate windings that led to her inmostheart. 

CHAPTER XVI

MARRIED

It was certainly the quietest wedding of the season. People said thatthis was due to the bridegroom's well-known dislike of publicity; but, whatever the reason, the secret was well kept, and when Chris came out ofthe church on her husband's arm there was only Bertrand, standinguncovered by the carriage-door, to give her greeting. 

She was smiling as she came, but it was rather a piteous smile. She hadfaced the ordeal with a desperate courage, but she had not found it easy. Only Trevor's steadfast strength had held her up. She had been consciousof his will acting upon hers throughout. With the utmost calmness he hadquelled her agitation, had stilled the wild flutter of her nerves, hadcompelled her to a measure of composure. And now that it was over shefelt that he was still in a fashion holding her back, controlling her, till she should have recovered her normal state of mind and be in acondition to control herself. 

But the sight of Bertrand diverted her thoughts. Owing to her aunt'sstrenuous prohibition, she had not met him since the night of herbirthday dance. She broke from Mordaunt to give him both her hands. 

"Oh, Bertie, " she cried, between tears and laughter, "it is good to seeyou again!"

He bent very low, so low that she only saw the top of his black head. "Permit me to offer my felicitations, " he said, in a voice that wasscarcely audible. 

Her hands closed tightly for a second upon his. "You are pleased, Bertie?" she said, with a quickening of the breath. 

He straightened himself instantly; he looked into her eyes. "But you arehappy, yes?" he questioned. 

"Of course, " she told him hurriedly. 

He smiled--the ready smile with which he had learned to mask his soul. "_Alors_, I am pleased, " he said. 

He helped her into the carriage, and turned, still smiling, to the manbehind her. Yet he flinched ever so slightly from the grip of Mordaunt'shand. It was the merest gesture, scarcely perceptible; in a moment he hadcovered it with the quick courtesy of his race. But Mordaunt was aware ofit, and for a single instant he wondered. 

He took his place beside his bride, who tucked her hand inside his arm, with a little sob of sheer relief. 

"Did I sound very squeaky, Trevor? I tried not to squeak. "

He forgot Bertrand and everyone else but the trembling girl by his side. He laid a soothing hand on hers. 

"My dear, you did splendidly. It wasn't so very terrifying, was it?"

"It was appalling, " said Chris. "I kept saying to myself, 'Just a littlelonger and then that lovely new motor--my motor--and home. ' You are goingto give me my first lesson in driving to-day, aren't you? Say yes!"

He said "Yes, " feeling that he was bestowing a reward for good behaviour. 

She squeezed his arm. "And isn't it nice, " she whispered, with shiningeyes, "to feel that we are really going to stay there when we get there?"

He pressed the small, confiding hand. "You are glad, then, Chris?" hesaid. 

"Oh, my dear, I should think I am!" she made answer. "I've been countingthe days to the one when I shan't have to peck Aunt Philippa good-night. She never kisses properly and she won't let me. She says it's childishand unrestrained. " She laid her cheek suddenly against his shoulder. "I've had no one to hug for ever so long--except Cinders, " she said. 

"Hasn't Cinders been enough?" he asked, with a hint of surprise. 

She turned her face upwards quickly. "Trevor, you're not to laugh at me!It isn't fair. "

He smiled a little. "I am not laughing, Chris, I assure you. I havealways thought until this moment that Cinders was more precious to youthan anyone else in the world. "

"Oh, that's because you're a man, " said Chris inconsequently. "Men alwayshave absurd theories about women and the things they care for. As if wecan't love heaps of people at the same time!"

"You can only love one person best, " he pointed out. 

"At a time, " supplemented Chris, with a merry smile. "And you choose yourperson according to your mood. At least, I do. Oh, Trevor, " with a suddenchange of tone, "don't look! There's a hearse!"

She hid her face against him, and he felt a violent tremor go throughher. He put his arm about her and held her close. 

"My darling, what makes you so superstitious?"

"I'm not, " she murmured shakily. "It isn't superstitious to believe indeath, is it? It's a fact one can't get away from. And it frightensme--it frightens me! Think of it, Trevor! We only belong to each othertill death us do part. Afterwards--who knows?--we may be in differentworlds. "

He pressed her closer, feeling her cling to him. "There is a greaterthing than death, Chris, " he said. 

"I know! I know!" she whispered back. "But--I sometimes think--I'm notbig enough for it. I sometimes wonder--if God gave me a heart at all. "

"My little Chris!" he said. "My darling!"

She lifted a troubled face. The tears were in her eyes. "Don't you oftenthink me silly and fickle?" she said. "And you'll find it more and morethe more you see of me. You'll be disappointed in me--you'll be horriblydisappointed--some day. "

He looked down at her with great tenderness. "That day will never come, dear, " he said. "If it did, I should blame myself much more than I blamedyou. Come! You mustn't cry on our wedding-day. You're not reallyunhappy?"

"But I'm afraid, " she said. 

He dried her eyes and kissed her. "There is nothing to make you afraid, "he said. "Haven't I sworn to love and cherish you?"

She nestled to him with a sigh. "It was very nice of you, Trevor, " shesaid. 

Her spirits revived during her motor-ride to Kellerton. The renovationsthere were in full swing. One portion of the house had been already madehabitable for them. Mordaunt had had the entire management of this, but, as Chris gaily remarked, she would probably change everything round whenshe came upon the scene. 

"I feel as if the holidays have just begun, " she said to him as they spedover the dusty road. "And I'm going to work harder than I have everworked in my life. "

"If I let you, " he said. 

At which remark she made a face, and then, repenting patted his knee. "You will let me do what I like, I know. You always do. "

"In moderation, " said Trevor, with a smile. 

She dismissed the matter as too trivial for discussion. "When are yougoing to let me drive?"

He gave her her first lesson then and there, an experience whichdelighted Chris so much that she refused to relinquish the wheel untilthey stopped at a country town for luncheon. 

Here her whole attention was occupied in keeping Cinders from chasing thehotel cat, till Trevor caught and cuffed the miscreant, when her anxietyturned to indignation on her darling's behalf, and she snatched him awayand kept him sheltered in her arms for the rest of their sojourn. 

"I never punish Cinders, " she said. "He's hardly ever naughty, and if heis he's always sorry afterwards. "

Cinders, whose temper was ruffled, glared at Mordaunt and cursed him inan undertone throughout the meal, notwithstanding the choice morsels withwhich his young mistress sought to propitiate him. 

"I do hope you haven't made him dislike you, " she said, when at lengththey returned to the car. "He is rather tiresome with people he doesn'tlike. "

"If he doesn't behave himself, we will send him to Bertrand to take careof, " Mordaunt rejoined. 

"Indeed we won't!" Chris declared, with warmth. "He has never been awayfrom me day or night since I first had him. "

At which declaration Mordaunt raised his eyebrows, and said no more. 

He had always known Cinders for a dog of character, but not till that dayhad he credited him with the remarkable intuition by which he seemed toknow--and resent--the fact that his mistress was no longer his exclusiveproperty. It may have been that Chris herself imparted something of thenew state of affairs to him by the very zeal of her guardianship. Butundoubtedly, whatever its source, the knowledge had dawned in Cinders'brain and with it a fierce jealousy which he had never displayed inMordaunt's presence before. 

It was an afternoon of unclouded sunshine. Chris lay back in her seat, somewhat wearied but quite content, watching the cornfields with theirred wealth of poppies, watching the long, white road before them, and nowand then the unerring hands that held the wheel. 

When at length they neared Kellerton she roused herself and became moreanimated. "It's been a lovely ride, Trevor. Let's go for one every day. Sometimes we might go down to the sea--it's only ten miles. But we willwait till Bertie comes for that. Ah, there is the lodge! How smart itlooks! And they have actually taken the thistles out of the drive! Ishouldn't have known it. "

She sat up with eager delight in her eyes. The lodge-gates were open;they ran smoothly in without a pause and on up the long avenue to the oldgrey house. 

Chris was enchanted. It was such a home-coming as she had never pictured. 

"It's like a dream, " she said. "I can't believe it's true. Everythinglooks so different. The garden was an absolute wilderness the last timewe were here. "

It had been turned into a paradise since then, and every second broughtfresh discoveries to her ecstatic gaze. 

"I didn't know it could be so lovely, " she declared. "And you've done itall in a few weeks. Trevor, you're a magician!"

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Oh, it isn't all my doing. I have only beendown twice since the day you were here. I put it into capable hands, that's all. Nothing has been altered, only set to rights. "

"It's lovely!" cried Chris. 

Tired and thirsty though she was, she could hardly wait to have tea onthe terrace before the house before she was off along the dear, familiarpaths to her favourite nook under a great yew-tree whose branches sweptthe ground. A rustic seat surrounded the ancient trunk. 

"This is my castle, " said Chris. "This is where I hide when I don't wantanyone to find me. "

She stretched back a hand to her husband, and led him into her shadowydomain. 

"The boys used to call it Hades, " she said, in a hushed voice. "And Iused to pretend I was Persephone. I did so wish Pluto would appear someday with his chariot and his black horses and take me underground. But, "with a sigh, "he never did. "

"Let us hope you have been reserved for a happier fate, " Mordaunt said, with his arm about her. 

She flashed him her quick smile. "You instead of Pluto! But I alwaysthought he was rather fascinating, and I longed to see the underworld. "

"I think the sunshine suits you best, " he said. 

"Oh yes, but just to see--just to know what it's like! I do so loveexploring, " insisted Chris. 

He smiled and drew her out of her gloomy retreat. "Sometimes it's betternot to know too much, " he said. 

"But one couldn't, " she protested. "All knowledge is gain. "

"Of a sort, " he said. "But it is not always to be desired on thataccount. "

A sudden memory went through Chris. She gave a sharp shudder. "Oh no!"she said. "One doesn't want to know horrid things! I forgot that. "

He looked at her interrogatively, but she turned her face away. "Let's goback to the house. I wonder where Cinders is. "

They returned to the house, and again Chris was lost in delight. A greatdeal yet remained to be done, but the completed portion was all thatcould be desired. They had chosen much of the furniture together, and shespent most of the evening in arranging it, with her husband's assistance, to her satisfaction. 

But when at length the hour for dinner arrived he would not suffer her todo anything further. 

"I believe you have done too much as it is, " he said, "and after dinner Ishall have something to show you. "

She yielded readily enough. She certainly was tired. "I feel as if to-dayhad lasted for about six weeks, " she said. 

But her animation did not wane in spite of this, and she would even havereturned to her labours after they had dined had Mordaunt permitted it. He was firm upon this point, however, and again without protest sheyielded. 

"You were going to show me something. What was it?"

"To be sure, " he said. "I was going to show you how to write a cheque. Come over to the writing-table and see how it is done. "

Chris went, looking mystified. "But I shall never write cheques, Trevor, "she said. 

"No? Why not?"

He drew up a chair for her and knelt down beside her. 

"You are a woman of property now, Chris, " he said, and laid a newcheque-book on the pad in front of her. 

Chris gazed at it, wide-eyed. "But, Trevor, I haven't got any money atthe bank, have I?"

"Plenty, " he said, with a smile--"in fact, a very large sum indeed whichwill have to be invested in your name. That we will go into another day, but for present needs, if you are wanting money--"

"Yes?" said Chris eagerly. 

He put a pen into her hand and opened the cheque-book. 

She slipped her arm round his neck. "Trevor, I--I don't feel as if youought. I--of course I--knew you would make me an allowance, but--but--youought not to give me a lot of money all my own. "

"My darling, " he said gently, "don't forget that you are my wife, willyou?"

She smiled a little shyly. "Do you know--I had forgotten--quite!"

He put his arm about her as she sat. "You must try to remember it, dear, because it's rather important. I know I might have made you an allowance, but I prefer that you should be independent. Only, Chris, I am going toask a promise of you; and I want you to make it at the very beginning ofour life together. That is why I have spoken on our wedding-night. "

"Yes?" whispered Chris. 

She had begun to tremble a little, and he pressed her to himreassuringly. "I want you to promise me that you will never run intodebt, that if for any cause you find that you have not enough of your ownyou will come to me at once and tell me. "

He spoke with grave kindness, watching her face the while. But Chris'seyes did not meet his own. She was rolling the pen he had given her upand down the blotting-pad with much absorption. 

"Is it a promise, Chris?" he asked at length. 

She threw him a nervous glance and nodded. 

He laid his hand upon hers and held it still. "Chris, have you any debtsnow?"

She was silent. 

"My dear, " he said, "don't be afraid of me!"

There was that in his voice that moved her to the depths; she could nothave said why. Impulsively, almost passionately, she went into his arms. 

"I won't!" she said. "I won't! Trevor, I--I've been a little beast! Thatmoney you gave me on my birthday I didn't do--what you meant me to dowith it. I just--spent it. I don't know how. And then--when you askedabout it that night--I didn't dare to tell you, and I haven't daredsince. I just let you think it was all right--when it wasn't. Oh, Trevor, don't be angry--don't be angry!"

"I am not angry, " he said. 

"Not really? But how you must despise me! It's just the way of theWyndhams. We all do it. Trevor, why did you make me tell you?"

"My dear child, " he said, "you must tell me these things. It is your onlypossibility of happiness, and mine also. Chris, never keep anything fromme, for Heaven's sake! Don't you know that I trust you?"

"I don't deserve it!" sobbed Chris, clinging faster. "You don't know howbad I am!"

"Hush!" he said, with a restraining hand upon her head. "You have told meeverything now?"

"Oh no, I haven't!" she whispered. "There are crowds of things I couldn'teven begin to tell you. I have always warned you how it would be. Ialways said--"

Her agitation was increasing, and her words became inaudible. He saw thather nerves had given way under the long day's strain, and firmly, withinfinite gentleness, he put a stop to further discussion of a subjectthat threatened to upset her seriously. 

"Never mind, " he said. "You will tell me by and bye, or if you don't Ishall know it is all right. Chris, Chris, you mustn't get hysterical. Youare worn out, dear, and it has upset your sense of proportion. Come, I amgoing to send you to bed. We will go into these money matters in themorning. "

But Chris vehemently negatived this. "I don't want to--to spoilto-morrow. I--I shouldn't sleep for thinking of it. Oh, Trevor, let'ssettle it now. I'm going to be sensible--really. And--and--if you'llforgive me for all the bad things I've done up to to-day I--I will reallytry to tell you everything as it happens from now on. Will you, Trevor?"

She raised pleading, pathetic eyes, still wet with tears. He could feelher still quivering with the emotion she was striving to subdue. She wastoo near in that moment to resist--perhaps he would not have resisted herin any case; for he had it not in his heart to think ill of her. 

"My darling, " he said, "we will leave it at that. Only--in thefuture--trust me as I am trusting you. "

He turned to the table and closed the cheque-book. "These debts are myaffair. I will settle them. Just tell me what they are. "

"Oh, but they are settled!" she told him. "I promised I would, you know. "

"Then"--he looked at her--"someone lent you the money?"

Something in his tone made her shrink again. She hesitated. 

"Chris!" he said. 

Nervously she answered him. "Jack lent me forty pounds. "

"Jack!" he said. "You weren't afraid to ask him, then?"

"Oh no!" she said quickly. "I'm not a bit afraid of Jack. "

"Only of me, Chris!"

She gave herself back to him with a swift, shy movement. "It's the fearof vexing you, " she said. "I don't mind vexing--other people. It's onlyyou--only you. Trevor, say you understand!"

He did not answer her instantly, but the close holding of his arms droveall misgiving from her soul. He rose to his feet, raising her with him, pressing her to him faster and ever faster till her arms crept round hisneck again, and she lay, a willing prisoner, against his heart. 

And so holding her, at last he answered her tremulous appeal. "Mydarling, never be afraid of vexing me! Never be afraid that I shall notunderstand!"

She could not speak in answer. The wonder of his love for her hadstricken her dumb; it had swept upon her like a wave, towering, immense, resistless, bearing her far beyond her depth. 

She could only mutely lift her quivering lips; and he, moved togentleness by her action, took her face between his hands with infinitetenderness, gazing down into her eyes with that in his own which cast outthe last of her fear. 

"My little Chris!" he said. "My wife!"

PART II

CHAPTER I

SUMMER WEATHER

"I think quite the worst part of being married is having to pay calls, "said Chris. 

"You do not like it, no?" said Bertrand, with quick sympathy. 

"No, " she rejoined emphatically. "And I don't see any sense in it either. No one ever wants afternoon callers. "

"But that depends upon the caller, does it not?" he said. 

"Not in the least, " said Chris. "There's a stodginess about afternooncalling that affects even the nicest people. It's the most tiresomeinstitution there is. "

"Then why do it?" he suggested, with a smile. 

She shook her head severely. 

"Don't be immoral, Bertie! You're trying to tempt me from my duty. "

"Never!" he declared earnestly. 

"Oh, but you are; and I am not sure that you are not neglecting your ownas well. What brought you out at this hour?"

He spread out his hands. "Mr. Mordaunt has ordered me to take a restto-day. "

Chris looked up at him sharply. "Aren't you well, Bertie?"

"But it is nothing, " he said. "I have told him. It happens to meoften--often--that I do not sleep. I have explained all that. But whatwould you? He is obstinate--he will not listen. "

Chris patted a hammock-chair beside her. "Sit down at once. I knew therewas something the matter directly I saw you this morning. But you alwayslook horribly tired. Do you never sleep properly?"

He dropped into the chair and stretched up his arms with a sigh. "It isonly in the morning that I am tired, " he said. "It is nothing--a weaknessthat passes. Or if it passes not--I go. "

"Go!" repeated Chris, startled. 

He turned his head towards her. "That surprises you, yes? But how can Iremain if I cannot work?"

"Oh, but you haven't been here a fortnight, " she said quickly. "I expectthe change of air has upset you. And it has been so hot too. "

He acquiesced languidly, as if not greatly interested. His dark eyeswatched her gravely. Evidently his thoughts had wandered from himself. 

Chris was not slow to perceive this. "What are you thinking of?" shedemanded. 

"I am thinking of you, " he answered promptly. 

"What of me?" The blue eyes met his quite openly. Chris was always frankto her pals. 

"I was thinking, " he said, in his soft, friendly voice, "how you werehappy, and how I was glad. "

She threw him a quick smile. "How nice of you, Bertie! And howbeautifully French! But, you know, I shan't be happy if you talk ofleaving us. It will spoil everything, and I shall be absolutelymiserable. "

"You were not miserable before I joined you, no?" he said, smiling backat her. 

"Of course I wasn't. But that was quite different. I knew all the whilethat you were coming. I should have been if anything had happened toprevent you. "

"Really?" he said thoughtfully. 

"Yes, really!" Chris was emphatic. "And I am sure there is nothing muchthe matter with you, Bertie; now, is there?"

He scarcely responded. "It will pass, " he said. "And so you have arrangedto make visits this afternoon?"

"Yes. Isn't it a bother?" Chris's brow wrinkled. "Noel wanted me to goand fish with him, but Trevor says I must go and see Mrs. Pouncefort, soI suppose I must. I hoped he would come too, but he has got to stay andinterview the architect about that subsidence in the north wing. I wishyou would come instead. "

He shook his head. "No--no! That is not possible. Where does this ladylive?"

"Sandacre way, towards the sea. Oh, do you know Rupert is coming over onSunday with some brother officers? I had a card from him this morning. Heis very fond of Mrs. Pouncefort--they all are. I don't know quite why. Ibelieve they spend half their time there. Mr. Pouncefort is a dear littleman--no one could help liking him. He has a yacht, and they always have acrowd of people staying there at this time of the year. "

"_Alors_, " he said, "it will amuse you to go there, no?"

Chris smiled. "Oh, not particularly. I would much rather stay with youand Trevor. Besides, I've such a lot to do. "

She did not look overwhelmed with work as she leaned back in herhammock-chair, but she evidently intended to be busy, for a basket andscissors stood beside her. 

Bertrand was much too courteous to suggest that she was not making themost of her time. Or perhaps he did not want to be left in solitarycontemplation of that fleeting August morning. He lay silent for alittle, and presently requested permission to smoke a cigarette. 

"Of course, " she said at once. "Why don't you go and lie in the hammock?I will come and rock you to sleep. "

He thanked her, smiling, but declined. 

She watched him light his cigarette with eyes grown thoughtful. Suddenly:"Bertie, " she said, "are you very unhappy nowadays?"

He made a jerky movement, and dropped the match, still burning. Hastilyhe bent to extinguish it, but Chris was before him, her hand upon hisarm, restraining him. 

"No, sit still! It's all right. Tell me, please, Bertie! I want to know. "

He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, still smiling, but in a fashionthat she was at a loss to interpret. 

"But what a question, _petite_! How can I answer it?"

"I should have thought---between friends---" she began. 

"_Ah, oui_! We are friends, are we not?" A curious expression of relieftook the place of his smile, and she felt as if for some reason he hadbeen afraid. "And you ask me if I am unhappy, " he said. "_Maisvraiment_--I know not what to say!"

"Then you are!" she said, quick pain in her voice. 

He looked down at the little friendly hand that lay upon his arm, but hedid not offer to touch it. His eyes remained downcast as he spoke. "I ammore happy than I ever expected to be, Christine. "

"You like your work?" she questioned. "Trevor is kind to you?"

"He is--much too kind, " the Frenchman answered, with feeling. 

"But still you are unhappy?" she said. 

"It is--my own fault, " he told her, still not looking at her. 

She rubbed his sleeve sympathetically. "Bertie, don't you think--if youtried very hard--you might manage to forget all that old trouble?"

There was a note of pleading in her voice, and he made a quick gesture ashe heard it, as if in some way it pierced him. 

She went on speaking, as he made no attempt to do so. "You know, Bertie, you really are quite young still, and there are such a lot of nice thingsleft. It's such a pity to keep on grieving. Don't you think so? It seemsrather a waste of time. And I do--so--want you to be happy. "

At the quiver in her voice he glanced up sharply, but he instantlylowered his eyes again. And still he said no word. He only drew his browstogether and bit his cigarette to a pulp. 

Her hand came softly down his arm and lay upon his. 

"Bertie, " she said, in a whisper, "you're not--vexed?"

His hand clenched at her touch, but on the instant he looked up at herwith a smile. "Vexed!" he said. "With you! A thousand times--no!"

She smiled back, reassured. "Then will you--please--try to forget whatyou have lost? I know it won't be easy, but will you try? It's the onlypossible way to be happy. And if you are not happy--I shan't be either. "

He took her hand at last with perfect steadiness into his own. "You knownot what I have lost, " he said. "But--if I try to forget--that willcontent you?"

She nodded. "Yes, Bertie. "

He looked at her intently for a moment, then, "_Eh Bien_!" he saidbriskly. "I will try. "

"_Bon garçon_!" she said, with a merry smile. "That is settled, then. Why, there is Trevor! Has he finished that article of his already? Helooked quite absorbed when I passed his window half an hour ago. " Shewaved to him as he approached. "Why don't you wear a hat, you madEnglishman? Don't you know the sun is broiling?"

He smiled and ignored the warning. Bertrand sprang from his chair as hereached them, but Mordaunt instantly pressed him down again. 

"No, no, man! Sit still! I have only come out for a moment. "

"But I am going, " Bertrand protested. "I cannot sit and do nothing. Thereare those accounts that you have given me to do. They are not yetfinished. Also--"

"Also, they are not going to be done to-day, " Mordaunt said, shaking himgently by the shoulder. "Chris, I am going to hand this fellow over toyou for the next few days. You can do what you like with him so long asyou don't let him do any work. That I absolutely forbid. You understandme, Bertrand?"

"But I cannot--I cannot, " Bertrand said restlessly. "You are already muchtoo good to me. You overwhelm me with kindness, and I--I make no returnat all. No, listen to me--"

"I'm not going to listen to you, " Mordaunt said. "You are talkingnonsense, my friend, arrant drivel--nothing less. Chris will tell you thesame. "

"Of course, " said Chris. "Besides, there are crowds of things you can dofor me. No, he shan't be overworked, I promise you, Trevor. But I'm goingto try a new cure. Just for this afternoon he is going to lie in thehammock and smoke cigarettes. But after to-day"--she nodded gaily at theperturbed Frenchman--"after to-day, Bertie, _nous verrons_!"

He smiled in spite of himself, but he continued to look dissatisfied tillMordaunt carelessly turned the conversation. 

"Where's that young beggar Noel?"

"Fishing in the Home Meadow, " said Chris. 

"Quite sure?"

"I think so, " she said. "Why?"

"Because he has taken one of my guns, and I believe he is pottingrabbits. "

Chris sat up with consternation in her eyes. "Trevor! I believe he istoo! I heard someone shooting half an hour ago. And he has got Cinderswith him! I know he will go and shoot him by mistake!"

"Or himself, " said Mordaunt grimly. 

"Oh, he won't do that, " said Chris with confidence. "Nothing ever happensto Noel. "

"Something will happen to him before long if he doesn't behave himself, "observed Mordaunt. "My patience began to wear thin last night when Icaught him asleep with a smouldering pipe on his pillow. "

"Oh, but he always does what he likes in the holidays, " pleaded Chris. 

"Does he?" Mordaunt's voice was uncompromising. 

She slipped a quick hand into his. "Trevor, you wouldn't spoil his fun?"

He looked down at her, faintly smiling. "My dear Chris, it depends uponthe fun. I'm not going to have the place burnt down for his amusement. "

"Oh no, " she said. "But you won't be strict with him, will you? He willonly do things on the sly if you are. "

Mordaunt frowned abruptly. "If I catch him doing anything underhand--"

She broke in sharply in evident distress. "But we all do, Trevor! I--I'vedone it myself before now--often with Mademoiselle Gautier, and then withAunt Philippa. One has to, you know. At least--at least--" His grey eyessuddenly made her feel cold, and she stopped as impulsively as she hadbegun. 

There was a moment's silence, then quite gently he drew his hand away. "Ithink I will go and see what mischief the boy is up to. "

She jumped up. "I'll come too. "

He paused, and for a single instant his eyes met Bertrand's. At once theFrenchman spoke. 

"But, Christine, have you not forgotten your roses? It is growing late, is it not? And you will be out this afternoon. Permit me to assist youwith them. "

He picked up the basket as he spoke. Chris stopped irresolute. Herhusband was already moving away over the grass. 

"Come!" said Bertrand persuasively. 

Chris turned with a smile and took the basket. "All right, Bertie, let'sgo. It is getting late, as you say, and I must get the vases filled. "

They went away together to the rose-garden, and here, after briefhesitation, Chris voiced her fears. 

"I'm so afraid lest Trevor should ever get really angry with any of theboys. They won't stand it, you know. And he--I sometimes think he is justa little hard, don't you?"

Mordaunt's secretary pondered this proposition with drawn brows. "No, " hesaid finally, "he is not hard, but he is very honourable. "

Chris laughed aloud. "That sounds just like a French exercise, Bertie. Idon't see what being honourable has to do with it, except that the peoplewho preen themselves on being honourable are just the ones who can't makeallowances for those who are not. You would think, wouldn't you, thatbeing good would make people extra kind and forgiving? But it doesn't, you know. Look at Aunt Philippa!"

Bertrand's grimace was expressive. "And Aunt Philippa is good, yes?"

"Frightfully good, " said Chris. "I don't suppose she ever told a story inher life. "

His quick eyes sought hers. "And that--that is to be good?"

Chris paused an instant, her attention caught by the question. "Why, Isuppose so, " she said slowly. "Don't you call that goodness?"

He spread out his hands. "Me, I think it is the smallest kind ofgoodness. One does not lie, one does not steal; but what of that? Onedoes not roll oneself in the mud. And that is a virtue, that?"

Chris became keenly interested. "Do go on, Bertie! I had no idea youthought such a lot. I don't myself--often. "

He laughed, his sudden pleasant laugh that he uttered now so rarely. "ButI am no philosopher, " he said. "Simply I think--a little--sometimes. Andto me--to be honourable is no more a virtue than to wash the hands. Onecannot do otherwise and respect oneself. "

"No?" said Chris, a little dubiously. "Then, Bertie, if honour is notgoodness, what is?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Goodness? Bah! There is no goodness withoutlove. "

"Oh!" Chris's eyes opened wide. "You think--that?"

He nodded with vehemence. "_Si, chérie_! I think--that; more, I know it. I know that 'Love is the fulfilling of the law. ' One does not need to gofurther than that. It is enough, no?" His eyes looked straight into hers;they were shining with the light that only friendship can kindle. 

She smiled back at him. "I should almost think it is, Bertie. It isenough for you anyhow, since you believe it. "

"Ah, yes, " he said very earnestly. "I believe it, Christine. I should notbe here now--if I did not believe it. "

She puckered her brows a little. "I don't quite know what you mean, " shesaid. 

He turned from her questioning eyes, pulling his hat down over his own. "No, " he said. "But--you know enough, _ma petite_, you know enough. "

"I sometimes think I don't know anything, " she said restlessly. 

He stretched out a hand to her, as one who guides a child. "Ah, Christine, " he said sadly, "but it is better to know the little than themuch. "

"You all say that, " said Chris. "I think it is rather a horrid world forsome things, don't you?"

"But the world is that which we make it, " said Bertrand. 

CHAPTER II

ONE OF THE FAMILY

"But, my dear chap, what bally rot! Anyone would think I'd never smoked apipe or handled a gun before, when I've done both for years. "

Noel Wyndham's smile was the most engaging part of him; it had the knackof disarming the most wrathful. It had served him many a time in the hourof retribution, and he never scrupled to make use of it. It was quite hismost valuable asset. 

"Don't be waxy, old chap, " he pleaded, slipping an affectionate handinside his brother-in-law's unresponsive arm. "I've been having such ahigh old time. And I'm not a bloomin' kid. I know what I'm about. "

"All very well, " Mordaunt said. "I don't object to anything in reason. But you are too fond of taking French leave with other people's property. That gun, for instance--"

"Oh, that's all right, " the boy assured him eagerly. "It kicks mostinfernally, but I soon got the trick of it after a bruise or two. I say, you haven't seen anything of that little devil Cinders? He's gone down arabbit-hole. Won't Chris be in a stew?"

Mordaunt possessed himself of the gun without further argument. "Thenyou'd better set to work and find him. Chris is going out thisafternoon. "

"In the motor?" Noel's eyes shone. "I'll go, too. You needn't botherabout Cinders. He always turns up sooner or later. Don't tell Chris, orshe'll spend the rest of the day hunting for him. "

"She will probably want to know, " observed Mordaunt. 

"I shall say I never had him, " said Noel unconcernedly. "He won't come toany harm, but you can turn that secretary fellow of yours on to the jobif you're feeling anxious. I say, Trevor, we shan't want the chauffeur. Tell them, will you?"

"You certainly won't go without him, " Mordaunt rejoined. "And look here, Noel, you're not to tell lies. Understand?"

Noel looked up with a flicker of temper in his Irish eyes, "Oh, rats!" hesaid. 

"Understand?" Mordaunt repeated. "It's the one thing I won't put up with, so make up your mind to that. "

He spoke quite temperately, but with unswerving decision. His eyes lookedhard into Noel's, and the boy's spark of resentment went out like anextinguished match. 

"I say, I like you!" he said with enthusiasm. "You're a regular sport!"

"Thank you, " Mordaunt returned gravely. 

"And what about Chris?" Noel proceeded mischievously. "Isn't she allowedto tell lies, either?"

Mordaunt stiffened. "Chris knows better. "

"Oh, does she?" Noel yelled derision. "My dear chap, you'll kill me! Why, she--she's about the worst of us. I never knew anyone lie quite likeChris when occasion arises. "

He broke off. Mordaunt had shaken his arm free with an abruptness not farremoved from violence. 

"That's enough, " he said sternly. "I don't advise you to say any moreupon that subject. "

"But I assure you it's the truth, " Noel protested. "She can look youstraight in the face and swear that black is white till you actuallybelieve it. I assure you she can. "

He spoke with such naïve admiration of the achievement that TrevorMordaunt, on the verge of anger, found himself checked suddenly by anirrepressible desire to laugh. 

Noel saw and seized upon his advantage. "But I daresay she wouldn't toyou. She gets everything she wants without. I must say you're jollydecent to all of us. I'm sorry I took your gun--didn't know it was oneyou particularly valued. I'd get one of my own only I'm so beastly hardup. I suppose you couldn't lend me a fiver now, could you?"

He tucked his hand back into Mordaunt's arm persuasively, and smiled hiswinning smile. "I'll pay you back--with interest--when I come of age. That'll be in five years. I wouldn't ask you if I couldn't. But I daresayChris can let me have it if you would rather not. "

"No!" Mordaunt said very decidedly. "There must be no borrowing fromChris. I will give you five pounds if you are wanting it, but not to buya gun with, and only on the understanding that for the future you come tome--and never to Chris--if you chance to be in difficulties. "

"Oh yes, I'll promise that, " said Noel readily. "But I don't want you tomake me a present, old chap. I shall pay up some day. You shall have anI O U. "

"Many thanks! I don't want one. " Mordaunt began to smile. "Just keepstraight and tell the truth, " he said. "That's all the return I want. "

"Really?" Noel's smile became a grin. "That's awfully decent of you. As amatter of fact, I don't believe even Chris could manage to deceive you. You're so beastly shrewd. But we'll call it a bargain if you like. Youwon't catch me trying to jockey you after this. "

"Very well, " Mordaunt said. "Then, on the strength of that, I want toknow if you have ever had any money from Chris before. "

"Why, of course I have!" Noel seemed surprised by the question. He spokewith the utmost frankness. 

"How much?"

Mordaunt's smile had departed. He did not look altogether pleased, butNoel was quite unimpressed. 

"Oh, goodness knows!" he said lightly. "She has my I O U's. "

"Which she must find very satisfying, " remarked Mordaunt. "Now look here, boy! There must be no more of this. You will have to keep within yourallowance in future. "

"My dear chap, it's all jolly fine--I can't!" protested Noel. "Why, Ionly get about twopence-halfpenny a term. It isn't enough to pay a cat'sexpenses, besides being always up to the eyes in debt. "

Mordaunt heaved a sigh of resignation. "I suppose I had better look intoyour affairs. Write down as clear a statement of your debts as you can, and let me have it. "

"I say--really?" Noel looked up eagerly. "You're not in earnest?"

"Yes, I am. And afterwards--you are to keep within your means, or if youdon't I must know the reason why. "

Noel grinned with cheery impudence. "You'll swish me, I suppose, toimprove my morals? Wish I had as many sovereigns as I've had swishings. They would keep me in clover for a year. "

Mordaunt laughed rather grimly. "I don't waste my time licking hardenedsinners like you. I've something better to do. "

Noel echoed his laugh with keen enjoyment. "You're rather a beast, but Ilike you. Have you paid Rupert's debts, too? He is always on the verge ofbankruptcy. Shouldn't wonder if Max is as well, but he keeps his affairsso dark. I expect he is in the hands of the money-lenders--I know Rupertwas years ago. "

"I don't think he is now, " Mordaunt said. 

"Don't you? What's the betting on that? He could no more keep out oftheir clutches than he could fly over the moon. I say"--he suddenly burstinto a peal of boyish laughter--"it's the funniest thing on earth to seeyou shouldering the family burdens. How you will wish you hadn't! Andthat French beggar you've adopted, too, who is safe to rob you sooner orlater! Why don't you start a home for waifs and strays at once? I'll helpyou run it. I'll do the accounts. "

Mordaunt laughed, in spite of himself. "Very kind of you! But I thinkthere are enough of you for the present. "

"All highly satisfactory, " grinned Noel. "What a pity you didn't marryAunt Philippa, I say! She would have been much more useful to you thanChris. Never thought of that, I suppose?"

"Never!" said Mordaunt. 

"Poor old Aunt Phil!" Noel chuckled afresh. "She would have been in herelement if you had only given her the chance. She hates us all likepoison. I suppose you know why?"

"Haven't an idea, " Mordaunt spoke repressively, "unless your generalbehaviour has something to do with it. "

"Oh, very likely it has, " Noel conceded. "But the chief reason was thatour father diddled her out of a lot of money. He was hard up, and she wasrolling. So he--borrowed a little. " He glanced at Mordaunt with a queergrimace. "Most unfortunately he didn't live to pay it back. I shouldn'ttell anyone this, but I don't mind telling you, as you are one of thefamily. "

"And who told you?" Mordaunt inquired. 

"Me? I overheard it. "

"How?"

The question came sternly, but Noel was sublimely unabashed. 

"The usual way. How does one generally overhear things? I hid behind ashutter once when Aunt Phil and Murdoch, our man of business, were havinga talk. She pitched it pretty strong, I can tell you. I should have feltquite sorry for the old girl if I hadn't known that her husband had lefther more than she could possibly know what to do with. As it was, I wasrather glad than otherwise, for she's disgustingly mean over trifles. Andpeople who can shell out and won't should be made to. "

Mordaunt received this axiom in silence. As a matter of fact he wassomewhat staggered by the information thus airily imparted. But he didnot question the truth of it. He only wondered that he had neverconsidered such a possibility before. 

Another shout of merriment from the boy at his side made him look round. "Well? What's the joke?"

"You!" yelled the youngster, between his paroxysms. "I'm awfully sorry. You're such a good sort. But I can't help it. I say, Trevor--aren't youglad just--that you're one of the family?"

Mordaunt aimed a blow at him that he evaded with ease. "If you don'tbehave yourself I shall use the privilege in a fashion you won't carefor, " he said, "even if it is a waste of time. "

At which threat Noel confidingly hooked his arm once more through that ofhis brother-in-law and begged him in a voice hoarse with laughter to stoprotting. 

CHAPTER III

DISASTER

Chris and Noel set off in the motor that afternoon in excellent spiritsto pay the projected call upon Mrs. Pouncefort. 

They found the lady of the house at home, and spent an animated hour withher; for although she never appeared to welcome her visitors or to exertherself in any degree to entertain them, most of them seemed to find itdifficult to get away. 

When they departed at length they carried with them an invitation to agarden _fête_ which had been arranged for the following week. It includedthe whole party, to Chris's great satisfaction. 

"It will be the very thing for Bertie, " she said. "It is just what heneeds. "

Noel, who entertained a sweeping prejudice against all foreigners, wasinclined to dispute this, and a lively argument ensued in consequence, which lasted during the greater part of the run home. 

Chris was at the wheel, being a fairly experienced driver by that time, though Mordaunt was very insistent that she should always have someoneresponsible by her side. On this occasion, however, Holmes, who wasacting as chauffeur, had been imperiously relegated to the back seat byNoel, who intended to have his turn before the end of the ride. He haddriven twice before under his brother-in-law's supervision, and heconsidered himself an expert. 

As soon as they were through the lodge-gates, therefore, he began toclamour to change places with Chris. The worried Holmes protested invain. Chris, though firmly refusing to sit behind, was quite willing togive her place at the wheel to her brother; and the change was speedilyeffected, remonstrance notwithstanding. 

"We can't come to any harm on our own drive, " was the carelessconsolation she threw to the perturbed man behind her, who then and theresolemnly swore to his inner soul that whatever the outcome of the venturehe would never again trust himself or the car to the tender mercies ofthe Wyndham family. 

Finding himself thus ignored, he stood up and leaned over the boy'sshoulder to give directions in the face of any sudden emergency thatmight arise, though Noel was obviously in no mood to pay any attention tothem. As he remarked later, when recounting the adventure, he knew in hisbones that there was going to be an accident; but the nature of it hecould hardly be expected to foresee. 

In fact, for a brief space all went well. The motor buzzed merrily alongthe drive, and it almost seemed as if the escapade would end withoutmishap, when, as they rounded the bend that led to the house, Noelunexpectedly put on speed. They shot forward at a great pace under thearching trees, and forthwith suddenly came disaster. Swift as a lightningflash it came--too swift for realization, almost too swift for sight. Itwas only a tiny, racing figure that darted for the fraction of a secondin front of the car, and then--with a squeal half-choked--was lost in therush of the wheels. It was only Cinders chasing a rabbit which he wasdestined never to catch. 

Chris's shriek of agony rang as far as the house. In another moment shewould have thrown herself headlong from the car, but Holmes was too quickfor her. Not in vain had Holmes been through a three-years' war; not invain did he hold himself responsible for the young wife of the masterwhom that war had taught him to love. Almost before she had sprung fromher seat he had caught her, forcing her down again, holding her by grimstrength from her mad purpose. She struggled with him fiercely, hysterically; but Holmes's grip never relaxed. She bore the marks of itupon her arms for weeks after. 

And while he held her, baffling her utmost efforts to free herself, hewas giving directions to Noel, whose nerve had departed completely withthe shock of the catastrophe, giving them over and over again--steadily, insistently, and very distinctly, till they took effect at last, thoughonly just in time. 

They were dangerously near the house before, in response to the boy'sfrantic efforts, the car slackened and finally, under Holmes's reiterateddirections, ran to a standstill. 

Chris, in a perfect frenzy by that time, wrenched herself free and sprangdown. Her husband, who had rushed from the house at her cry, was close toher as she reached the ground, but she sped away without so much asseeing him. 

Back up the drive she tore, back to the shadowing trees, back to thepiteous little blot in the shadow that was the only thing her worldcontained in that hour of anguish. 

When they reached her she was sunk on the ground beside her favourite, crying his name, while he, whimpering, strove to drag his mangled bodyinto her lap. She tried to lift him, but he yelped so terribly at hertouch that she was forced to let him lie. 

"Oh, Cinders, Cinders!" she cried, in an agony. "My little darling, whatshall I do?"

Someone stooped over her; a quiet hand lay upon her shoulder. "Chris, " itwas her husband's voice, very grave and tender, "come away, dear. Youcan't do anything. The poor little chap is past our help. "

She lifted a dazed face, staring uncomprehendingly. 

"Come away, " he repeated. 

But when he tried to raise her she resisted him. "And leave him likethis? No, never, never! Oh, Trevor, look--look! He is dying! Can't we dosomething--anything? Oh, he never cried like that before!"

"My dear, there is nothing that you can do. " Very gently he made answer. "He can't possibly live. There is only one thing to be done, and that isto put him out of his pain as quickly as possible. But I can't do itwith you here. So come away, dear! It's the kindest--in fact, it's theonly--thing you can do. "

"Are you going to--kill him?" gasped Chris in horror. 

He nodded, with compressed lips. "There is no alternative. We can't lethim suffer like this. "

"Oh no, no, no!" Chris cried. 

She would have thrown her arms about her darling, but he stopped her. Hecaught her wrists and held her back. 

"Chris, you must not! When animals are hurt they will bite withoutknowing what they are doing. Chris, do you hear me? You must go. "

But she would not. "Do you think I would leave him now--when he wants memost? And as if he would bite me--Cinders--Cinders--who never evengrowled at me!"

She bent over him again, beside herself with grief. Cinders, in the midstof his pain, tried gently to wag his tail. His brown eyes, faithful, appealing, full of love, gazed up at her. He had never seen his mistressin such trouble before, and the instinct to comfort her urged him eventhen, in the midst of his own. Again he made piteous efforts to crawlinto her arms, but again he failed, and fell back, whimpering. 

Chris covered her face. It was more than she could bear, and yet shecould not--could not--leave him. 

For a space that might have been minutes or only seconds she was leftalone, tortured but impotent. A dreadful darkness had fallen upon her, anumbness in which Cinders, suffering and slowly dying, was the onlyreality. 

Then again she became conscious of another presence. A quick hand touchedher. A soft voice spoke. 

"Ah, the poor Cinders! And he lives yet! _Chérie_, we will bekind to him, yes? We cannot make him live, but we will let him diequick--quick, so that he suffer no more. That is kind, that is merciful, _n'est-ce-pas_?"

She turned instinctively in answer to that voice. She held up her handsto the speaker like a child. "Oh, Bertie, " she cried piteously, "is therenothing to be done? Nothing?"

"Only that, _chérie_, " he made answer, very gently. 

"Then"--she was sobbing terribly, but she suffered his hands to raiseher--"don't let them--send me away, Bertie. I can't go--while he lives. It--it would hurt him more, if I went. "

"No, no, _chérie_, " he answered her reassuringly. "You will be brave, yes? See, I will hold your hand. We will go just across the road, butnot beyond his sight. He will see you. He will know that you are near. There--there, _chérie_! Shut your eyes! It will be finished soon. "

He put his arm around her, for she stumbled blindly. They went across theroad as he had said, and halted under the trees on the farther side. 

There followed a pause--an interval that was terrible--during which onlythe low crying of an animal in pain was audible. 

Bertrand stood like a rock, still holding her. "But you will not look, _chérie_, " he whispered to her softly. "It is deliverance--this death. Soon--soon he will not cry any more. "

She pressed her face against his shoulder, wrapped in the close securityof his arms, and waited, drawing each breath with difficulty, saying noword. 

She did not know what was happening, and she dared not look. She couldonly wait in anguish for the whimpering that tore her heart to cease. 

"Now, _chérie_!" whispered Bertrand at last, and she stiffened in hisarms, preparing for she knew not what. 

His hold tightened. For that instant he pressed her hard against hisheart, so that she heard its quick beating. 

The next there came a loud report--a sound that violently rent herstretched nerves, shattering them as glass is shattered by a stone. Shedrooped without sound like a broken flower, and the young Frenchmangathered her up, just as he had done on the occasion of their firstmeeting at Valpré, and bore her away. 

CHAPTER IV

GOOD-BYE TO CHILDHOOD

Out of the dreadful darkness Chris groped her halting way, saw light, and, shuddering, closed her eyes again. But at once a voice spoke to her, soothingly, tenderly, calling her back. 

Reluctantly she responded, reluctantly she returned to fullconsciousness, and knew that she was lying fully dressed upon a couch inthe drawing-room. But at sight of her husband's face bending above hershe shuddered again--a painful, convulsive shudder that shook her fromhead to foot. 

He laid a quiet hand on her head, but she shrank away. "Please, Trevor"--she faltered--"please, I want to be alone. "

"Yes, dear, " he made gentle reply. "Just drink this first, and I willleave you. "

But she withdrew herself almost violently; she buried her face deep inthe cushion. "I can't! I can't! Please don't ask me to. I am quite allright. I only want--to be alone. "

She was shaking all over as one with an ague, and her words were hardlyarticulate. He waited a little for her trembling to pass, but it onlyincreased till her whole body seemed to twitch uncontrollably. At lastwith the utmost quietness he stooped and deliberately raised her. 

"Chris, my dear little girl, you mustn't let yourself go like this. Iwant you to take this stuff to steady you. Afterwards you will have asleep and be better. "

She did not absolutely resist him, but he felt her nervous contraction athis touch. The face she turned to his was ghastly in its pallor. 

"I--I don't think I can, Trevor, " she said, speaking very rapidly. "Mythroat won't swallow. It would only choke me. Please--please, if youdon't mind--go away. I shall be all right if--if you will only go. "

"I can't leave you like this, " he said. 

"Yes, yes, you can, " she answered feverishly. "Oh, what does it matter?Trevor, I must be alone. I must! I must! Please go!"

Her agitation was growing with every second, and he saw that he mustyield. He laid her back again without a word, smoothed the cushions, touched her hair, and softly departed. 

She listened tensely for the closing of the door, relaxing instantly themoment she heard it. A great darkness descended upon her soul. She laymotionless, face downwards, too stunned for thought. 

A long time passed. It was growing late. Over the quiet garden the summerdusk was falling. The swallows were swooping through it in theirmultitudes--the swallows that Cinders loved to chase. To-night no cheery, impudent bark pursued their flight. To-night all was still. 

Did they miss him? she began to wonder dully. Did they ask each otherwhere he had gone? And then, half-consciously, she began to listen forhim, the scamper of the light feet, the gay jingle of his collar, till ina moment she almost fancied that she heard him scratching at the door. 

She was half off the sofa before realization stabbed her, and she sankback numbly into her desolation. 

Again a long time passed--an interval not to be measured by hours orminutes. The swallows ceased to circle and went to roost. It began to bedark. And still Chris lay alone, a huddled, motionless figure, prostrate, crushed, inanimate. Her hands and feet were like ice, but she did notknow it. She was past caring for such trifles. All her abounding vitalityseemed to be arrested, as if her very blood had ceased to circulate. 

It was growing late when the door opened at last. A figure stood a momentupon the threshold, then entered, moving with a quick, light tread thatmight have been the tread of a woman. In the darkness it reached her, bent over her. 

"_Ah, pauvre petite_!" said a soft voice, a voice so full of compassionthat it thrilled straight to her silent heart and made it beat again. "All alone with your grief! You permit me to intrude myself, no?"

She turned and felt up towards him with an icy hand. "Bertie!" she said. "You--might have come before!"

He knelt swiftly down beside her, pressing the little trembling fingersagainst his neck to give them warmth. "But you are so cold!" he said. "You must not lie here any more. "

"Why not?" she said dully. "I don't think it matters, does it?"

"But of course!" he made quick rejoinder. "When you suffer we sufferalso. Also"--he paused an instant--"Mr. Mordaunt awaits you, _petite_. Will you not go to him?"

She shivered. "Need I, Bertie? I don't want to. "

It was the cry of a child--a child in distress--plunged for the firsttime in the bitter waters of grief, turning instinctively to the friendof childhood for comfort. "I don't want anyone but you, " she saidpiteously. "You understand. You loved him--and Trevor didn't. "

"Oh, but, Christine--" Bertrand began. 

"No, he didn't!" she maintained, with sudden vehemence. "I always knew hedidn't. He put up with him for my sake; but he never loved him. He nevernoticed his pretty little ways. Once--once"--she began to sob--"it was onour wedding-day--he slapped him--for chasing a cat! My sweet weeCinders!"

She broke down utterly upon the words, and there followed such a storm oftears that Bertrand was forced to abandon all attempts to reason withher, and could only kneel and whisper soft endearments in his ownlanguage, soothing her, comforting her, as though she were indeed thechild she seemed. 

But it was long before she even heard him, not until the paroxysm hadspent itself and she lay passive and utterly exhausted, with her handsfast clasped in his. 

"You are good to me, " she murmured then, and in a moment, "Why, Bertie, you're crying too!"

"Ah, pardon me!" he whispered, under his breath. "But to see you in pain, my little one, my bird of Paradise--"

"No, " she said, a strange note of conviction in her voice, "I shall neverbe that any more now that Cinders is gone. I shan't be young like thatany more. I--I shall grow up now, Bertie. I daresay Trevor will like methe better for it. But you won't, dear. You will be sorry, I know. We'vebeen playfellows always, haven't we, even though you grew up and Ididn't? Well"--there came a sharp catch in her voice--"we shall both begrown-up now. "

And then, all in a moment, as if some panic urged her, she started up, drawing his hands close. "But we'll be friends still, won't we, Bertie?You won't talk of going away any more, will you? Promise me! Promise me, Bertie!"

He hesitated. "It might be better that I should go, " he said slowly. "Itis possible that--"

She interrupted him almost hysterically. "Oh no, no, no! I want you here. I want you, Bertie, Don't you understand?"

"But yes, " he said. "Only, _petite_--"

"You will promise, then?" she broke in, as though she had not heard thelast words. "Bertie, I'm so miserable. You--you--wouldn't add to it all!"

"No, _chérie_, by Heaven, no!" he said, with vehemence. 

"Then you'll stay, Bertie? You will stay?" Very earnestly she besoughthim. Her tears were dropping on his hands. "Say you will!"

For a moment longer he hesitated; he tried to resist her, he tried totake a sane and temperate view. But those tears were too much for him. They were the one torture he could not endure. With a sharp gesture heflung his hesitation from him. Yet even then he left himself a way ofescape lest the temptation should be more than he could bear. 

"I will stay, " he made grave reply, "as long as it would make you happyto have me with you--that is"--he checked himself--"if Mr. Mordauntdesire it also. "

"But of course he does, " said Chris. "He likes you. And I--I can't dowithout you, Bertie--not now. "

He heard the desolate note in her voice, and he did not contradict her. Had he not sworn that while she needed him he would be at hand?

"_Eh bien_, " he said soothingly. "I stay. "

That comforted her somewhat, and presently, at his persuasion, she sat upand dried her eyes. It was too dark for them to see each other, but sheheld his hand very tightly; and there was comfort also in that. 

"Now you will come away from here, " he said. "Mr. Mordaunt is verytroubled about you. He would not come to you himself because he thoughtthat you did not desire him. But that was not true, no?"

Again that hard shudder went through Chris. She was silent for a little, them "Oh, Bertie, " she whispered, "I wish--I wish--it hadn't been hewho--who--" she broke off--"you know what I mean. You--saw!"

Yes, he knew. It was what Mordaunt himself had suspected, and loyally heentered the breach on his friend's behalf. 

"_Chérie_--pardon me--that is not a good wish--not worthy of you. Thatwhich he did was most merciful, most brave, and he did it himself becausehe would not trust another. I wish it had been my hand--not his. Then youwould have understood. "

"I almost wish it had been!" whispered Chris; and then, her wordsscarcely audible, "But--but do you think--he--knew?"

"_Le pauvre Cinders_?" Very softly Bertrand spoke the dog's name. "No, Christine. He did not know. His head was turned the other way. His eyesregarded only you. And Mr. Mordaunt was so quiet, so steady. He aim hisrevolver quite straight, and his hand tremble--no, not once. Oh, believeme, _petite_, it was better to end it so. "

"Yes, I know, only--only"--convulsively her hands closed uponhis--"Bertie--Bertie--dogs do go to heaven, don't they?"

"I believe it, Christine. "

"You do really--not just because I want you to?"

He drew her gently to her feet. "_Chérie_, I believe it, because I knowthat all love is eternal, and death is only an incident in eternity. Where there is love there is no death. Nothing that loves can die. It isthe Divine Spark that nothing can ever quench. "

He spoke with absolute conviction, almost with exultation; and the wordswent straight to Chris's heart and stayed there. 

"You do comfort me, " she said. 

"I only tell you the truth, " he made answer, "as I see it. We do not yetknow the power of Love. We only know that it is the greatest of all. Itis _le bon Dieu_ in the world. And we meet Him everywhere--even in theheart of a dog. "

"I shall remember that, " she said. 

Her hand still clung to his as they groped their way across the room. Atthe door for a moment she stayed him. 

"I shall never forget your goodness to me, Bertie, never--never!" shesaid, very earnestly. 

"Ah, bah!" he answered quickly. "But we are--pals!"

And with that he opened the door, almost as if impatient, and made herpass before him into the hall. 

The lamplight dazzled Chris, and she stood for a moment uncertain. Then, as her eyes became accustomed to the change, she discovered her husband, standing a few yards away, looking at her. 

He did not speak, merely held out his hand to her; and she went to himwith a vagrant feeling of reluctance. 

He put his arm about her, looking gravely into her wan face; but sheturned from his scrutiny and leaned her head against his shoulder with apiteous little murmur of protest. 

"Do you mind if I go to bed, Trevor?" she said, after a moment. "I--I'mvery tired, and I don't want any dinner. "

"You must have something, dear, " he made answer, "but have it in bed byall means. I will bring it up to you in half an hour. "

She made a slight movement which might have meant dissent, but whichremained unexplained. For a little she stood passive, leaning against himas though she lacked the energy to go, but at length she made a move. Glancing round, she saw that Bertrand had departed. 

"Where is Noel?" she asked. 

"In his room. "

She looked up sharply, detecting a hint of grimness in his voice. "Trevor"--she halted a little--"are you--vexed with anybody?"

His face softened at her tone. "Never mind now, dear, " he said. "You areworn out. Get to bed. "

She put her hand to her head with a weary gesture. "But why--why is Noelin his room?"

"Because I sent him there. "

"You!" She stared at him, fully roused from her lethargy. "Trevor! Why?"

"I will tell you tomorrow, " he said, frowning slightly. "I can't have youupset any more tonight. "

"But, Trevor--"

"Chris, dear, go to bed, " he said firmly. "If I don't find you there inhalf an hour, I shall put you there myself. "

"Oh no!" she broke in. "Please don't come up. I shall get on betteralone. And I have to say goodnight to Noel first. "

"I am sorry, dear, " he said, "but you can't. Noel is in disgrace, and Iwould rather you did not see him to-night. "

"In disgrace! Trevor--why?"

He put his arm deliberately round her again, and led her to the stairs. 

"Tell me why, " she said. 

"I will tell you tomorrow, " he repeated. 

But she would not be satisfied. She turned upon the first stair, confronting him. "Tell me now, please, Trevor. "

He raised his brows at her insistence. 

"Yes, " she said in answer, "but I want to know. You don't--youcan't--blame him for--for--" she faltered and bit her lipdesperately--"you know what, " she ended under her breath. 

"I do blame him, " he answered quietly. "I forbade him strictly to attemptto drive without someone of experience beside him. "

"Oh!" A sharp note of misgiving sounded in Chris's voice. "You said thatto me too!" she said. 

He looked at her very gravely. "I did. "

"Then--then"--she stretched a hand to the bannisters--"you are angry withme too?"

"No, I am not angry with you, " he said, and she was conscious of a subtlesoftening in his tone. "I am never angry with you, Chris, " he saidemphatically. 

"And yet you are angry with Noel, " she said. 

"That is different. "

"How--different?"

He took her hand into his. "Do you know he nearly killed you?"

She started a little. "Me?"

He nodded grimly. "Yes. If it had been only himself, it wouldn't havemattered. But you--you!"

His arms went out to her suddenly; he caught her to him, held herpassionately close for a moment, then lifted her and began to carry herupstairs. 

She lay against his breast in quivering silence. It seemed that Cindersdid not matter either so long as she was safe; and though she knew beyondall question that he was not angry with her, she was none the lessafraid. 

CHAPTER V

THE LOOKER-ON

"I think that it should be remembered that he is young, " said Bertrand, "also that he has been punished enough severely already. "

He leaned back in an easy-chair with a cigarette which he had suffered togo out between his fingers, and watched Mordaunt pacing up and down. 

Mordaunt made no pretence of smoking. He walked to and fro with his handsbehind him, his brows drawn in thought, his mouth very grim. 

"My good fellow, he will have forgotten all that by to-morrow, " he said, with a faint, hard smile. "I know these Wyndhams. "

"I also, " said Bertrand quietly. 

Mordaunt glanced at him. "Well?"

The Frenchman hesitated momentarily. "I think, " he said, "that you willfind them more easy to lead than to drive. "

Mordaunt's frown deepened. "They are all so hopelessly lawless, soutterly unprincipled. As for lying, this boy at least thinks nothing ofit. "

"Ah, that is detestable, that!" Bertrand said. "But he would not lie toyou unless you made him afraid, _hein_?"

"He lies whenever it suits his purpose, " Mordaunt said. "He would havelied about the speed of the motor if I would have listened to him. But itis his disobedience I am dealing with now. If I don't give that boy thesound thrashing he deserves for defying my orders, he will never obey meagain. "

Bertrand's eyes, very bright and vigilant, opened a little. "ButChristine!" he said. 

"Yes, I know. " Mordaunt came to a sudden halt. "Chris also must learnthat when I say a thing I mean it, " he said. 

"Without doubt, " the Frenchman conceded gravely. "But that is not allthat you want. And surely it would be better to be a little lenient toher brother than to alienate her confidence from yourself. "

He spoke impressively, so impressively that Mordaunt turned and looked athim with close attention. Several seconds passed before, very quietly, hespoke. 

"What makes you say this to me, Bertrand?"

"Because you are my friend, " Bertrand answered. 

"And you think my wife is afraid of me?"

Bertrand's eyes met his with the utmost directness. "I think that shemight very easily become afraid. "

Mordaunt looked at him for several seconds longer, then deliberatelypulled up a chair, and sat facing him. 

"In Heaven's name, Bertrand, why?" he said. 

Bertrand made a quick gesture, almost as if he would have checked thequestion, but when it was uttered he sat in silence. 

"You can't tell me?" Mordaunt said at last. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "If you desire it, I will tell you what Ithink. "

"Tell me, then. "

A faint flush rose in Bertrand's face. He contemplated the end of hiscigarette as if he were studying something of interest. "I think, monsieur, " he said at last, "that if you asked more of her, you wouldobtain more. She is afraid of you because she does not know you. Youregard her as a child. You are never on a level with her. You are notenough her friend. Therefore you do not understand her. Therefore shedoes not know you. Therefore she is--afraid. "

His eyes darted up to Mordaunt's grave face for an instant, and returnedto the cigarette. 

There followed a silence of some duration. At last very quietly Mordauntrose, went to the mantelpiece, helped himself to a cigarette, and beganto search for matches. 

Bertrand sprang up to proffer one of his own. They stood close togetherwhile the flame kindled between them. After a moment their eyes metthrough a cloud of smoke. Bertrand's held a tinge of anxiety. 

"I have displeased you, no?" he asked abruptly. 

Mordaunt leaned a friendly hand upon his shoulder. "On the contrary, I amgrateful to you. I believe there is something in what you say. I nevergave you credit for so much perception. "

Bertrand's face cleared. He began to smile--the smile of the rider whohas just cleared a difficult obstacle. 

"You have a proverb in England, " he said, "concerning those who watch thegame, that they see more than those who play. Shall we say that it isthus with me? You and Christine are my very good friends, and I know youboth better than you know each other. "

"I believe you do, " Mordaunt said, smiling faintly himself. "Well, Isuppose I must let the youngster off his thrashing for her sake. I wonderif he has gone to bed. " He glanced at the clock. "It's time you went, anyhow. You are looking fagged to death. Go and sleep as long as youcan. "

He gripped the Frenchman's hand, looking at him with a kindly scrutinywhich Bertrand refused to meet. He never encouraged any reference to hishealth. 

"I am all right, " he said with emphasis, but he returned the hand-gripwith a warmth that left no doubt as to the cordiality of his feelings. Hewas ever too polished a gentleman to be discourteous. 

Left alone, Mordaunt sat down at his writing-table to clear off some workwhich he had taken out of his secretary's hands earlier in the day. Itwas midnight before he finished, and even then he sat on for a long timedeep in thought. 

It was probably true, what Bertrand had said. Tenderly as he loved hisyoung wife, he had not succeeded in winning her confidence. There was nofriendship between them in the most intimate sense of the word, and soshe feared him. His love was to her a consuming flame from which sheshrank. Bitterly he admitted the fact, since there was no ignoring it. She was frightened at the very existence of his passion, restrain it howhe would. She was his and yet not his. She eluded him, even when he heldher in his arms. 

His thoughts travelled backwards, recalling incident after incident, allpointing to the same thing. And yet he knew that he had been patient withher. He had held himself in check perpetually. And here again Bertrand'swords recurred to him. If he had asked more, might he not have obtainedmore? Was it possible that he had failed to win her because he had notlet her feel the compulsion of his love? Was it perchance his veryrestraint that frightened her? Had he indeed asked too little?

Again his thoughts went back and dwelt upon their wedding-night. He hadkindled some answering flame within her then. She had not attempted towithhold herself. The memory of her shy surrender swept over him, settingthe blood leaping in his veins anew. She had been his that night, and histhroughout the brief fortnight that followed. They had been very intentupon the renovations, and no cloud had even shadowed their horizon. Howwas it she had slipped away from him since? Was it the advent of thattempestuous youngster that had caused the change? Undoubtedly Chris wasless a Wyndham when alone with him. Or was there some other cause, arising possibly from some hidden fluctuation of mood, some restlessnessof the spirit, of which he had had no warning? Her aunt's declarationthat they were all lacking in stability recurred to him. Was it so withher? Was she fickle, was she changeable, his little Chris?

Her own words came back to him, uttered with tears upon her wedding-day:"Don't you often think me silly and fickle? You'll find it more and more, the more you see of me. You'll be horribly disappointed in me some day. "

He rose abruptly. No, that day had not dawned yet. If she had slippedaway from him, he, and he alone, was to blame. He had not won thefriendship which alone brings trust, and he knew now that he could nothold her without it. As Bertrand had said, he had not been enough herfriend. Even now she was probably crying herself ill in solitude over theloss of Cinders. 

The thought quickened him to action. He turned out the light, and wentswiftly from the room. 

Upstairs, outside her door, he stopped to listen, but he heard no sound. She had cried herself to sleep, then, and he had not been there tocomfort her. His heart smote him. Had she deemed him unsympathetic? Shehad seemed to wish to be alone, and for that reason he had left her assoon as he had satisfied himself that she had all she needed in aphysical sense. She had not wanted him. She had shrunk from his touch. She had probably seen him go with relief. But--he asked himself thequestion with sudden misgiving--would it have been better if he hadignored her evident desire and stayed? He had feared exhaustion for herand had avoided any word or action that might have led to a renewal ofher grief. Had he seemed to think too lightly of her sorrow? Had she beenrepelled by his very forbearance?

He passed on softly to his own room. The door that led from this intohers was ajar. He pushed it a little wider, and looked in. 

It was lighted only by the moon, which threw a flood of radiance throughthe wide-flung windows. Every object in the room stood out in strongrelief. Standing motionless in the doorway, Trevor Mordaunt sought andfound his wife. 

She was lying with her face to the moonlight, her hair streaming loose, the bedclothes pushed off her shoulders. 

And there beside her, curled up in a big easy-chair, his black headlodged against her pillow, one hand clasped close in hers, lay Noel. Bothhad been crying, both were asleep. 

For many seconds Mordaunt stood upon the threshold, gravely watchingthem, but he made no movement to draw nearer. At last noiselessly hewithdrew, and closed the door. 

The grimness had all gone from his face. He even smiled a little as heresigned himself to spending the night in his own room. The idea ofdisturbing the brother and sister never crossed his mind. It was enoughfor him that Chris had found comfort. 

CHAPTER VI

A BARGAIN

"Luck!" said Rupert gloomily. "There never is any where I am concerned. "

This in response to a question from his brother-in-law as to the generalprogress of his affairs. He sat in Mordaunt's writing-room, with one ofMordaunt's cigars between his lips, and a decidedly sullen expression onhis good-looking face. 

"I'm sick of everything, " he declared. "I'm going to chuck the Army. It'snever done anything for me. There's no chance of active service, and Iloathe garrison work. "

"The only question being, what else are you fit for?" said Mordaunt. 

Rupert threw him a quick look. "I'll be your bailiff, if you like, " hesaid. "I could do that. "

Mordaunt raised his brows at the suggestion. "That is an idea that neveroccurred to me, " he remarked. 

"Why not? You want a bailiff, don't you?"

"A reliable one, " said Mordaunt. 

Rupert jumped in his chair as if he had been stung. "What the devil doyou mean?"

"I mean"--Mordaunt regarded him steadily--"that I shouldn't care to trustmy affairs to a man who can't look after his own. "

Rupert's eyes flashed. "I am not to be trusted, then?"

Mordaunt continued to regard him, quite unmoved. 

"You had better ask yourself that question, my dear fellow, " he said. "You are better qualified to answer it than I am. "

Rupert relaxed again, dropping back listlessly. "I suppose you are right. I certainly don't make a great success of things. I believe I should geton better with you than with anyone else. But if you feel like that aboutit, there is no more to be said. "

"You really want to be taken seriously, do you?" Mordaunt said. 

"Of course I do!" Rupert turned towards him again with the lightningchange of mood characteristic of him. "You must forgive me for being abit touchy, old chap. It's this infernal thundery weather. May I haveanother drink?" He helped himself without waiting for permission. "Ofcourse I want to be taken seriously. It's a billet that would suit medown to the ground. I know the place, every inch of it, and, as you know, I'm fond of it. I would look after your interests as though they were myown. "

Mordaunt smiled. "But do you look after your own?"

Rupert clinked some ice into his tumbler, and thoughtfully watched itfloat. 

"You've been so jolly decent to me, " he said at length, "that I haven'tthe face to bother you with my affairs again. "

"I suppose that means you are in difficulties, " his brother-in-lawremarked. 

He nodded without looking up. "I'm never out of 'em. It's not my fault. It's my beastly bad luck. "

"Of course, " said Mordaunt dryly. 

Rupert bobbed the ice against his glass and spilt some whisky-and-waterin so doing. He looked decidedly uncomfortable. 

"I can't help it, " he said. "I was born in Queer Street, and I've livedthere all my life. You fellows who are simply rolling in wealth haven'tthe smallest notion what it means. "

"What is the good of saying that?" Mordaunt sounded impatient for thefirst time. "You know as well as I do that if you had twenty thousand ayear you would spend twice the amount. "

Rupert glanced at him sideways. "Hullo!" he said softly. "Beginning tosize us up, are you?"

"I'm beginning to think"--Mordaunt spoke with force--"that your sense ofhonour is as much a minus quantity as your wealth. "

"Honour!" Rupert looked up in genuine astonishment. 

"Yes, honour, " Mordaunt repeated grimly. "Do you call it honourable torun up debts that you have no possibility of paying?"

Rupert turned crimson. "Look here! I'm not going to stay here to beinsulted, " he said hotly. "I haven't asked for your help, and I'm damnedif I'd take it if you offered it--after that. "

He was on his feet with the words, but Mordaunt remained seated. "You cando as you like, " he said quietly. "If you choose to take offence, that isyour affair. I helped you before because I knew you were hard up and Iwas sorry for you. But there is no occasion for you to be hard up now. And I am not sorry for you this time. I think you deserve to be kicked. "

"You be damned!" said Rupert fiercely. 

Mordaunt's brows went up. He looked full into the boy's heated face, andthough he said no word Rupert turned slowly white under the look. In thedead silence that followed he stood as tense as though he expected ablow. Yet Mordaunt made no movement, spoke no word. 

It was Rupert who broke the silence finally, broke it hurriedly, stammeringly, as though it had become unbearable. "All right, old chap. Ididn't mean quite that. But you--you shouldn't badger me. I'm not used toit. "

"Sit down, " Mordaunt said. 

He obeyed awkwardly, and to cover his discomfiture took up his glass todrink. But before it reached his lips Mordaunt spoke again. 

"Rupert!"

He started a little, and again the liquid splashed over. 

"Put that down!" Mordaunt said. 

Again dumbly he obeyed. 

Mordaunt leaned forward and drew the glass out of his reach. "It hasnever been my intention to badger you, " he said. "But I reserve to myselfthe privilege of telling you the truth. That is the fourth drink I haveseen you mix this afternoon. "

"I'm perfectly sober, " Rupert asserted quickly. 

"Yes, I know. But you are not as cool as you might be. " Very keenlyMordaunt's eyes surveyed him, but they were not without a hint ofkindness notwithstanding. "I mustn't call you a young fool, I suppose, "he said, "but really you are not overwise. Now, what about these affairsof yours? Shall we go into them now or after tea?"

Rupert shrugged his shoulders sullenly. "I don't know that I care to gointo them at all. "

The kindliness went out of Mordaunt's eyes and a certain steeliness tookits place. "As you like, " he said. "Only let it be clearly understoodthat I will have no borrowing from Chris. I have forbidden her to lendmoney to any one of you. If you want it, you must come direct to me. "

Rupert shifted his position, and looked out of the window. Down in thegarden Chris was dispensing tea to three of his brother-subalterns, assisted by Noel. Bertrand was seated by her side, alert and watchful, ready at a moment's notice to come to her aid. It was his customaryattitude, and it had been so more than ever since the death of Cinders. There was a protecting brotherliness about him that Chris foundinfinitely comforting: He understood her so perfectly. 

She had not wanted to emerge from her seclusion to entertain herbrother's friends on that sunny Sunday afternoon, but he had gentlypersuaded her. A change had come over Chris during the past four days. The violence of her grief had spent itself on the night that she and Noelhad mingled their tears over the loss of their favourite, and she had notalluded to it since. She accepted her husband's sympathy with gratitude, but she shrank so visibly from the smallest allusion to her trouble thathe found no opportunity for expressing it. He would not intrude it uponher. It was not his way, and she made him aware that for this also shewas grateful. 

But it was plainly from Bertrand that she drew her chief comfort. Hisvery presence seemed to soothe her. He was just the friend she needed tohelp her through her dark hour. 

That she fretted secretly Mordaunt could not doubt, but she was sozealous to hide all traces of it from him that he never detected them. Heonly missed her gay wilfulness and the sunshine of her smile. Sheresponded to his tenderness even more readily than usual, but she did notopen her heart to him. There seemed to be a barrier intervening that shecould not bring herself to pass. 

In his own mind he set this fact down to a certain feminineunreasonableness, imagining that she could not forget his share in thetragedy that had affected her so deeply. He trusted to time to soften thepainful impression, and meanwhile, with his habitual patience, he sethimself to wait till the physical strain had passed and the verysweetness of her nature should bring her back to him. He knew that allBertrand's influence would be exercised in this direction, and his faithin his young secretary's discretion was considerable. Their briefconversation on the night of the disaster had rooted it more firmly thanever. Bertrand was so essentially a man of honour that he trusted him inall things as he trusted himself. Their code was the same, and theirfriendship of the kind that endures for life. If there were one thing onearth before all others upon which Trevor Mordaunt would have staked hisall, it was this Frenchman's loyalty to himself. He was as staunch asChris's brothers were unstable. He believed him to be utterly incapableof so much as an underhand impulse. And he was content that Chris shouldhave for friend this man who was so close a friend of his own, upon whosenobility of character he had come to rely as a power for good that couldnot fail to raise her ideals and deepen in her that sense of honour whichwas still scarcely more than an undeveloped instinct in her soul. 

His eyes followed Rupert's to the open window. The sound of chaffingvoices rose clearly on the summer air, mingled with the chink oftea-cups. 

"Shall we go?" Mordaunt said. 

Rupert looked round with a laugh. "Did you see that ass Murphy stand onhis head to drink his tea? It's his pet accomplishment. Yes, all right;let's go. "

He got up, glanced at the whisky-and-soda on the table, then impulsivelylinked his arm in that of his brother-in-law, all his sullenness gonelike a storm-cloud. 

"You're quite right, old fellow. I have had as much of that stuff as isgood for me. Forgive me for being such a bear. I didn't mean it. "

Mordaunt paused. He had never dealt with anyone quite so bewilderinglychangeable before. "I wish I knew how to treat you, " he said, after amoment. 

"Oh, pitch into me! It's the only way. " Rupert's smile flashed suddenlyupon him. "I've been an ungrateful brute, and I'm ashamed of myself. Seriously, Trevor, I'm sorry. I sometimes think to myself it's downrightdisgusting the way we all sponge on you. It's deuced good of you to putup with it. "

Mordaunt still regarded him with close attention. But there was no doubtin his mind as to the boy's sincerity: he only wondered how long thiscontrite mood would last. 

"I am always willing to help you to the best of my ability, " he said. "But I think you might play the game. I can't keep pouring water into asieve. "

"It's not to be expected, " Rupert agreed. "And I hate asking you for moremoney. I'm an absolute cur to do it. But--" he broke off, and pulled hishand free--"for goodness' sake, man, if you can--just this once--"

Mordaunt crossed the room to his writing-table, unlocked a drawer, tookout a cheque-book. 

"How much?"

"I say, you are a good chap!" Rupert protested. "Can you make it ahundred?"

"Will that settle everything?" Mordaunt asked. 

"Oh, well--practically everything. "

Mordaunt wrote the cheque in silence. He handed it over his shoulderfinally to the boy behind him. 

"It's for a hundred and fifty. I hope that will see you through. And lookhere, Rupert, do for Heaven's sake pull up and keep within bounds. I amquite willing to help you to a reasonable extent, but you must do yourpart, too. You are living at an insane rate. Do you keep an account ofyour expenditure?"

"Of course I don't!" Rupert seemed astonished at the question. "What onearth would be the good of that? It wouldn't reduce my expenses. "

Mordaunt laid his cheque-book back in the drawer. "And you think youwould make a good bailiff?" he said. 

"Oh, that's different. Of course, you must have accounts for themanagement of an estate. You would have no cause to complain of me there. Are you going to think it over, I say?"

Mordaunt turned in his chair. "You really wish me to do so?"

"Rather!" Rupert spoke with enthusiasm. "If you knew how deadly sick I amof the life I live now!" he added, with strong disgust. "It's beastlyhard work, too, in a sense, and nothing to show for it. "

"I should work you hard myself, " Mordaunt observed. 

"I shouldn't mind that. I'd work like a horse here. It's what I've alwayswanted to do. "

"And kick like a horse, too, if I ventured to find fault, " said Mordaunt, smiling a little. 

"No, I shouldn't. I'd take it like a lamb. Come, man, I've apologized. "

There was a note of reproach in Rupert's voice. Mordaunt left hiswriting-table and faced him squarely. 

"I'll make a bargain with you, " he said. "If you can manage to keepstraight between now and Christmas, and you are of the same mind then, Iwill take you on. Is it done?"

Rupert thrust out a hand with a beaming countenance. "Done, old fellow!And a thousand thanks! I'll do my part somehow if it kills me. Hullo, Isay! There's Chris calling! Hadn't we better go?"

He was plainly desirous to end the interview, and Mordaunt did not seekto prolong it. "Come along, then!" he said. And they went out togetherarm-in-arm to join the group upon the lawn. 

Two hours later, just before Rupert and his friends started upon theirreturn journey, Bertrand happened to enter Mordaunt's writing-room, andwas surprised to find the eldest Wyndham standing by the table with aglass of whisky-and-soda to his lips. 

The surprise was mutual, and on Rupert's side so violent that he droppedthe glass, which shivered upon the floor. He uttered a fierce exclamationas he recognized the intruder. 

Bertrand was profuse in his apologies. "But I had no idea that there wasanyone here! A thousand pardons, Mr. Wyndham! It was unfortunate--butvery unfortunate. I am come only for Mr. Mordaunt's keys, which he lefthere by accident. I will ring for Holmes. He will remove this _débris_. And you will have another drink, yes?"

"I can't wait, " Rupert said, almost inarticulately. 

He remained standing at the table trying to compose himself, but he waswhite to the lips. 

Bertrand regarded him with quick concern. "Ah, but how I have alarmedyou!" he said. "My shoes are of canvas, and they make no sound. Will you, then, sit down for a moment, while I pour out another glass of whisky?"

He drew forward a chair with much solicitude, and took up a fresh glass. But Rupert swung away, turning his back upon him. 

Prom the front of the house came the hoot of the waiting motor. Plainlyhis comrades were waxing impatient. 

"But you will drink before you go?" urged the courteous Frenchman. "I amdesolated to have deprived you--"

Rupert turned his face for an instant over his shoulder. It was no longerwhite, but crimson and convulsed with anger. His hands were clenched. 

"Oh, go to the devil!" he cried violently, and with the words stampedfuriously from the room. 

Bertrand was left staring after him, petrified with amazement--tooastounded to be angry. 

At the end of a lengthy pause he turned and pocketed Mordaunt's keys, andrang the bell for Holmes to clear up the mess on the floor. 

"_Mais ces anglais_!" he murmured to himself, with a whimsical shrug ofthe shoulders. "_Comme ils sont drôles_!"

CHAPTER VII

THE ENEMY

Mrs. Pouncefort's garden-party was an annual affair of some importance towhich everyone, from the County downwards, was bidden, and from whichvery few absented themselves. 

The Pouncefort entertainments were generally upon a lavish scale, werealso largely attended by the military element of Sandacre society, andwere invariably described in the local journals as "very smart affairs. "

Had Chris been in her normal spirits she would have hailed the occasionwith delight. She knew a good many people in the neighbourhood, and shewas sure to meet all her friends there. It was, moreover, for this thatshe had successfully angled for an invitation for Bertrand. But when theday came she would have given a good deal for a legitimate excuse forremaining at home. The weather was hot, and she felt weary anddisinclined for gaiety. 

She said no word of her reluctance, however, for Bertrand had acceptedhis inclusion in the invitation with docility, and since she had decidedthat a little social change would be good for him, she would not drawback herself lest he should be tempted to do likewise. 

Bertrand was her chief thought just then. She knew that her husband wasdissatisfied with regard to his health, and undoubtedly he looked farfrom well, though he himself invariably declared that it was only theheat, and persistently refused to see a doctor. Not even Chris couldshake this resolution of his, and he was so distressed when Mordauntwould not let him work that to keep him quiet Mordaunt was obliged to lethim do a little. He made it as little as he could, however, and Bertrandspent a good deal of his time in the garden with Chris in consequence. 

It certainly cheered her to have him, and for that reason he was the lessinclined to rebel against the edict that sent him there. They had begunto read French together, Chris having developed a sudden keenness for thelanguage which he was delighted to encourage. That the original idea hadbeen devised for his pleasure he shrewdly suspected, but the carrying outof it contributed undoubtedly to her own. It occupied her thoughts andenergies, and that was what she needed just then. 

He knew perfectly well that she was as disinclined for social amusementsas he was himself, but the same motive that prompted her urged him also. Each went with reluctance, but without protest. 

Noel, who had achieved the most saintlike behaviour during the past week, went also. He made an ingratiating attempt at the last moment to persuadeMordaunt to let him drive. But Mordaunt was as adamant upon that point. He had issued a decree that Noel should drive no more during the summerholidays, and he meant to keep to it. 

The prohibition did not extend to Chris, but she had shuddered at thebare mention of the motor ever since the accident, and he knew that shehad not the faintest desire left to enlarge her experience in driving. 

She was the last to leave the house on that sultry August afternoon, andMordaunt saw at once that the ordeal of entering the car was a severeone. She even turned so white at the sight of it that he feared abreakdown. 

"Come and sit with me, " he said kindly. 

She looked at him with a quick shake of the head. "No, I'll sit behindwith Bertie if I may. Noel can sit with you. "

Noel, who was already in the back seat, climbed over like a monkey, andBertrand handed her in. 

She sat very rigid until they were out of the avenue, and Bertrand wassilent also. But as they turned into the road he began to talk, gentlyand persuasively, upon indifferent things, resolutely passing by hersilence until with a wan little smile she managed to respond. 

Long before they reached Sandacre she had quite recovered herself-command, and the flash of the sea upon the horizon brought from hera quick exclamation of pleasure. 

"Ah, yes, it is beautiful, that!" he agreed with enthusiasm. "And thereis the sand there, yes?"

She nodded. "I used to think we'd go and picnic there. But I don't thinkI want to now. "

"Next year, " suggested Mordaunt, without turning his head. 

"Perhaps, " she said, a little dubiously. 

Bertrand said nothing. He was looking out to the wide horizon with a farlook in his eyes, almost as though he saw beyond that sparkling sky-line, even beyond the sea itself. 

The strains of the military band from Sandacre reached them as theyturned in at the wide-flung gates. Chris's eyes kindled almost in spiteof her. She loved all things military. 

As for Bertrand, he sat bolt upright, with his head back, like a horsescenting battle. Glancing at him, Chris wondered at his attitude, tillsuddenly she recognized the strains of the Marseillaise. 

She squeezed his hand in sympathy as he helped her to alight, and helooked at her with his quick smile of understanding. He was ever swift tocatch her meaning. 

They crossed a lawn that was crowded with people to a great cedar-tree, beneath which their hostess was receiving her guests. A large woman witha lazy smile was Mrs. Pouncefort, and wonderful dark eyes that wereseldom wholly revealed--a woman who took no pains to please and yet whosecharm was undeniable. Her monarchy was absolute and her courtiers many, but other women looked at her askance, half-conscious of a veiledantagonism. They were a little afraid of her also, though not one couldhave said why, since no bitter word was ever heard to pass her lips. 

She greeted Chris with a cold, limp hand. "So nice of you to come. I hopeyou won't be bored. Ah, Mr. Mordaunt, how is Kellerton Old Park by thistime? I hardly recognized it the day I called. Rupert tells me you haveworked wonders inside as well as out. "

"May I introduce our friend Monsieur Bertrand?" said Chris. 

Bertrand brought his heels together and bowed low over the limp handtransferred to his. Mrs. Pouncefort smiled. 

"There is a fellow-countryman of yours here. Where has he gone? Ah, thereyou are! Captain Rodolphe, let me introduce you to Mrs. Mordaunt and herFrench friend Monsieur Bertrand. "

She extended one finger to Noel while making the introduction, and atonce turned her attention elsewhere. 

Chris found herself face to face with a heavy-browed man with anoverbearing demeanour and a mouth and chin that sneered perpetuallybehind a waxed moustache and imperial. She stared at him for an instantwith a bewildered feeling of having seen him somewhere before. Then, asshe returned his bow, a stab of recognition pierced her, and sheremembered where. 

It flashed into her mind like a picture thrown upon a screen--that sceneupon the sands of Valpré long, long ago, two men fighting with swordsthat gleamed in the sunlight, a child drawing near with wondering eyes tobehold the conflict, and an unruly black terrier scampering to end it!

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, " declared Captain Rodolphe, "and that of your friend--M. Bertrand?"

He uttered the name interrogatively. Bertrand bowed very slightly, verystiffly, and was instantly erect again. "That is my name, " he said, as helooked the other straight in the eyes. 

Captain Rodolphe was smiling. "I think we have not met before? It isalways a pleasure to meet a fellow-countryman in a strange land. That iswell understood, is it not, Mrs. Mordaunt?"

His smooth speech brought her back to a situation that was not withoutserious difficulties, difficulties which he for one was apparentlydetermined to ignore. Had he recognized her, she wondered? It seemedprobable that he had not. But then there was nothing in his manner toindicate that he had recognized Bertrand either; yet of that there couldbe no doubt. 

She heard her husband speaking to an acquaintance behind her, andinstinctively she began to move away from him. She did not feel equal toeffecting an introduction. She murmured something conventional about thegardens, and Captain Rodolphe at once accompanied her. 

Bertrand walked in silence on her other side till, with an obviouseffort, Chris included him in the conversation, when he respondedinstantly, with that ready ease of manner which had first drawn her torely upon him. But though he showed himself quite willing, as ever, tohelp her, he did not once on his own initiative address the man who hadbeen introduced for his benefit; and Chris, aware of an atmosphere thatwas highly charged with electricity, notwithstanding its apparent calm, began to cast about for a means of escape therefrom. 

To rid herself of Captain Rodolphe was her first idea, but this waseasier of thought than accomplishment. He was chatting serenely, inperfect English, and seemed to have taken upon himself the congenial taskof entertaining her for some time to come. He also did not directlyaddress her companion, unless she brought them into contact, and herefforts in this direction very speedily flagged. She could not expect twomen, however courteous, to forget all in a moment the bitter enmity ofyears merely to oblige her. They were quite ready to ignore it in herpresence, but the consciousness of it was more than Chris could endurewith equanimity. It disconcerted her at every turn. She felt as if shetrod the edge of a volcano, and her nerves, which had been so severelystrained for the past week, could not face this fresh ordeal. 

She turned at last in desperation, almost appealingly, to Bertrand. Sheknew he would understand. Had he ever failed her in this respect or inany other?

"Do you mind going to see if I have dropped my handkerchief in the car?"she asked him, with a nervous smile. 

His smile answered hers. Yes, he understood. "I shall go with pleasure, "he said, and with a quick bow was gone. 

Chris breathed a little sigh of relief, and moved on with her escort intothe rose-garden. 

He seemed scarcely aware of Bertrand's departure. He was plainlyengrossed in the pleasant pastime of conversing with her. Chris began togive him more of her attention. No, she certainly did not like the man. His sneer and his self-assurance disturbed her. He made her uncomfortablyconscious of her own youth and inexperience. She almost felt as if hewere playing with her. 

He talked at some length upon roses, a subject upon which he seemed to bewell informed, listened tolerantly to any remarks she made, and finallyconducted her to a long shrubbery that led back to the lawn. 

As they entered this, he lightly wound up the thread of his discourse andbroke it off. "I have been wondering for long, " he said, "where it wasthat I had seen you before. Now I remember. "

She turned a startled face towards him. He was smiling with extremecomplacence, but there was to her something sinister, something eventhreatening, about the bushy brows that shadowed his gleaming eyes. Heput her in mind of a carrion-crow searching for treasures on a heap ofrefuse. 

The impulse to deny all knowledge of him seized her--a blind impulse, blindly followed. "I think you must be mistaken, " she said. 

"How?" he ejaculated. "You do not remember Valpré--and what happenedthere?"

She saw her mistake on the instant, and hastened to cover it. "Valpré!"she said, frowning a little. "Yes, I remember Valpré, though it is yearssince I was there. But you--did I meet you at Valpré, Captain Rodolphe?"

He bowed with a gallantry that seemed to her exaggerated. "Only once, madame, but that once was enough to stamp you ineffaceably upon mymemory. It was, in fact, a memorable occasion. And I forget--never!"Again with _empressement_ he bowed. "And still you do not remember me?"he said. 

There was a mocking glint in his eyes. It was as though with a smile heweighed her resistance, displaying it to herself as a quantity whollynegligible. 

"I think you begin to remember now, " he suggested. 

And quite suddenly Chris saw what he had with subtlety set about teachingher, that to attempt to fence with him was useless. 

"Yes, I remember, " she said, and there was a hint of most unwonted malicein her capitulation. "Didn't I see you wounded in a duel?"

He smiled, and she saw his teeth. "If my memory be correct it was tomadame herself that I owed that wound. "

She felt the quick blood rush to her face. He had spoken with _doubleentendre_, but she did not perceive it until too late. She onlyremembered suddenly and overwhelmingly that the duel had been fought onher account, because of some evil word which this man had spoken of herin Bertrand's hearing. She could well believe it of him--the sneeringlaugh, the light allusion, the hateful insinuation underlying it. Shewas beginning to look upon the evil of the world with comprehendingeyes--she, Chris, the gay of heart, the happy bird of Bertrand's paradisewhom no evil had ever touched. And though she shrank from it as onedreading pollution, she dared not turn her back. 

He went on with more daring mockery, still with lips that smiled. "Ah! Isee you remember. That duel was an affair of interest to you, _hein_? Youwere--the woman in the case. "

He leered at her intolerably, twisting his moustache. 

But that was more than Chris could endure. He had taken her by surpriseindeed, but he should not see her routed thus easily. She lifted herdainty head and confronted him with pride. 

"Whatever the cause of the duel, " she said very distinctly, "it was noconcern of mine, and it was by the merest accident that I witnessed it. But in any case it is not a matter of sufficient importance to discussnow. Shall we go on?"

She put the question abruptly, with a little inward tremor, for the pathwas narrow and he had come to a stand immediately in front of her. Hemade a slight movement as if deprecating the obligation to detain her. His eyes were suddenly very evil and so intent that she could not avoidthem. Yet still he smiled as though the situation amused him. 

"But you joke!" he protested, with a snap of the fingers. "I did notsuggest that it could be a matter of importance. It was all a_bagatelle_, a fairy-tale, that should not have had so serious an end. And your husband--he has heard the fairy-tale also? Or was it not ofsufficient importance to recount to him?"

She would have turned from him at that, even though it had meantignominious flight, but his eyes held her, and she dared not. She couldonly stand motionless, feeling her very heart grow cold. 

Softly, jeeringly, he went on, still toying with the moustache that didnot hide his smiling lips. "You have not told him yet? Ah! but it wouldamuse him. That night you passed with the fairies, a siren among thesirens, has he never heard of that? But you should tell him that! Or wasit perhaps only a joke _à deux_, and not _à trois_? I have heard that theEnglish husband can be strict, and you have found it so to your cost, _hein_?"

Her eyes blazed at the insult. For the first time in her life Chris wasso possessed by fury as to be actually sublime. She drew herself to herfull height. She met his mockery fearlessly, and, with a royal disregardof consequences, she trod it underfoot. 

"Captain Rodolphe, be good enough to let me pass!"

He stood aside instantly. He was even momentarily abashed. He had notexpected his game to end thus. She had seemed such an easy prey, thisEnglish girl. Her discomfiture had been almost too obvious. He certainlyhad not deemed her capable of this display of spirit. 

Yet in a moment, even as, erect and disdainful, she passed him by, he wassmiling again, a secret, subtle smile which she felt rather than saw. Emerging into the hot sunshine that beat upon the crowded lawn, she knewherself to be cold from head to foot. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE THIN END

"Good-bye!" said Mrs. Pouncefort. "So glad you came. I hope you haven'tbeen bored. "

"Bored to extinction, " murmured Noel. "Hi, Trevor! Let me drive, like agood chap. Do!"

"Certainly not, " said Mordaunt, with decision. "You are going to sitbehind. We shall meet the wind now, and Chris must come in front; it ismore sheltered. "

Chris submitted to this arrangement in silence. She was looking verytired. Her husband regarded her keenly as he tucked her in, but he saidnothing. 

"What do you think of Mrs. Pouncefort's latest?" grinned Noel, as theyspun along the high-road. "I never met such a facetious brute in my life. How did you like him, Bertrand?"

"Who?" said Bertrand somewhat curtly. 

"What did they call him--Rodolphe, wasn't it? That French chap with thebeastly little beard. "

"I did not like him, " said Bertrand, with precision. 

"That's all right, " said Noel approvingly. "But he's reigning favouritewith Mrs. Pouncefort, anyone can see with half an eye. Rum, isn't it?And little Pouncefort puts up with it like a lamb. But they say he'sjust as bad. Daresay he is, though he's quite a decent little beggar totalk to. I can't stand Mrs. Pouncefort at any price, while as for thatFrenchman"--he made a hideous grimace--"I'm glad you are not all alike, Bertrand!"

Bertrand responded to the compliment without elation. He seemedpreoccupied, and Noel, finding him uninteresting, turned his cheerfulattention elsewhere. 

Letters awaited them upon their return. Chris took up hers with scarcelya glance, and went up to her room. 

Her husband, following a little later, found her sitting on a couch bythe window, perusing them. She glanced up at his entrance. 

"I have a letter from Aunt Philippa. She thinks we must be quite settledby this time, and she wants to spend a day or two here next week, beforeshe goes to Scotland. "

"I suppose we can put up with her for a day or two, " said Mordaunt. 

Her smile was slightly strained as she returned to the letter. "I supposewe shall have to. "

He came and stood beside her, looking down at her bent head. Theburnished hair shone warmly golden in the evening sunlight. He laid aquiet hand upon it. She started at his touch, and then sat very still. 

"I have heard from Hilda too, " she said, after a moment. "They arestaying at Graysdale. Percy fishes all day and she sketches, when theyare not motoring. It was very sweet of her to write by return. "

A tear fell suddenly upon the open page. She covered it hastily with herhand. Her husband's pressed her head very tenderly. 

"Chris, " he said gently, "I wonder if you would like to go away for alittle?"

She glanced up quickly, eagerly, with wet lashes. "Oh, Trevor!" shebreathed. 

He sat down beside her on the couch. "We will go to-morrow if you like, "he said. 

She slipped her hand into his. "I should love it!"

"Would you?" he said. "I have been thinking of it for some days, but Iwasn't sure you would care for the idea. "

"But your work?" she said. "Those articles you wanted to finish? And thatpolitical book of yours? And the alterations in the north wing, will theybe able to get on with those with you away?"

"The literary work must stand over for a week or two, " he said. "I shallleave Bertrand in charge of the rest. "

"Bertrand!" She opened her blue eyes wide. "But--but he would be away, wouldn't he?" Then quickly: "He would go with us, of course? You didn'tmean to leave him behind?"

He raised his brows ever so slightly. "I meant just us two, dear, " hesaid. "Wouldn't you care for that?"

"Oh!" said Chris blankly. "But, Trevor, we couldn't possibly leave him. He isn't well. I--I shouldn't be happy about him. Besides--besides--" Herwords faltered under his straight look; she made a little appealinggesture towards him. "Please understand, " she said. 

He took both her hands into his. "My dear, I do understand, " he said, with the utmost kindness. "But I think he can be trusted to take care ofhimself for a little while. If you have any doubts upon the subject, askhim. "

She shook her head. "No, it wouldn't do. I--I'd really rather not go awayif it means--that. Besides, there is Noel. And next week there will beAunt Philippa. I think we had better give up the idea, Trevor; I doreally, anyhow for the present. " She leaned nearer to him; her eyeslooked pleadingly into his. "Say you don't mind, " she begged him, alittle tremulously. 

"I am only thinking of you, dear, " he answered. 

She smiled with lips that quivered. "Well, don't think of me--at least, not too much. I only want you just to be kind to me, that's all. I--Ishall be myself presently. You're very good to be so patient. "

Her lips were lifted to his. He bent and kissed her. But as he wentgravely away she had a feeling that she had disappointed him, and herheart grew a little heavier in consequence. 

The sound of the piano in the drawing-room brought her down earlier thanusual for dinner, and she found Bertrand playing softly to himself in thetwilight. He had a delicate touch, and she always loved to hear him. 

She had with difficulty trained him not to spring up at her entrance, butto-day he turned sharply round. 

"Christine, what did that _scélérat_ say to you?"

The abruptness of his speech did not disconcert her. She was never ill atease with Bertrand, however sudden his mood. She came to the piano, andstood facing him in the dusk. 

"He recognized me, " she said. 

"Ah!" Bertrand's exclamation was deep in his throat, like the growl of anangry dog. "And he said--?"

Chris hesitated. 

Instantly his manner changed. He stretched out a quick hand. "Pardon myimpatience! You will tell me what he said?"

Yet still she hesitated. His impetuosity had warned her to go warily ifshe would not have him embroiling himself in another quarrel for hersake. 

"It doesn't matter much, does it?" she said, rather wearily. "I wasn'twith him very long--no longer than I could help. He was objectionable, ofcourse, but that sort of man couldn't be anything else, could he?"

"Tell me what he said, " insisted Bertrand inexorably. 

But still she hedged, trying to temper his wrath. "He didn't tell meanything new. I have known--for some time now--why you fought that duel. "

"Ah! You know that? But how?"

She smiled wanly. "You forget I'm growing up, Bertie. "

He winced at that suddenly and sharply, but he made no verbal protest. Only in the silence that followed there was something passionate, something which she never remembered to have encountered before in herdealings with him. 

At the end of a long pause he spoke, with obvious constraint. "And youwill not tell me what he said?"

"Is it worth while?" said Chris. "I daresay we shall never see himagain. "

"He insulted you, no?" said Bertrand. 

She yielded, half-involuntarily, to his persistence. "He madesome--rather horrid--insinuations. He spoke of the duel and of whathappened at Valpré. And he asked--he asked if--Trevor knew. "

A fierce oath burst headlong from Bertrand, the first she had ever heardhim utter. He apologized for it instantly, almost in the same breath, butshe was startled by the violence of it none the less, so startled thatshe decided then and there that, if she would keep the peace between himand his enemy, she must confide in him no further. 

"But that was really all, " she hastened to assure him. "I left him then, and--and I think we had better forget it, Bertie. Promise me you will. "

He took the persuasive hand she laid upon his arm, but for severalseconds he did not speak. It seemed as if he could not trust himself todo so. 

At last, "Christine, " he said, "I think that your husband ought to know. "

She started at the words, almost snatching her hand from him. "Bertie!What do you mean? Know of what?"

He answered her with great steadiness; his eyes met hers unwaveringly. "Of that which happened at Valpré, " he said. 

She gazed at him in growing consternation. "Bertie, how--are youmad?--how could I tell him that?"

"With your permission, I will tell him, " he said resolutely. 

But she cried out at that, almost as if he had hurt her: "Oh no, no, never! Why should he know now? Don't you see how impossible it is? If Ihad ever meant to tell him, it ought to have been long ago. "

"Yes, " said Bertrand. 

The quietness of his tone only agitated her still further. His evidentdetermination terrified her. In that moment all her fear of her husbandrose to towering proportions, a monster she dared not even contemplate. She clasped Bertrand's arm between her hands in wild, unreasoningsupplication. 

"Oh, you must not--you shall not! Bertie, you won't, will you? Promiseme you won't--promise me! He wouldn't understand. He would want to knowwhy I had never told him before. He would--he would--"

"Ah! but I would explain, " Bertrand protested gently. 

"But you couldn't! He would ask questions--questions I couldn't possiblyanswer. If he didn't say them he would look them. And his eyes are soterribly keen. They frighten me. They see--everything. "

"But, _chérie_, " he reasoned, "they could not see what is not there. Youhave nothing to hide from him. You have no shame. Why, then, have youfear?"

"I don't know, " gasped Chris. "Only I know that he would neverunderstand. He would think--he would think--"

"He would think that we have been--pals--for as long as we have knowneach other, " said Bertrand soothingly. "He knows it already. It is true, is it not?"

But Chris's eyes had been opened too suddenly and tragically. Her senseof proportion was still undeveloped. "Yes, but he would never see it. Youcould never explain to him so that he would understand. He would think Ihad been deceiving him. He would think--Bertie, he would think"--her eyesdilated, and she drew in her breath sharply--"that--that you and I oughtnot to be friends any longer. Oh, don't tell him--please don't tell him. Indeed I am right. He trusts you, and--and he trusts me. But he wouldn'ttrust either of us any longer if he knew. "

"Christine! Christine!"

"It is true, " she asserted feverishly. "You don't know him as I do. Ohno, he has never been hard to me. But he could be hard. And he wouldn'tforgive me--if he thought I had been hiding anything. Bertie, Bertie, youwon't do it? Say you won't do it!"

"I do nothing without your consent, " Bertrand answered quietly. "But Ithink that it is a mistake. I think--"

"Oh, thank you!" she broke in earnestly. "I know I can rely upon you tokeep your word. I can, can't I?"

He smiled at a question which he would have borne from no other. "Untildeath, Christine, " he said. 

Her hands fell away from his arm. She was shaking all over. "I know I'mfoolish, " she said. "I can't help it. I was made so. And when Trevorbegins to ask questions--" She broke off nervously. "What is that?"

A leisurely footfall sounded in the hall, a quiet hand pressed theelectric switch by the door, and the room was flooded with light. 

"Oh, don't!" Chris cried out sharply. "Don't!"

She put her hands over her face as if dazzled, and so stood quivering. 

"What is it?" Mordaunt asked. "Did I startle you?"

He came to her. He drew her hands gently down. But she almost coweredbefore him, and he let her go. 

"I think that she is tired, " Bertrand said, his voice very low. 

"Is that all?" Mordaunt asked, looking at him. 

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, and made no reply. But Chris turnedat the question, turned and confronted her husband with wide, scaredeyes. 

"Yes, I am tired, " she said, speaking jerkily, breathlessly. "But--but Iwas startled too. I--I thought I heard Cinders--barking. "

It was the first time she had ever deliberately lied to him, and her eyesmet his full as she did it in desperate self-defence. 

He looked at her very steadily for the space of several seconds after shehad spoken, and in the silence Bertrand's hands clenched hard. 

Quietly at length Mordaunt turned round to him. "Don't let me interruptyou, " he said. "You were playing, weren't you? Chris and I are goodlisteners. "

He took his wife's cold hand, and drew her to the sofa; and Bertrand, seeing there was nothing else to be done, turned back to the piano andresumed his playing. 

Not another word was spoken by any of them until Noel came upon thescene, and airily dispelled the silence before he was aware of it. 

CHAPTER IX

THE ENEMY MOVES

"And you mean to say that this French secretary of Trevor's actuallylives in the house?" said Aunt Philippa. 

"But of course he does, " said Chris, opening her eyes wide. 

"And is Trevor never away?" demanded Aunt Philippa. 

"He hasn't been, but he talks of spending a night in town next week. "

"And you will go with him?"

"No, I don't think so. It's too hot. "

"Then I presume M. Bertrand will?"

Chris flushed a little. "I don't suppose so. He is feeling the heat too. "She stretched up her hands above her head. "How I wish it would rain!"

Aunt Philippa continued her knitting severely in silence. They weresitting on the terrace awaiting the luncheon-hour. Across the garden cameNoel's shrill whistle, and instinctively, before she remembered heraunt's presence, Chris answered it. The boy appeared at the farther endof the long lawn, and came racing towards them. 

"Just seen the postman, Chris. Here's a letter for you--such a horriblefist, Sandacre post-mark, and sealed. Wonder who it's from?"

He leaned against her chair to recover his breath and regarded theenvelope he held with frank interest. 

Chris stretched up her hand for it. "I expect it's from Mrs. Pouncefort. "

"Mrs. Pouncefort doesn't write like that!" protested Noel. "No womancould. "

"May I have it?" said Chris. 

He put it into her hand, but he still leaned against her chair. "Be quickand open it, I say! It looks important. "

"I don't suppose it is, " said Chris; but she opened it notwithstandingwith some curiosity. 

Aunt Philippa had arrived only the night before, but she was already verytired of her society, and any diversion was welcome. 

"You don't mind?" she murmured to her aunt. 

Her eyes were already upon the first page as she spoke. She frowned overthe unfamiliar handwriting. 

Noel studied it also over her shoulder. "What on earth--" he began. 

She looked up suddenly, and crumpled the paper in her hand. "Noel, goaway! How dare you!"

He stared at her in amazement. A sharp word from Chris was most unusual. Aunt Philippa looked up also. 

"My dear girl, it isn't private, is it?" said Noel. 

Chris was scarlet. She seemed to breathe with difficulty. "Of course it'sprivate! All my letters are private!"

"But it comes from the Pounceforts, " objected Noel. "I saw 'SandacreCourt' at the top of the page. "

Chris sprang to her feet impetuously with blazing eyes. "And what if itdoes? You had no right to look over me. It was a hateful thing to do. What if it does come from Mrs. Pouncefort? Is it mine any the less forthat?"

"Oh, don't get huffy!" remonstrated Noel. "Look at you! Anyone wouldthink you had got the palsy. But you needn't pretend it's from Mrs. Pouncefort, because I know better. "

"It--it is from Mrs. Pouncefort!" declared Chris. 

"Which is a lie, " rejoined Noel, with the utmost calmness. "I know you, my dear girl, I know you. You've told 'em before. "

"Noel!" Aunt Philippa interposed her voice with extreme dignity. "Youforget yourself. If you cannot speak with ordinary courtesy, be goodenough to leave us. "

Noel heeded the remonstrance no more than if it had been the buzzing of afly. Chris's spark of temper had kindled his. 

"Oh, you can swear it's the truth till all's blue, " he declared, raisinghis voice recklessly. "But that doesn't make it so. In fact, it onlymakes the contrary all the more likely. Besides, you know you do lie, Chris, so you needn't deny it. "

"Noel!"

It was not Aunt Philippa's voice this time, and it had in it so firm anote of authority that instinctively Noel turned. 

Mordaunt, just returned from a ride, was standing in his shirt-sleeves atan open window above them. All the colour went out of Chris's face atsight of him, but he did not look at her. 

"Come up here, " he said to Noel. "I want to speak to you. "

"Not coming, " said Noel promptly. 

"Come up here, " Mordaunt repeated. 

"What for?" Noel looked up at him, hands in pockets. "You'll be late forlunch if you don't buck up, " he remarked, with a smile of cheeryimpudence. 

His brother-in-law's face did not reflect his smile. It was grimlydetermined. "Come up here, " he said again. 

"Do go, Noel, " Chris murmured uneasily. 

"I won't, " said Noel doggedly. "I'm not going to be pitched into fornothing. It was you who told the lie, not me. "

"Oh, don't be absurd!" exclaimed Chris, in a fever of impatience. "Surelyyou're not afraid of him!"

"Anyone can see you are, " retorted Noel. "I'll bet you daren't goyourself!"

She turned from him sharply without another word, and entered the house. 

She met her husband on the threshold of his room, and pushed himimpulsively back, her hands against his breast. 

"Trevor, please don't be angry with him. He--we often go on like that. There is nothing to be angry about--indeed. "

He took her hands and held them. She was panting a little; he waitedwhile she recovered herself. Then, "Chris, " he said very gently, "don'tyou think it is time you left off being afraid of me?"

"But when you are angry--" murmured Chris. 

"You have never seen me angry yet. "

"You are not angry with Noel?" she asked quickly. 

He smiled a little. "My dear child, Noel is no more capable of making meangry than that fly on the ceiling. But I am not going to have himbehaving badly for all that. "

"But he didn't, " she urged, in distress. "It was all my fault. Trevor--Trevor, please don't say any more! He was quite right. I--Ididn't tell the truth. "

She made the confession in a broken whisper, with her face hidden againsthim. But a moment later she had sprung away in haste, for there came theclatter of careless feet upon the stairs, and Noel dashed suddenly uponthe scene. 

"Oh, I say, do stop jawing and come down, " he said as he presentedhimself. "Poor Aunt Phil is ravenous for her lunch. What do you want mefor, Trevor?"

But Mordaunt turned his back abruptly. "I don't want you now, " he said. "You can go. "

"Dash it!" Noel said. "What a rotter you are!" He flung himself fulllength upon the window-seat with elaborate nonchalance. "Run along, Chris, " he said. "We're going to talk politics. Shut the door after you. That's right. Now, my good brother-in-law, what can I do for you?"

He sat up to slay a wasp on the window-pane, flicked the corpse inMordaunt's direction with airy adroitness, and lay down again. 

"Are you in a wax over anything?" he inquired, with a yawn. 

Mordaunt turned quietly round. "Get up!" he said. 

Noel laughed up at him engagingly. "You can't kick me so easily lyingdown, can you? But what do you want to kick me for? I'm quite harmless. "

"I am not going to kick you, " Mordaunt said. "It is not my way. "

"All right, then. Why didn't you say so before?" Noel sat up and regardedhim with interest. "Well?" he said at the end of an expectant pause. "Let's have it, man, and have done!"

"I have nothing to give you, " Mordaunt returned. "I told you you couldgo. "

Something in the tone rather than the words caught Noel's attention. Hebounced suddenly from his lounging attitude to Mordaunt's side, andthrust an affectionate arm about his shoulders. 

"What's the matter, old chap? You look as if you had found sixpence andlost half a crown. "

"Perhaps I have, " Mordaunt returned grimly. 

He did not repulse the friendly overture; that also was not his way. Butneither did he respond to it. He stood passive, looking out over the parkwith unobservant eyes. 

"Cheer up, I say, " urged Noel. "You're such a rattling good chap, youknow. I'm getting awfully fond of you. "

"Much obliged, " said Mordaunt; but he did not seem highly gratified. Infact, his thoughts were plainly elsewhere. 

Noel, however, would not be satisfied with this. "What are you grizzlingabout?" he said. "Tell a fellow!"

Mordaunt's eyes came down to him. "I wish you Wyndhams had a little senseof honour, " he said. 

"Oh, is that it?" said Noel. "Well, we are not top-heavy in that respect, I own. But, after all, it's not worth worrying about. We get on verynicely without it. And we wouldn't any of us sell a friend. "

"I'm glad to know you draw the line somewhere, " Mordaunt observed. 

"Oh, rather! I wouldn't chouse you for the world. Chris wouldn't either. But we're both shy of you, you know, because you're so beastly moral. " Hegave his brother-in-law a warm hug to soften the effect of his words. "You may as well tell me what you wanted to say to me just now, " heremarked. 

"I was going to request you to behave like a gentleman, " Mordauntreturned. "But as you don't seem to know what that means--" He paused, looking straight into the Irish eyes that met his with such sublimeassurance. "Do you know what it means, Noel?" he asked. 

Noel grinned. "You can take me in hand and teach me if it isn't too muchtrouble. I suppose you didn't like me to tell Chris she was lying aboutthat letter. But she was, you know. There's no getting away from thatfact, even if she is your wife. "

"I'm not trying to get away from facts, " Mordaunt said. "But I doobject--strongly--to discourtesy. You may be her brother, but thatdoesn't entitle you to insult her. Plainly, I won't have it from you oranyone. "

"I didn't insult her, " declared Noel. "I only said I knew she was tellinga cram. She knew it too. "

"I know what you said, " Mordaunt returned with brevity. "And you are notto say it again. Also, I must ask you to bear in mind that when I say athing I mean it--invariably. I've had more than enough disobedience fromyou lately. "

"Oh, I say, " said Noel, winking gaily, "you don't want much, do you?"

Mordaunt relaxed a little. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder for amoment. "You can be quite a good chap if you try, " he said. 

Noel responded like a dog to a caress. "The mischief is to keep it up, "he said. "But we won't quarrel anyhow. I'll make every allowance for you, old boy, for you're in a beastly unhealthy position; and you'll have todo the same--savvy? But for all that, that letter was no more written byMrs. Pouncefort than by the man in the moon. "

"That letter, " Mordaunt said very deliberately, "is neither your affairnor mine. "

Could he have seen Chris at that moment he might have changed his mindupon that point, but her young brother's careless chatter kept him fromseeking her; nor would he very readily have found her had he done so. 

For Chris was securely locked in a little room at the top of the housethat had been her childhood's bedroom, and here with blanched face andhands that shook she was reading and reading again the letter that hadgiven rise to so much discussion. 

The handwriting was cramped and erratic, wholly unfamiliar, barelydecipherable; but she had mastered the contents with tragic dexterity. Her understanding had leaped to the words. 

 * * * * *

"MY DEAR MRS. MORDAUNT, " so went the letter, "You have probably forgottenmy existence by this time, and it is with the utmost humility that Iventure to recall it to your memory. For myself, it will always be alasting pleasure to have met you again, and the fact that I share withyou a secret of other days cannot but prove a bond between us. Thatsecret I am prepared to guard faithfully, since--apparently--it is ofvalue, if you on your part are ready to purchase my discretion with thatof which all have need, but of which I temporarily am unhappilydeficient. Briefly, madame, for the sum of five hundred pounds I willundertake that the episode of Valpré shall be consigned to oblivion sofar as I am concerned. Otherwise, the strict husband may hear more thanyou have considered it convenient to tell him. 

"Yours, with many compliments, GUILLAUME RODOLPHE. "

CHAPTER X

A WARNING VOICE

Five hundred pounds! Five hundred pounds! It represented her year'sincome to Chris. 

All night long she lay wide-eyed and still, facing her problem with aquaking heart. It was like a suffocating weight upon her, crushing herdown. Five hundred pounds! And the need thereof so urgent that it must bedealt with at once! But how to obtain it? How? How?

All through the dark hours she lay revolving the matter, questioning thisway and that, bound hand and foot, yet not daring to contemplate the onlysane means at her disposal of obtaining freedom. To tell her husband thesimple truth, to throw herself unreservedly upon his generosity, to beghis forgiveness and his help--these were the things she could not do. Asa matter of fact the truth had been so magnified by her fevered fancythat it had begun to appear monstrous even in her own eyes. Those far-offhappenings at Valpré had become a dream with a nightmare ending. Not evenAunt Philippa could have distorted them to a more exaggerated semblanceof evil. And to go to her husband now with such a story was utterlybeyond Chris's powers of accomplishment. She lacked the courage to speakwith simplicity and candour, and she was painfully aware that to give ahalting account of the matter would be infinitely more dangerous than tokeep silence. Already her husband's faith in her veracity had beenshaken. Was it likely that he would accept unquestioning her assurancethat this matter, which she had rigorously suppressed for so long andwhich she only imparted to him now under compulsion, was in reality oneof trivial importance? Would he believe her? Had she ever fostered hisbelief in her? Could he in reason do so even if he desired?

Moreover, there was another obstacle. There was Bertrand. Though he hadoffered to speak for her, though he had desired to explain all, andthough she knew that Trevor's faith in him was absolute, yet the presenceof Bertrand in itself made candour impossible. Why this should be she didnot know. It was a problem which she had not attempted to solve. But thefact remained. She dreaded unspeakably the possibility of having todescribe the intimacy that had existed between herself and Bertrand inthe old, free, Valpré days. She dreaded the keen searching of the greyeyes that, if they sought long enough, were bound to find her soul, andnot only to find, but to enter it, to penetrate to its most hiddencorner, and to draw out into the full light of day one of her most sacredpossessions. She felt that she could not bear this probing. The verythought of it was horrible to her, and in connection with it the steadyscrutiny of her husband's eyes became almost a thing abhorrent. Vaguelyshe knew, without realizing, that she cherished deep in that inmostshrine something which he must never see, something that it would beagony to show him, something that even now gnawed secretly at herquivering heart. She always shrank from his direct look, though she wouldnot have him know it. The calm, level gaze frightened her, she knew notwhy. Perhaps the secret of all her fear of him lay hidden in this problemthat she dared not face. 

No, she could not endure a full revelation of the truth. Bertrand haddeclared that Mordaunt could not discover what was non-existent, but itwas not this that Chris feared. It was something infinitely moreterrible, a floating suspicion that might harden into actual fact at anymoment. 

And so her whole being was concentrated upon avoiding the catastrophethat instinct warned her to be impending. Everything hung upon thekeeping of that secret which once had seemed to her so small a thing. Ithad grown to mighty proportions of late. She did not ask herselfwherefore; but once in the night she smiled a piteous little smile at therecollection of Manon, the maid-of-all-work, and her story of the spellthat bound all who entered the Magic Cave. She remembered how she hadlaughed over it; but Bertrand had not laughed. He had been quite grave;she remembered that also. He had even spoken as if he believed in it. Fora little her thoughts dwelt upon that night, on the quick confidences hehad poured out, on her own consternation over the nature of hisenterprise, on the words he had uttered then to comfort her. She hadnever given them much thought before. To-night, lying by her husband'sside, they returned to her, and for the first time she pondered themseriously. He had dismissed ambition and success, even the strife ofnations, at a breath. He had been able to do so even then, when he wasnearing the summit of his aspirations. "What are they?" he had said. "Only a procession that marches under the windows, only a dream in themidst of a great Reality. "

What had he meant by that? she asked herself, and searched her memoryfor more. It came with a curious vividness, a winged message, straightand sure as an arrow. "We look out above them, " he had said, "you andI"--suddenly she heard the very thrill of his voice, and it pierced herthrough and through--"to the great heaven and the sun; and we know thatthat is life--the Spark Eternal that nothing can ever quench. " Chris didnot ask herself the meaning of that. She hid it away in her heart, quickly, quickly, lest seeing she should also understand. 

It was very early in the morning when she slipped out of bed, and creptto the open window to watch the stars fade into the dawning. She wouldhave liked to pray, but no prayer occurred to her. And so she knelt quitepassive, gazing forth over the dim garden, too tired to think any longer, yet too miserable to sleep. She did not know that her husband's eyesgravely watched her throughout her vigil, and when presently she lay downagain she still believed him to be sleeping. 

In the morning inspiration came to Chris. She believed Rupert to be outof debt, thanks to Trevor's generosity. She would get him to raise themoney for her. She knew he must have ways and means of so doing whichwere quite beyond her reach. At least, it seemed her only resource, andshe would try it. 

"Are you quite well, Chris?" her husband asked her when he rose at anearly hour, as was his custom. 

"Quite, " said Chris. "Why?"

She looked at him nervously with heavy-lidded eyes. 

He bent to kiss her before leaving the room. "Don't get up yet, " he saidkindly. "Stay in bed and have a sleep. "

"But I--I have slept, " she stammered. 

He put the hair gently back from her forehead. "I know all about it, " hesaid. 

She started away from him in sheer panic. "About what?" she gasped, in awhisper; then, seeing his brows go up, "Oh, Trevor, I--I'm sorry. No, Ihaven't slept very well. But--"

"I thought not, " he interposed quietly. "Well, sleep now, dear. "

He turned to go, but impulsively she caught his hand, held it a moment, then suddenly put it to her lips. But she would not look at him, wouldnot even raise her eyes again; and he, after the briefest pause, withdrewhis hand, touched her cheek with it lightly, and so left her. 

When they met again at the breakfast-table she was discussing with AuntPhilippa the best means of spending the day. Bertrand was not present. Heusually took chocolate at that hour in Mordaunt's room, where he couldcontinue his secretarial work uninterrupted. Noel was not yet down. 

Chris turned at once to address her husband. "I have had a linefrom Max. He is coming down for a few days I think he hasn't beenwell--overworking, he says. "

"I can scarcely believe, " said Aunt Philippa, with her acid smile, "thata Wyndham could ever suffer from that complaint. "

"They don't over-rest, anyhow, " said Mordaunt, with a glance at hiswife's tired face. "I shall be very pleased to see him, Chris. Write andtell him so. "

"I don't think I need write, " she said. "He will be here thisafternoon. Shall I ask Rupert to come over and dine, so that we can allbe together--that is, if Aunt Philippa doesn't mind?"

"Pray do not consider me, " said Aunt Philippa. 

"Do exactly as you like, " said Mordaunt quietly. "Rupert is alwayswelcome so far as I am concerned. "

Chris rose from the table as he sat down. "I will send him a note at onceif I may, or I shall miss the post. "

"Have you had any breakfast?" he asked, detaining her as she passed hischair. 

"None at all, " said Aunt Philippa. 

"Oh, Aunt Philippa, I have, indeed!" protested Chris, colouring vividly. "Besides, I'm not hungry. "

"Besides!" echoed Mordaunt, faintly smiling. "Drink a cup of hot milkbefore you go. "

She made a wry face. "I can't. I hate it. Please don't keep me!"

"Then do as you are told, " he said. "I thought I ordered you to stay inbed. "

"Oh, don't be absurd!" said Chris; but she went back to her place andpoured out the milk as he desired. 

"Now drink it, " he said, with his eyes upon her. 

She obeyed him without further protest, finally setting the cup down witha sigh of relief. 

Mordaunt rose to open the door. "You are not to do anything energeticto-day, " he said. 

She threw him a smile, half-shy, half-wistful, and departed withoutreplying. 

He turned back into the room and sat down. "I am not quite satisfiedabout Chris, " he said. 

"Neither am I, " said Aunt Philippa, with unexpected severity. 

He looked at her with awakened attention. "No?" he said courteously. 

"No. " Very decidedly came Aunt Philippa's reply. "I intended to speak toyou upon the subject, my dear Trevor, and I am glad that an earlyopportunity for so doing has presented itself. "

"You think she looks ill?" Mordaunt asked. 

"Not at all, " said Aunt Philippa. "The intense heat we have had lately isquite sufficient to account for her jaded looks. She has probably alsobeen fretting unreasonably over the death of her dog. I believe thatanimal was the only thing in the world she ever really cared for. "

Mordaunt rested his chin on his hand, and looked at her thoughtfully. "Indeed!" he said. 

Neither his voice nor his face expressed anything whatever beyond adecorous gravity. Aunt Philippa began to feel slightly exasperated. 

"She will get over that, " she said, with a confidence that held more ofcontempt than tolerance. "None of the Wyndhams are fundamentally capableof taking anything seriously for long. You must have discovered theirinstability for yourself by this time. "

"Not with respect to Chris. " Was there a hint of sternness underlying theplacidity of the rejoinder? There might have been, but Aunt Philippa wastoo intent upon the matter she had taken in hand to notice it. 

"Oh, well, " she said, "you haven't been married six weeks yet, have you?You will see what I mean sooner or later. But you may take it from methat all of them--Chris included--are without an atom of solidity intheir composition. I warn you, Trevor, very seriously; they are not to bedepended upon. "

Mordaunt heard her without changing his position. His eyes lookedstraight at her from under lids that never stirred. "Is that what youhave to say to me?" he asked, after a moment. 

"It leads to what I have to say, " returned Aunt Philippa with dignity. 

She was quite in her element now, and enjoying herself far too thoroughlyto be lightly disconcerted. 

"Pray finish!" he said. 

That gave her momentary pause. "I am speaking solely for your welfare, "she told him. 

"I do not question it, " he returned. 

Yet even she was aware that his stillness was not all the outcome ofcourteous attention. There was about it a restraint which made itselffelt, as it were, in spite of him, a dominance which she set down to hisforceful personality. 

"The subject upon which I chiefly desire to speak a word of warning, " shesaid, "is the presence in the house--the constant presence--of your youngFrench secretary. "

"Yes?" said Mordaunt. 

He betrayed no surprise, but the word fell curtly, as if he found himselfface to face with an unpleasant task and desired to be through with it asquickly as possible. 

Aunt Philippa proceeded with just a hint of caution. "My dear Trevor, surely you are aware of the danger!"

"What danger?"

A difficult question, which Aunt Philippa answered with diplomacy. "Chriswas always something of a flirt. "

"Indeed!" said Mordaunt again. 

His manner was so non-committal that Aunt Philippa began to lose herpatience. "I should have thought that fact was patent to everyone. "

"Never to me, " said Chris's husband very deliberately. 

Aunt Philippa smiled. "Then you are remarkably blind, my dear Trevor. Flightiness has been her chief characteristic all her life. If you havenot yet found that out, I fear she must be deceitful as well. "

"I am not discussing my wife's character, " Mordaunt made answer verysteadily. 

"You prefer to shut your eyes to the obvious, " said Aunt Philippa, beginning to be aware of something formidable in her path but not quitegrasping its magnitude. 

"I prefer my own estimate of her to that of anyone else, " he made quietreply. 

Aunt Philippa made a slight gesture of uneasiness. The steady gaze wasbecoming a hard thing to meet. Had the man been less phlegmatic, shecould almost have imagined him to be in a white heat of anger. He was sounnaturally quiet, his whole being concentrated, as it were, in acomposure that she could not but feel to be ominous. 

It was with an effort that the woman who sat facing him resumed herself-appointed task. "That I can well understand, " she said. "But evenso, I think you should bear in mind that Chris is young--and frail. Youare not justified in exposing her to temptation. "

"As how?"

Aunt Philippa hesitated for the first time in actual perturbation. 

Mordaunt waited immovably. 

"I think, " she said at length, "that you would be very ill-advised if youwent to town and left her here--thrown entirely upon her own resources. "

"May I ask if you are still referring to my secretary?" he said. 

She bent her head. "I have never approved of her being upon such intimateterms with him. She treats him as if--as if--"

"As if he were her brother, " said Mordaunt quietly. "I do the same. Ihave many friends, but he is the one man in the world who possesses myentire confidence. For that reason I foster their friendship, for I knowit to be a good thing. For that reason, if I were dying, I wouldconfidently leave her in his care. "

"My dear Trevor, the man has bewitched you!" protested Aunt Philippa. 

His eyes fell away from her at last, and she was conscious of distinctrelief, mingled with a most unwonted tinge of humiliation. 

"I am obliged to you, " he said formally, "for taking the trouble to warnme. But you need never do so again. Believe me, I am not blind; and Chrisis safe in my care. "

He rose with the words, and went to the sideboard for his breakfast. Herehe remained for some time with his back turned, but when he finally cameback to the table there was no trace of even suppressed agitation abouthim. 

He sat down and began to eat with a perfectly normal demeanour. Thesilence, however, remained unbroken until Noel burst tempestuously intothe room. No silence ever outlasted his appearance. 

He flung his arms round his brother-in-law and embraced him warmly, witha friendly, "Hullo, you greedy beggar! Hope you haven't gobbled upeverything! I'm confoundedly hungry. Morning, Aunt Philippa! I supposeyou fed long ago? It's a disgusting habit, isn't it? But one we can'tdispense with at present. Where's Chris?"

"Chris, " said Aunt Philippa icily, "has already breakfasted, and so haveI. "

She moved towards the door as she spoke. Noel sprang with alacrity toopen it, and bowed to the floor behind her retreating form. 

"She looks like a dying duck in a thunderstorm, " he observed, as hereturned to the table. "What have you been doing to her? Has there been athunderstorm?"

Mordaunt met his inquiring eyes without a smile. "Noel, " he said, "if youcan't be courteous to your aunt and your sister, I won't have you at thetable at all--or in the house for that matter. "

Noel uttered a long whistle. "I thought I smelt the reek of battle in theair! What's up? Anything exciting?"

"Do you understand me?" Mordaunt said, sticking to his point. 

Noel broke into smiles. "Oh, perfectly, my dear chap! You're as simple asthe Book of Common Prayer. But it would be a pity to kick me out of thehouse, you know. You'd miss me--horribly. "

Mordaunt leaned back in his chair. "Then I'll give you a sound caninginstead. "

Noel nodded vigorous approval. "Much more suitable. I like you betterevery day. So does Chris. I believe she'll be in love with you beforelong. "

"Really?" said Mordaunt. 

"Yes, really. " Noel was munching complacently between his words. "I neverthought you'd do it. The odds were dead against you. She only married youto get away from Aunt Philippa. Of course you know that?"

"Really?" Mordaunt said again. He was not apparently paying muchattention to the boy's chatter. 

"Yes, really, " Noel reiterated, with a grin. "It's solid, simple, sordidfact. The only chap she ever seriously cared about was a little beast ofa Frenchman she chummed up with years ago at Valpré. I never met thebeggar myself, but I'm sure he was a beast. But I'll bet she'd havemarried him if she'd had the chance. They were as thick as thieves. "

At this point Mordaunt opened the morning paper with a bored expression, and straightway immersed himself in its contents. 

Noel turned his attention to his breakfast, which he dispatched withastonishing rapidity, finally remarking, as he rose: "But you never cantell what a woman will do when it comes to the point--unless she's asuffragette, in which case she may be safely relied on to make a howlingdonkey of herself for all time. "

CHAPTER XI

A BROKEN REED

"But, my good girl, five hundred pounds!" Rupert looked down at hissister with an expression half-humorous, half-dismayed. "What do youthink I'm made of?" he inquired. 

She stood before him, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. "Imust have it! I must have it!" she said piteously. "I thought you mightbe able to raise it on something. "

"But not on nothing, " said Rupert. 

"I would pay it back, " she urged. "I could begin to pay back almost atonce. "

"Why on earth don't you ask Trevor for it?" he said. "He's the properperson to go to. "

"Oh, I know, " she answered. "And so I would for anything else, but notfor this--not for this! He would ask questions, questions I couldn'tpossibly answer. And--oh, I couldn't--I couldn't!"

"What have you been up to?" said Rupert curiously. 

"Nothing--nothing whatever. I've done nothing wrong. " Chris almost wrungher hands in her agitation. "But I can't tell you or anyone what I wantit for. Oh, Rupert, you will help me! I know you will!"

"Steady!" said Rupert. "Don't get hysterical, my child. That won't serveanybody's turn. I suppose you've been extravagant, and daren't own up. Trevor is a bit of a Tartar, I own. But five hundred pounds! It's utterlybeyond my reach. "

"Couldn't you borrow it from someone?" pleaded Chris. "Rupert, it's onlyfor a time. I'll pay back a little every month. And you have so manyfriends. "

Rupert made a grimace. "All of whom know me far too well to lend memoney. No, that cock won't fight. I've a hundred debts of my own waitingto be settled. Trevor wasn't disposed to be over-generous the last time Iapproached him. At least, he was generous, but he wasn't particularlyencouraging. He's such a rum beggar, and I have my own reasons for notwanting to go to him again at present. "

"Of course you couldn't go to him for this, " said Chris. "But--Rupert, ifyou could only help me in this matter, I would do all I could for you. Iwould give you every farthing I could spare, indeed--indeed. I might evenask him for a little later on--not yet, of course, but by and bye, if Isaw an opportunity. Oh, you don't know what it means to me--how muchdepends upon it. "

"Why don't you tell me?" Rupert asked. 

"Because I can't--I daren't!" Chris laid imploring hands upon hisshoulders; her eyes besought him. "Dear Rupert, it isn't that I don'ttrust you. Don't think that! But it wouldn't do any good if you knew, andI simply can't talk about it. I've shown how much I trust you by askingyou to help me out of my trouble. There is no one else in the world thatI could ask--not even Max. He would make me tell him everything. But youwon't, dear; I know you won't, will you?"

It was impossible not to be moved by her earnest pleading. Rupert slippedan arm around her. "You needn't be afraid of me, " he said. 

"I know I needn't, " she answered, laying her cheek against him with aquick gesture of confidence. "And I am of everyone else--even of Bertie. It's absurd, isn't it? Fancy being afraid of Bertie!" She smiled throughtears. 

"He doesn't know, then?" said Rupert. 

"Bertie? No, no, of course not! I wouldn't have him know for the world. He would go and do--something desperate. " Chris's startled eyes testifiedto her dread of this contingency. "No, I haven't dared to tell anyone, except you. If you can't help me, there's no one left. I--I shall runaway and drown myself. "

"Oh, nonsense!" said Rupert. "There's a way out of every difficulty ifone has the wit to find it. Keep cool, my dear girl! If you let yourselfgo, you will give your own show away. "

"I know! I know!" gasped Chris. "But what can I do? It would kill me ifTrevor knew!"

Rupert's arm tightened protectingly about her. At least they stood byeach other, these Wyndhams. "Then Trevor mustn't know, " he rejoined. "I'll manage it somehow if it's humanly possible. You must let me thinkit over. And in the meantime, for goodness' sake, keep cool. If Trevorwere to see you now, he would know there was something up directly. "

As a matter of fact, he himself had never seen his sister so agitatedbefore. She was like a terrified bird in a trap. What on earth had shebeen doing? he wondered. What made her go in such abject fear of herhusband that the very mention of his name was enough to send everyvestige of colour from her face?

He grasped her trembling fingers reassuringly. "There! Leave it to me, "he said. "I'll find a way out, never fear. I've been in a good many tightcorners in my time, but I've always wriggled out somehow. I suppose youwant the money soon?"

"At once, " said Chris. 

He made a grimace, as of one swallowing a nauseous draught. "All right, you shall have it. Now, don't worry any more. It's going to be allright. " He patted her shoulder kindly. "Only, for Heaven's sake, don't doit again!"

She shivered, and turned away to hide her quivering lips. "If--if you canget me the money this once, " she said, "I--I'll never ask you again, andI'll give you every farthing--every farthing--"

"My dear child, I don't want your farthings, " responded Rupert cheerily. "If you can make it fifty pounds now, I shall be quite grateful. But I'llget you yours first, never mind how. Now, hadn't we better go back to therest? Aunt Philippa will be wondering what we are conspiring about. Bythe way, when does she depart?"

"Soon, I hope, " said Chris fervently. 

He grinned. "Had enough of her, eh? So, I should imagine, has Trevor. Heis keener on giving advice than taking it, if I know anything about him. "

"She wouldn't dare to give Trevor advice, " protested Chris. 

"Ho! wouldn't she?" He laughed derisively, as they turned to leave thelittle room in the roof that was her refuge, but paused at the door toslip his arm through hers. "You're not to worry, young 'un, " he said, with a patronage that did not veil concern. "Do you know you're lookingdownright ill?"

She smiled up at him wistfully. "Things have been pretty horrid lately. But I won't worry any more if--if you tell me I needn't. "

"You needn't, " he said, and impulsively he stooped and kissed her. He hadalways had a protecting tenderness for his little sister. 

They descended to the drawing-room to find Aunt Philippa writing lettersin solitary state. The rest of the company, with the exception ofMordaunt, who was at work in his own room, were in the billiard-room justbeyond, and Chris and Rupert repaired thither, relieved to make theirescape so easily. 

They found Bertrand, who was an expert player, making a long break. Hewas playing against Max, whose opinion of him was obviously rising withthis display of skill. 

He was engaged upon a most difficult stroke when Chris entered, and shestopped behind him lest she should disturb his aim. But he turned roundat once to her, leaving the balls untouched. 

"_Mais non_!" he declared lightly. "I cannot play with my back to myhostess. It is an affair _très difficile_, and I must have everything inmy favour. "

"Oh, don't let me spoil your luck!" she said. 

She came and stood at the end of the table to watch him. 

"That would not be possible, " he protested, as he applied himself againto the ball. 

He achieved the stroke with that finish and dexterity that marked all hedid. 

"Oh, I say!" said Noel disgustedly. "You haven't a look-in, Max. He playslike a machine. "

"You like not to be beaten by a Frenchman, no?" laughed Bertrand. "_Ilfaut que les anglais soient toujours, toujours les premiers, hein_?" Hestopped suddenly, for Chris had made the faintest movement, as if hiswords had touched some chord of memory. He flashed her a swift look, andthe smile died out of his face. He moved round the table, and againstooped to his stroke. "But what is success after all, " he said, "andwhat is failure?"

"You ought to know, " Max observed dryly, as again he made his point. 

The Frenchman straightened himself. There was something of kinshipbetween these two, a tacit sympathy that had taken root on the night ofChris's birthday, an understanding that called for no explanation. 

"Yes, " he said, with a quick nod, "I know them both. They are worthjust--that. " He snapped his fingers in the air. "They pass like"--hehesitated a moment, then ended with deliberation--"like pictures in thesand. "

"The same remark applies to most things, " said Rupert. 

Bertrand glanced at him. "To all but one, monsieur, " he said, in a queertone that was almost tinged with irony. 

Again he bent himself to a stroke with a quick, light grace, as though heregarded success as a foregone conclusion. 

"Look at that!" said Noel in dejection, as the ball cannoned triumphantlydown the table. "The gods are all on his side. "

The stroke was a brilliant one, but Bertrand did not immediatelystraighten himself as before. He remained leaning across the table, as ifhe watched the effect of his skill. 

There was a brief pause before very carefully he laid his cue upon thecloth and began to raise himself, slowly, with infinite caution, usingboth hands. 

"No, " he said, speaking jerkily, in a rapid undertone, as if to himself. "The gods--are no more--on my side. "

A sharp gasp escaped him. He stood up, and they saw the sweat runningdown his forehead. "Will you--excuse me for a moment?" he said. "Ihave--forgotten _quelque chose_. "

He turned towards Chris with punctilious courtesy, clicked his heelstogether, bowed, and walked stiffly from the room. 

CHAPTER XII

A MAN OF HONOUR

An amazed silence followed his exit; then, in a quick whisper, Chrisspoke. 

"He isn't well. I'm sure he isn't well. Did you see--his face--when hestood up?"

She turned with the words as if she would go after him, but Max checkedher sharply. "No, you stay here. I'm going. "

She paused irresolute. "Let me come too. "

"Don't be silly, " said Max. He frowned at her scared face for a moment, then smiled abruptly. "Don't be silly!" he said again. He passed down theroom with what seemed to her maddening deliberation, opened the door, andwent quietly out. 

Aunt Philippa was still busy with her correspondence in the drawing-room. She glanced up as he went through. "Can you tell me what time the eveningpost goes out? I have just asked M. Bertrand, but he did not see fit toanswer me. "

"Then he couldn't have heard you, " said Max. "The post goes out atnine-thirty. "

"Ah! Then perhaps you would wait a moment while I direct this envelope, and you can then give it to a servant with orders to take it to thepost-office at once. "

Max drew his red brows together and waited. 

The scratching of Aunt Philippa's pen filled in the pause. She directedher envelope, blotted it with care, stamped it with precision, finallyhanded it to her nephew with the request, "Please remember that it isimportant. "

Max received it with reverence. "I shall treat it with the utmostveneration, " he said. He knew that his aunt had a strong dislike for him, and he fostered it with much enjoyment upon every possible occasion. 

He slipped the letter into his pocket as he left the room and promptlydismissed it from his mind. 

He turned aside into the dining-room, rummaged for brandy and found it, and went with noiseless speed upstairs. 

The door of Bertrand's room was unlatched, and he pushed it open withoutceremony. Blank darkness met him on the threshold, but a sound withintold him the room was tenanted. He switched on the light without delay, entered, and shut the door. 

He found Bertrand seated huddled on the edge of his bed, gasping horriblyfor breath. He did not apparently hear Max enter. His close-cropped headwas bowed upon his arms. His hands were opening and closing convulsively. He rocked to and fro almost with violence, but no sound beyond hisspasmodic breathing escaped him. 

Max set down the brandy and took him by the shoulders. "Look here, " hesaid, "lie down. I'll help you. "

Bertrand started a little at his touch, and Max had a glimpse of histortured face as he glanced up. "_Fermez la porte_!" he said, in a chokedwhisper. 

The door was already shut. Max wheeled and turned the key. "Now!" hesaid. 

He stooped over the Frenchman, and with the utmost care lifted him backon to the pillows, unfastened his collar, then turned to fling thewindows as wide as they would go. The night air, fragrant with rain, blewin, rustling the curtains. Bertrand turned his face towards itinstinctively. His lips were blue; they worked painfully, as if, betweenhis gasping, he were still trying to speak. 

"Keep still!" Max said. 

He mixed some brandy and water, and returning, slipped his arm under thepillow. "Don't exert yourself, " he said. "I'll do it all. "

Very steadily he held the glass for Bertrand to drink. He could take butvery little at a time, so agonized was his struggle for breath. Maxwaited through each pause, closely watching the drawn face, never missinghis opportunity. And gradually that little took effect. The anguish diedout of Bertrand's eyes, and he lay still. 

Max slipped his arm from beneath the pillow and stood up. "Don't move, "he said. "You're getting better. "

"You--will stay--with me?" whispered Bertrand. 

"Yes. "

He drew up a chair, and sat down, took the Frenchman's wrist between hisfingers, and so remained for a long time. 

Bertrand lay with closed eyes, his breathing still short and occasionallydifficult, but no longer agonized. 

There came the sound of flying feet along the corridor, and an impatienthand hammered on the door. 

"Hullo, Bertrand! Are you all right? Chris wants to know, " shouted aboyish voice. 

Bertrand started violently, and a quiver of pain went through him. Hefixed his eyes imploringly on Max, who instantly rose to the occasion. 

"Of course he's all right. You clear out! We're busy. "

"What are you doing?" Keen curiosity sounded in Noel's voice. 

"Never mind! We don't want you, " came the brotherly rejoinder. 

"But I say--"

"Clear out!" ordered Max. "Go and tell Chris that Bertrand is writing aletter to catch the post; which reminds me, " he added grimly, "you canalso tell Holmes to come and fetch it in a quarter of an hour. Don'tforget now. It's important. "

He pulled the letter entrusted to his keeping from his pocket and tossedit on to the table. 

Noel departed, and with an effort Bertrand spoke. 

"But that was not the truth. "

"Near enough, " responded the second Wyndham complacently. "That is, ifyou don't want everyone to know. "

Bertrand's brows contracted. "No--no! I would not that your sister shouldknow, or Mr. Mordaunt. "

"They will have to sooner or later, " observed Max. 

"Then--let it be later, " murmured Bertrand. 

Again there fell a silence, during which he seemed to be collecting hisstrength, for when he spoke again it was with more firmness. 

"Mr. Wyndham!"

"All right, you can call me Max. I'm listening, " said Max. 

Bertrand faintly smiled. That touch of good-fellowship pleased him. Youngas he was, this boy somehow made him feel that he understood many things. 

"Then, Max, " he said, "I think that you know already that which I amgoing to say to you. However, it is better to say it. It is not possiblethat I shall live very long. "

He paused, but Max said nothing. He sat, still holding Bertrand's wrist, his gaze upon the opposite wall. 

"You knew it, no?" Bertrand questioned. 

"I suspected it, " Max said. He turned slightly and looked at the man uponthe bed. "This isn't your first attack, " he said. 

Bertrand shuddered irrepressibly. "Nor my second, " he said. 

"I can give you something to ease the pain, " Max said. "But if you'rewise you will consult a doctor. "

Again a faint smile flickered over Bertrand's face. "I am not enoughwise, " he said, "to desire to prolong my life under these conditions. "

"I should say the same myself, " observed Max somewhat curtly. 

He offered no further advice, but sat on, waiting apparently for furtherdevelopments. 

After a little Bertrand proceeded. "I have known now for some time thatthis malady was incurable. I think that I would not have it otherwise, for I am very tired. I am old too--much older than even you cancomprehend. I have undergone the suffering of a lifetime, and I am tootired to suffer much more. But--look you, Max--I do not want to makesuffer those my friends whom I shall leave behind. That is why I praythat the end may come quick--quick. And, till then--I will bear my painalone. "

"And if you can't?" said Max. "If it gets too much for you?"

"The good God will give me strength, " the Frenchman said steadfastly. 

Max shrugged his shoulders. "It's your affair, not mine. But I don't seewhy you shouldn't tell Trevor. He will be hurt by and bye if you don't. "

But Bertrand instantly negatived the suggestion. "He is alreadymuch--much too good to me. I cannot--I will not--be further indebted tohim. My services are almost nominal now. Also"--he paused--"if I tellhim, I cannot remain here longer, and--I have made a promise that for thepresent I will remain. "

Max's shrewd eyes took another quick look at him. "For Chris's benefit, Isuppose?" he said, and though his tone was a question, it scarcelysounded as if he expected an answer. 

Bertrand's eyes met his for an instant in a single lightning glance ofinterrogation. They fell again immediately, and there followed aconsiderable pause before he made reply: "I do not abandon my friendswhen they are troubled and they have need of me. "

"Does Chris need you?" Max asked ruthlessly. 

Again that swift glance shooting upwards; again a lengthy pause. Then, "_Vous avez la vue perçante_, " Bertrand remarked in a low tone. 

"I can't help seeing things, " Max returned. "I suppose it's myspeciality. I knew you were in love with her from the first moment I sawyou. "

Bertrand made a slight movement, as if the crude statement hurt him; buthe answered quite quietly, "You have divined a secret which is known tonone other. I confide it to your honourable keeping. "

The corners of Max's mouth went down. He looked as if he were on theverge of making some ironical rejoinder, but he restrained it, merelyasking, "Are you sure that no one else knows it?"

"You mean--?" The words came sharply this time; Bertrand's eyes searchedhis face with keen anxiety. 

"Chris herself, " Max said. 

"_La petite Christine! Ma foi, no_! She has never known!" Bertrand'sreply was instant and held unshaken conviction. 

"You seem very sure of that, " Max observed. 

"I am sure. Also"--a queer little smile of tenderness touched Bertrand'sdrawn face--"she never will know now. "

"Meaning you will never tell her?" Max said. 

"Me, I will die first!" Bertrand answered simply. 

Max grunted. "Women have an awkward knack of finding things out withoutbeing told, " he observed. 

"She will never discover this while I live, " Bertrand answered. "I am herfriend--the friend of her childhood--nothing more than that. "

"But if she did find out?" Max said. 

"She will not. "

"But--suppose it for a moment--if she did?" He stuck to his pointdoggedly, plainly determined to get an answer. 

"In that case I should depart at once, " Bertrand answered. 

"Yes, and where would you go to?"

Bertrand was silent. 

"You would go back to London and starve?" Max persisted. 

"Perhaps. " Bertrand spoke as though the matter were one of indifferenceto him. "It would not be for long, " he said rather dreamily. 

"Oh, rot!" Max's rejoinder was intentionally vehement. "Look here, " hesaid, as Bertrand looked at him in surprise, "you can't go on like that. It's too damned foolish. If, for any reason, you do leave this place, youmust have some plan of action. You can't let yourself drift. "

"No?" Bertrand still looked surprised. 

"No, " Max returned vigorously. "Now listen to me, Bertrand. If I am tokeep quiet about this illness of yours, you have got to make me apromise. "

Bertrand raised his brows interrogatively. 

"Just this, " Max said, "that if you find yourself at a loose end, youwill come to me. "

Bertrand looked quizzical. "A loose end?" he questioned. 

"You know what it means all right, " Max returned sternly. "Is it apromise?"

"That I come to you if I need a friend?" amended Bertrand. "But--whyshould I do that?"

"Because I am a friend if you like, " said Max bluntly. 

Bertrand's hand closed hard upon his. "I have--no words, " he said, in avoice from which all banter had departed. 

Max gripped the hand. "Then it's a promise?"

Bertrand hesitated. 

"You have no choice, " Max reminded him. "And if you will come to me I canfind a way to help you. It wouldn't even be difficult. And you would haveskilled nursing and attention. Come, it's either that or Trevor will haveto be told. He'll see that you don't go back to starve in the streets. "

"I will not have Mr. Mordaunt told, " Bertrand said quickly and firmly. 

"Then you will give me this promise, " Max returned immovably. 

With a gesture of helplessness the Frenchman yielded. "_Eh bien_, Ipromise. "

"Good!" said Max. He laid Bertrand's hand down and rose. 

Yet a moment he stood above him, looking downwards. "You keep yourpromises, eh?" he asked abruptly. 

Bertrand flushed. "I am a man of honour, " he said proudly. 

"Yes, I know you are. " Max touched his shoulder with a boyish, propitiatory movement. "I beg your pardon, old chap. I'd be one myself ifI could. "

"But you--but you--" Bertrand protested in confusion. 

"I am a Wyndham, " said Max, with a bitter smile. "It doesn't run in ourfamily, that. But I'll play the game with you, man, just because you'restraight. "

He patted Bertrand's shoulder lightly, and turned away. There were notmany who knew Max Wyndham intimately, and of those not one who would havecredited the fact that the innate honour of a French castaway had somehowmade him feel ashamed. 

CHAPTER XIII

WOMANHOOD

"A thousand thanks, _chère Madame_, for the generous favour which youhave bestowed upon me! I shall make it my business to see that no rumourof your droll secret of Valpré ever reach the ear of the strict husband, lest he should imagine that among the rocks of that paradise there liesentombed something more precious to him than the gay romance of youryouth. 

"To this undertaking I subscribe my signature, with many compliments tothe good secretary; and to you, _chère Madame_, my ever constantdevotion. 

"_Toujours à vous_, GUILLAUME RODOLPHE. 

"P. S. --It is with profound regret that I find myself unable to visit you, but my duty recalls me to my regiment in Paris. "

A faint sigh escaped Chris, the first breath she had drawn for manyseconds. She stood by her dressing-table in the full glare of theelectric light, dressed in white, her wonderful hair shining likeburnished copper. She was to give her first dinner-party that night. Itwas not to be a very large affair, yet it was something of an ordeal inher estimation. She would probably have faced it more easily away fromAunt Philippa's critical eyes. But this was a condition not obtainable. Aunt Philippa had decided to remain some little time longer at KellertonOld Park in consequence of an engagement having fallen through, a stateof affairs that Noel regarded with a disgust too forcible to be expressedin words, and which had driven Max away within three days of his arrival. 

Upon Chris had devolved the main burden of her aunt's society, and aheavy burden she had begun to find it. Aunt Philippa had apparentlydetermined to spend her time in transforming her young niece into apractical housewife--a gigantic task which she tackled with praiseworthyzeal. She had already instituted several reforms in the household, andher thrifty mind contemplated several more. Chris's attitude, which hadat first been one of indifference, had gradually developed into one ofpassive resistance. She was, as a matter of fact, too preoccupied justthen to turn her attention to active opposition; but she did not pretendto enjoy the tutelage thus ruthlessly pressed upon her. She had beencompelled to relinquish her readings with Bertrand, of whom she now sawvery little; for, though rigidly courteous at all times, he consistentlyavoided Aunt Philippa whenever possible. She on her part treated him withdisdainful sufferance, much as she had treated Cinders in the old days. She resented his presence, but endured it perforce. 

Under these circumstances it was not surprising that there should occurmoments of occasional friction between her niece and herself, especiallysince, under the most favourable conditions, they had never yet managedto discover a single point in common. 

This constant jarring in the background of the ceaseless anxiety thatconsumed her night and day had worn Chris's nerves to a very thin edge, and now that relief had come at last in the form of the letter she heldin her hand she was almost too spent to feel it. The tension had enduredfor so long that it seemed impossible that it could have relaxed all in amoment. She had received a roll of banknotes from her brother two daysbefore, but that had in a fashion but added to her fever of unrest. Nowthat she knew them to be safe in the pocket of the blackguard for whomthey were intended, now surely was the time for peace to return. 

But had it? Standing there, still reading and re-reading those gibingwords, she asked herself dully if ever peace could return to her--thethoughtless, happy peace of her childhood that she had valued solightly--the careless security of a mind at rest. Had it gone from herfor ever? Was that also buried among the rocks at Valpré? Shewondered--she wondered!

There came a low knock at the door between her room and her husband's. She started violently. He had been in town for a few hours. She had notexpected him back for another quarter of an hour at least. 

"Oh no, " she called out quickly, "you can't come in!"

Yet she stood as she was under the glaring light, the letter stillclutched stiffly in her hand, her eyes still staring widely at theirregular, un-English writing. The letters seemed to writhe and squirminto life before her distorted vision, to wriggle like a procession ofmonstrous insects across the page. Were they insects or were theyreptiles? She asked herself the question dazedly. 

"Chris!" Her husband's voice came to her softly through the closed door. "Let me come in for a moment. I have something to show you. "

"Wait!" she called back desperately. "Wait!"

Yet it was as if iron chains were loaded upon her. She could speak, butshe could not move. Were they reptiles she was watching so intently? Orstay! Were they crabs? They were certainly rather like the funny littlecrabs that she and Cinders used to hunt for in the shallow pools ofValpré. She gave a little laugh. Surely it was the sort of thing thatmight have happened to Alice in Wonderland!

And then quite suddenly her brain flashed back to understanding, tovivid, appalling consciousness; and she knew that her husband was waitingto enter, while she held in her hand the one thing which she would havesacrificed her life sooner than let him see. The awfulness of therealization spurred her back to action. Her limbs were free again, though horribly--so horribly--unsteady. The letter seemed to burn herfingers. She dropped it into the small drawer in which she kept hertrinkets, turned the key with feverish haste, and, withdrawing it, thrustit down inside her dress. The cold steel sent a shiver to her very heart, but it stilled the wild fever of her fear. When she turned from thedressing-table she had nerved herself; she was calm. 

She crossed the room to the door at which Trevor stood waiting, andquietly opened it. 

"How impatient you are!" she said, with a smile. 

For a woman who held her fate at bay it was admirably done; but forChris--little Chris of the sunny eyes and eager, impetuous actions--itwas so overwhelming a failure that Mordaunt, standing on the threshold, made no movement to enter, but stood, and looked and looked, as thoughhe had never seen her before. 

She met the look as a duellist meets his opponent's blade, instantly butwarily, summoning all the craft of her newly awakened womanhood to heraid. She was not conscious of agitation. Her heart felt as if it wereturned to stone; it did not seem to be beating at all. 

"Well, " she said, as he did not speak, "have you got through yourbusiness in town?"

He did not answer her, but came straight forward into the room, took herby the shoulders, and drew her round so that she faced the light. "Whathave you been doing?" he said. 

She faced him unshrinking, undismayed. The Chris of a few hours beforewould have drawn back in open fear from the piercing scrutiny of thosegrey eyes, but this Chris was different. This Chris was a woman with palelips that smiled a baffling smile and eyes that barred the way to hersoul, a woman who had found in her womanhood a weapon of defence that noman could thrust aside. 

"I haven't been doing anything, " she said indifferently, "except runround after Aunt Philippa--oh yes, and write up to town for some things Iwanted. Aunt Philippa is really going to leave us to-day week. I can'tthink what we shall do without her, can you? Now tell me about yourdoings. "

She lifted her face suddenly for his kiss, ignoring the fact that he wasstill holding her as if for inquisition. 

He drew her sharply into his arms and held her fast. "You are very cold, sweetheart, " he said. 

She flushed a little at his action, though the lips he kissed were likeice. "I am tired, " she said. 

She expected him to set her free, but he did not. He held her closerstill. Not till afterwards did she realize that it was the first time hehad ever held her thus and she had not quivered like a frightened birdagainst his breast. She was scarcely thinking of him now. She was as onewho stands before a scorching fire too rapt in reverie to feel the heat. 

Yet after a little he did succeed in infusing a certain degree of warmthinto her. Her arms went round his neck, though hardly of her ownvolition, and her lips returned his kiss. But there was no spirit in her. She leaned against him as if spent. 

"Are you quite well, dear?" he asked her tenderly. 

"Oh, quite! I am always well. " She uttered a little tremulous laugh andraised her head from his shoulder. "Trevor, " she said, "I am afraid youwill think me very extravagant, but, do you know, I haven't any money togo on with. I had a notice from the bank to-day to say my account wasoverdrawn. "

Again it was not the Chris he knew who uttered the words. It was a womanof the world to whom his passing displeasure had become a matter almostof indifference. 

"Chris, " he said abruptly, "what is the matter with you, child? Are youbewitched?"

That roused her. She suddenly realized that she was on dangerous ground, that to blind him she must recall the child who had vanished soinexplicably. And so for the first time she deliberately set herself todeceive this man who till now had ever impelled her to a certain measureof honesty. She did it with a sick heart--but she did it. 

She laid her hands on the front of his coat, grasping it nervously, lifting pleading eyes to his. 

"No, I'm not bewitched. I'm only pretending not to be frightened. Trevor, don't be vexed. I'm very sorry about it. Really I couldn't help it. "

"It's all right, dear, " he said at once, and his hands closed instantlyand reassuringly upon hers. He smiled into her eyes. "It's very naughty, of course, but I'm glad you have told me. How much do you want?"

She hesitated momentarily. "I--I'm afraid rather a lot, Trevor. "

"How much?" he repeated; and then, as she still hesitated, his holdtightened and his face grew grave. He looked straight down into her eyes. "Chris, " he said, "you haven't forgotten, have you, that it is against mywish that you should let your brothers have money?"

She met the look unflinching. "No, Trevor. "

He released her without further question. "Then you need not be afraid totell me how much. "

She made a little grimace. The part was getting easier to play. She wasbeginning to feel almost natural. But the other woman--the woman of theworld who surely had never been Chris Wyndham--was still there in thebackground watching the farce and smiling cynically. Chris was beginningto be afraid of this new personality of hers. It was infinitely moreformidable than her husband had ever been. 

"How much, dear?" Mordaunt asked quietly. 

She started slightly. "Thirty pounds, " she said. 

"Your account is overdrawn to that amount?"

"Yes. " She glanced at him nervously. "I am very sorry, " she said again. 

He remained grave, but perfectly kind. "I will pay in fifty poundsto-morrow, " he said. "That will take you to the end of the month. "

"Oh, thank you, Trevor!" She threw him a quick smile of gratitude. "Iwill pay you back as soon as ever I can. "

"No, it isn't a loan, " he said. 

"Oh, don't give it me!" Impulsively she broke in upon his words. It wasgrowing strangely easy, this part she had to play. Or had she indeed beenbewitched for those few dreadful seconds? Was she in reality herselfagain, the quick-hearted Chris he knew, and that other woman but aphantom born of the horrible strain she had undergone? She told herselfthat this was the true explanation, even while in her heart she knewotherwise. 

"Don't give it me, " she said again. "I would really rather you didn't. "

"Why?" he asked. 

She put out her hand to him with a little movement of entreaty. "I can'texplain. But--I would like to pay it back if you don't mind. "

He smiled at her persistence. "No, I don't mind, if you particularly wishit. Now come into my room for a moment. I want to show you something. "

She went with him, her hand in his, not willingly but because she couldnot do otherwise. 

He led her to the table, and pointed out a box upon it. "That is for you, Chris. "

"For me!" She looked at him as if startled. "What is it, Trevor?"

"Open it and see, " he said. 

She hesitated. She seemed almost afraid. "I hope it isn't anythingvery--very--"

"Open it and see, " he repeated. 

She obeyed him with hands that had begun to tremble, took out anobject wrapped in tissue-paper, unfolded the coverings, and disclosed ajewel-case. 

Then again she hesitated, standing as one in doubt. "Trevor, I--I--"

"Open it, dear, " he said gently. 

And mutely she obeyed. 

Diamonds flashed before her dazzled eyes, a myriad sparkling colours shotspinning through her brain. She stood gazing, gazing, as one beneath aspell. For the passage of many seconds there was no sound in the room. 

Then with a sudden movement she closed the case. It shut with a sharpsnap, and she raised a haggard face. 

"Trevor, it's lovely--lovely! But I can't take it--anyhow, not yet--nottill I have paid you back. "

"My dear little wife, what nonsense!" he said. 

"No, no, it isn't! I am in earnest. " Her voice quivered; she held out thecase to him beseechingly. "I can't take it--yet, " she said. "I thank youwith all my heart. But I can't--I can't!"

Her words ended upon a sudden sob; she laid the case down again among itswrappings, and stood before him silent, with bent head. It was not easyto refuse this gift of his, but for some reason to accept it was amonstrous impossibility. He would not understand, of course, butyet--whatever he thought--she could not take it. 

A long pause followed her last words. She shed no tears, but another sobwas struggling for utterance. She put her hand to her throat to strangleit there. 

And then at last Mordaunt spoke. "Chris, have you been doing somethingthat you are afraid to tell me of?"

She was silent. Silence was her only refuge now. 

He put his arm round her. "Because, " he said very tenderly, "you needn'tbe afraid, dear, Heaven knows. "

That pierced her unbearably. Woman though she was, she almost cried outunder the pain of it. 

She drew herself away from him. "Don't! please don't!" she said ratherbreathlessly. "You--you must take things for granted sometimes. I can'talways be explaining my feelings. They won't stand it. "

She tried to laugh, but could not. Again desperately she pressed her handto her throat. How would he take it? She wondered. Would he regard it asa mere childish whim? Or would he see that he was dealing with a woman, and a desperate woman at that?

She scarcely knew what she expected of him, but most assuredly she didnot anticipate his next move. 

Quite quietly he picked up the jewel-case, and re-entered her room. 

"It may as well go among your other treasures, " he said. "You needn'twear it--unless you wish--until you have paid me back. "

His tone was perfectly ordinary. She wondered what was in his mind, howhe regarded her behaviour, why he treated her thus; not guessing that hehad set himself resolutely, with infinite patience, to show her how smallwas her cause for fear. 

He laid his hand upon the drawer that contained her trinkets, tried it, turned round to her, faintly smiling. 

"May I have the key?"

She had followed him in silence, and now she stood still, The key! Thekey! It seemed to be searing her flesh, burning through to her veryheart. She suddenly felt as if all the Fates were arrayed against her. Why--why--why had she chosen that drawer to guard her secret? Yet howcould she have foreseen this? A mist swam before her eyes. Her new-foundcomposure tottered. 

"I--have lost it, " she murmured. 

"Lost it!" he echoed. 

"I mean--I mean--" She was stammering now in open confusion--"I must havelaid it down somewhere. I--I shall find it again, no doubt. "

He turned fully round and looked at her. She clasped her hands to stillher quivering nerves. This fresh ordeal was proving too much for her. 

"I can't help it, " she said, with white lips. "I often mislay things. Iam careless, I know. But I always find them again sooner or later. I willhave a look for it while you are dressing. "

Her words ran on almost meaninglessly. She was speaking for the sake ofspeaking, because silence would have been too terrible to be borne, because if she had ceased to speak she must have screamed. Even as itwas, the fact that her husband said nothing whatever was driving heralmost to distraction. 

Suddenly she realized that he was waiting for her to stop, that her wordswere making no impression, that he was not so much as listening to them, his attention being focussed upon her and her alone. 

She broke off in desperation. She met his steady eyes. "Don't you--don'tyou believe me, Trevor?"

He did not instantly reply. For one dreadful moment she thought that hewas going to answer in the negative. And then very deliberately hedeclined her direct challenge. 

"I think, " he said quietly, "that you don't know what you are saying. "

And with that he went slowly back to his own room, taking the jewel-casewith him. The door closed softly and she was left alone. 

For many seconds thereafter Chris made no movement of any sort. It was asif she were afraid to stir. Her eyes were wide, gazing straight beforeher, as though fascinated by some scene of terror. 

She moved at last stiffly, went to the window, drew a long, deep breath. She asked herself no questions of any sort. There was no need. For thefirst time in her life she was face to face with her own soul, beyond allpossibility of self-deception. 

The child Chris was gone for ever, the woman Chris remained, a woman witha tragic secret that must never be revealed. She knew now why she hadfought so desperately to keep that episode of Valpré from her husband'sknowledge. She only marvelled that the reason had never come home to herbefore. She knew now why she had always shrunk inwardly from thesearching of his eyes. She had always dreaded that he might see too much, even that same secret of which she herself must have been vaguelyconscious for years. 

It was all clear to her now, so clear that she could never shut her eyesto it again. All her life long she must carry it in her heart, and no onemust ever know. Sleeping and waking, she must keep it safely hidden. Shemust go on living a lie all her life, all her life. 

She flung out her arms with a sudden gesture of fierce rebellion. Oh, whyhad she married? Why? Why? Why? Had she not always known in her heartthat she was making a terrible, an irrevocable, mistake? How was it shehad been so blind? Why had there been no one to warn her of the snareinto which she was walking? Why had no hand held her back?

Trevor himself--but no, Trevor did not so much as know that she had lefther childhood behind her yet. He was still wondering what childishpeccadillo was troubling her, keeping her from accepting his gift. Atleast, he was very far from suspecting her actual reason; nor must heever suspect. 

Never, as long as they lived, must he know that she had refused the firstthing of value that he had offered her since their wedding because in aninstant of overwhelming revelation she had just recognized the fact thatshe loved--had loved for years--another man. 

PART III

CHAPTER I

WAR

Two days before that on which Aunt Philippa had decided to take herdeparture Mordaunt went again to town. Noel, whose holidays were drawingto a close, accompanied him to the station in a state of high jubilation, albeit Holmes was in charge of the motor and there was not the faintestchance of his being allowed to take the wheel. 

"I hope you're going to behave yourself, " were Mordaunt's last words. 

And the youngster's cheery grin and impudent "You bet, old chap!" oughtto have warned him not to hope for behaviour too exemplary. 

Noel, in fact, had been anticipating his brother-in-law's departure withconsiderable eagerness. Though he liked him thoroughly, he was anundoubted check upon his enjoyment. He kept him within bounds after afashion which had at first amused but had of late begun somewhat to pallupon him; and Noel was only awaiting a suitable opportunity to kick overthe traces and gallop free. On this occasion Mordaunt had decided tospend the night in town, so circumstances were propitious. 

As for Mordaunt, he had dismissed Noel from his mind almost before thetrain was out of the station. But for her aunt's presence, he would havepersuaded Chris to go with him, even though he knew that she had not thesmallest wish to do so. He was growing very anxious with regard to her, and he was firmly determined that she should have a change of scene assoon as Noel's holidays and Aunt Philippa's protracted stay came to anend. It was not that she seemed ill, but she was very far from beingherself, and there were times when he even fancied that she simulatedgaiety for the deliberate purpose of deceiving him. He knew, too, thather sleep was often broken and troubled, but he never commented uponthis; she was so plainly averse to any criticism from him or anyone. Ashrewd suspicion had begun to take root in Mordaunt's mind to account forthis unwonted reticence; and because of it he treated her with the utmostpatience and consideration, asking no question, giving no sign that he somuch as noticed the change in her. He invariably turned from any subjectshe seemed to find distasteful. If she seemed unusually nervous orunreasonable, he passed it over, bearing with her with a tenderness thatsometimes moved her in secret to passionate tears the while she askedherself what she had ever done that he should love her so. 

For if she had ever doubted the quality of his love, she could not do sonow. It surrounded her whichever way she turned, asking nothing of her, never intruding upon her, content simply to shelter her. And though thevery fact of it hurt her, it comforted her subtly as well, lulling herfear of him, giving her a certain measure of confidence. 

Of Bertrand, in those days, she saw less and less. In the first shock ofrealization she had instinctively avoided him, possessed by a hauntingdread that he might guess her secret. But upon this point she was verysoon reassured. The consistent and unwavering friendliness of hisattitude quieted her misgivings, and nerved her to treat him, if withless intimacy, at least without visible awkwardness. Whether he noticedher avoidance or not she did not know, but he certainly seemed to bewithdrawing himself more and more out of her life. His work with herhusband apparently occupied all his thoughts, and then there was AuntPhilippa also to keep him at a distance. How it would be when her auntdeparted Chris had no notion, but she was looking forward to that eventwith an eagerness almost feverish. All her natural sweetnessnotwithstanding, there were occasions upon which she actively dislikedthis domineering relative of hers. Aunt Philippa, on her part, who hadnever taken so much trouble with her niece before, openly marvelled ather intractability, which even the fact that Chris was one of thoseheadstrong Wyndhams did not, in her opinion, wholly justify. No openrupture had occurred, but a very decided animosity had begun to smoulderbetween them, which a very little provocation might at any moment faninto open hostility. 

Chris was leaning against a pillar of the porch when her brotherreturned. There was very decided dejection in her attitude. 

"Cheer up!" Noel exhorted her, as he sprang from the car. "I've got aripping plan. "

He came and twined his arm in hers, and Chris smiled with a hint ofwistfulness. She felt as if she had left Noel and his boyish pleasuresvery far behind of late. 

"What do you want to do?" she said. 

"Come into the gun-room and I'll tell you. " Noel was all eagerness. "Coast clear?" he questioned. "Where's Aunt Phil?"

"Waiting for me to go and help her find fault with the gardeners. " Chriswas still smiling a little, but there was not much humour in her voice. 

"Oh, rats! Don't go!" said Noel. "Come along into the gun-room, and helpme make some fireworks. It will be much more fun. "

A spark of the old ardour kindled in Chris's eyes. "Oh, are you going tomake fireworks?" she said. "Have you got the ingredients?"

He nodded. "Nearly all. Come and see. What we haven't got we mustmanufacture. I know where there are plenty of cartridges. "

Chris yielded to the eager pulling of his arm. "I suppose Trevor wouldn'tmind for once, " she said. She had grown unaccountably scrupulous in thisrespect. 

But Noel jeered at the notion. "Who cares? It'll be all over longbefore he comes home to-morrow. We will have a regular jollificationto-night. You and I will run the show, and Aunt Phil and Bertrand canlook on and admire. I say, Chris, I've got a ripping receipt forCatherine wheels--not the big ones, those little things you hold and buzzround. You know!"

His enthusiasm was infectious. It drew her almost in spite of herself. Besides, it meant a temporary respite from the continual burden thatweighed her down, and brief though it must be, she could not bringherself to refuse it. She went with him, therefore, with the feeling ofone who has signed a truce with the enemy, and in a couple of minutesthey were securely closeted in the gun-room, with the door locked againstall intruders, and all thoughts of Aunt Philippa and any other troublousproblems as resolutely excluded from their minds. 

The hours of the morning literally flew. Luncheon-time found themabsorbed in a most critical process. 

"Bust lunch!" said Noel. "We can't possibly leave this now. "

But Chris's sense of duty proved too strong for her inclination at thisjuncture, and she sallied forth from their retreat to rescue Bertrandfrom a _tête-à-tête_ meal with her aunt. 

There was a sparkle of merriment in her eyes when she entered thedining-room. The engrossing work of the morning had done her good. Shewas fully five minutes late, and Bertrand, who had presented himselfsharp on the hour with military punctuality, was waiting by the window. 

He came swiftly to meet her. She had not seen him before that day. 

"You are looking well this morning, " he said, in his quick, friendly way. "You have been busy, yes?"

His soft eyes interrogated her, as for an instant he held her hand. Neveronce had she found those eyes impossible to meet. They held the fidelityof unswerving friendship. 

"Oh yes, " she said, "busy in a fashion--a very childish fashion, Bertie. Noel and I are making fireworks!"

"Fireworks!" he echoed. 

"Yes, we are going to have a grand display tonight. Will you come andlook on?"

He smiled. "But yes, " he said. "I think that I will come and take care ofyou. "

She nodded. "Do! But they are not dangerous, not very. Where is AuntPhilippa?"

He spread out his hands whimsically. "She has not given me herconfidence. "

Chris laughed. Actually she was feeling almost lighthearted. Till thatmoment she had had a morbid dread of being alone with him, and now beholdher dread vanishing in mirth! Surely she had been very foolish, like achild frightened at shadows!

"I wonder where she is, " she said. "I am afraid I have been playingtruant this morning. I shall have to apologize, though it was all Noel'sfault. Do see if you can find Mrs. Forest, " she added to a servant justentering. "Ask her if she is ready for luncheon. "

"Mrs. Forest is out in the motor, and has not yet returned, " was theinformation this elicited. 

"How odd!" said Chris. "What had we better do?"

Bertrand shrugged his shoulders, still looking quizzical. "We must notlunch without her, _bien sûr_. Let us go into the garden. "

They went into the garden, and walked for a space in the Septembersunshine. 

They talked at first upon commonplace topics, and Chris was wholly at herease. But presently Bertrand turned the conversation with an abruptquestion. 

"Christine, tell me, you have never seen that scoundrel Rodolphe again?"

She started a little, and was conscious that she changed colour, but sheanswered him instantly. "No, never. But--why do you ask?"

Very gravely he made reply. "I have feared lately that there wassomething that troubled you. I was wrong, yes?"

He looked at her anxiously. 

She did not answer him, she could not. 

"_Eh bien_, " he said gently, after a moment. "It was not that. You haveheard that he has been recalled to France--that there is a rumour thatthere have been revelations that may lead to a court-martial?"

"No!" said Chris in amazement. "Do you mean--"

He bent his head. "It is possible. "

"That you may be vindicated?" she questioned eagerly. "Oh, Bertie!"

"It is possible, " he repeated. "Yet I will not permit myself to hope. Itis no more than a rumour. It is also possible that it may not even touchthe old _affaire_, since he made no appearance at my trial. "

"But if it did!" said Chris. 

He gave her an odd look. "If it did, Christine?" he questioned. 

"You would go back with flying colours, " she said. "You would bereinstated surely!"

He shook his head. "I do not think it. "

"You mean you wouldn't go?" she asked. 

He turned his face up to the sun with a peculiar gesture. "Who can say?"he said, with closed eyes. "Me, I think that the good God has other plansfor me. I may be justified--I do not know. But I shall wear the uniformof the French Army--never again. "

He spoke perfectly calmly, with absolute conviction; but there was thatin his face that startled her, something she had never seen before. 

She put out a hesitating hand, and touched his sleeve. "Bertie!"

Instantly he looked at her, saw the scared expression in her eyes, and, smiling, pressed her hand. 

"_Mais_, Christine, these things--what are they? Ambition, success, honour--loss, failure, shame; they seem so great in this little life ofmortality. But, after all, they are no more than the tools with which thegood God shapes us to His destiny. He uses them, and when His work isdone He throws them aside. We leave them behind us; we pass on to thatwhich is greater. " He paused a moment, and his eyes kindled as though hewere on the verge of something further; then suddenly they went beyondher, and he relinquished her hand. "Madame has returned, " he said. "Letus go!"

Looking up, Chris saw Aunt Philippa upon the terrace above them. 

The expression on her relative's face was one of severe and undisguiseddisapproval, as her gaze rested upon the two in the garden. Chris, as shemoved to meet her, felt a sudden flame of indignation at her heart. Howdared Aunt Philippa look at them so?

"We have been waiting for you, " she said, speaking in some haste toconceal her resentment. "Has anything happened?"

Aunt Philippa replied in the measured accents habitual to her. "Nothinghas happened. I have been to Sandacre Court, at Mrs. Pouncefort'sinvitation, to see the gardens. I waited for you, Chris, for nearly anhour this morning, but you did not see fit either to come to me or tosend any word of explanation to account for your absence. Therefore Istarted late. Hence my late return. "

Chris coloured. "I am sorry, Aunt Philippa. Noel wanted me. I am afraid Iforgot you were waiting. "

"It seems to me, " said Aunt Philippa, with cutting emphasis, "that youare apt to forget every obligation when in Mr. Bertrand's society. "

"Aunt Philippa!"

Furious indignation rang in Chris's voice. In a second--in less--it wouldhave been open war, but swift as an arrow Bertrand intervened. 

"Ah! but pardon me, " he said, in his soft voice. "I am not responsiblefor Mrs. Mordaunt's negligence. She has been occupied with her affairs, and I with mine. Had she been in my society"--he smiled with a flash ofthe teeth--"she would not have forgotten her duties so easily. I am anexcellent monitor, madame. Acquit me, I beg, of being accessory to thecrime, and accept my sympathies the most sincere. "

Aunt Philippa ignored them in icy silence, but he had accomplished hisend. The evil moment was averted. Whatever Chris might have to endurelater, at least she would be spared the added mortification of hispresence during the infliction. Airily he turned the subject. He couldoverlook a snub more adroitly than Aunt Philippa could administer one. 

They went into the house, and during the meal that followed Bertrand madehimself gracefully agreeable to both ladies. So delicate were hisattentions that Chris found herself more than once on the verge ofhysterical laughter. 

But when he left them at length, with many apologies, to resume hisinterrupted labours, her sense of humour ceased to vibrate. Never beforehad she desired her husband's presence as she desired it then. 

Her hope that Aunt Philippa might retire to her room to rest was a veryslender one, and destined almost from the outset to disappointment. AuntPhilippa was on the war trail, and she would not rest until she hadtracked down her quarry. 

She began at once to speak of her morning's visit to Mrs. Pouncefort, whom she knew as a London hostess. Personally, she disapproved of her, but she could not afford to pass her over, since her status in societywas by no means inconsiderable, being, in fact, almost capable ofrivalling her own. 

"I should have remained to luncheon, " she said, "but for the fact thatyou were here quite unchaperoned. Had you accompanied me, as I had hopedyou would, I should not have had to hasten back in the heat. "

"But I wasn't invited, " said Chris, "and I know every inch of thosegardens. I knew them long ago, before the Pounceforts came. "

"The invitation, " said Aunt Philippa, not to be diverted from herpurpose, "was quite casual. You could quite well have accompanied me. Infact, I think Mrs. Pouncefort was surprised not to see you. However, weneed not discuss that further. Doubtless you had your own reasons fordesiring to remain at home, and I shall not ask you what those reasonswere. What I do ask, and what I think I have a right to know, is whetheryou have had the proper feeling to tell your husband that the CaptainRodolphe you met at Pouncefort Court a little while ago is the man withwhom you were so deplorably intimate at Valpré in your girlhood, orwhether you have had the audacity to pretend that he was a total strangerto you. "

Chris almost gasped at this unexpected attack, but its directnesscompelled an instant reply without pausing to consider the position. 

"I was never intimate with Captain Rodolphe, " she said quickly. "I neverspoke to him before the other day. "

And there she stopped suddenly short, arrested by the look of openincredulity with which her aunt received her hasty statement. 

There was a moment's silence. Then, "Really!" said Aunt Philippa. "Hegave Mrs. Pouncefort to understand otherwise. "

Chris felt the blood rush to her face. This was intolerable. "What did hegive Mrs. Pouncefort to understand?" she demanded. 

"Merely that you were old friends, " said Aunt Philippa, with the calmsuperiority of one not to be shaken in her belief. 

"Then he lied!" said Chris fiercely. 

Aunt Philippa said "Indeed!" with raised eyebrows. 

Chris's hands clenched unconsciously. "He lied!" she repeated. "We arenot friends! We never could be! I--I hate the man!"

"Then you know him well enough for that?" said Aunt Philippa. 

Chris sprang to her feet with hot cheeks and blazing eyes. "AuntPhilippa, you have no right--you and Mrs. Pouncefort--to--to talk me overand discuss my acquaintances!"

"My dear child, " said Aunt Philippa, "all that passed between us was aremark made by Mrs. Pouncefort to the effect that one of her guests, Captain Rodolphe--an old friend of yours whom she believed you hadoriginally met at Valpré--had just returned to Paris. What led to theremark I do not remember. But naturally the name recalled certainregrettable circumstances to my mind, and I felt it my duty to ask if youhad been quite candid with Trevor upon the subject. I am sincerelygrieved to know that my suspicion in this respect was but too wellfounded. "

"He was not the man I knew at Valpré" burst forth Chris, with passionatevehemence. "You may believe it or not; it is the truth!"

"Then, my dear, " said Aunt Philippa, with the calmness of unalterableconviction, "there must have been two men who enjoyed that privilege. "

Chris broke into a wild laugh--a laugh that had been struggling forutterance for the past hour. 

"Two! Why, there were a dozen at least, some soldiers, some fishermen!Ask Trevor! He can tell you all about them--if he thinks it worth while!"

"And yet you have not mentioned Captain Rodolphe to him?" said AuntPhilippa. Her eyes were fixed unsparingly upon the girl's face, and shesaw the colour dying away as swiftly as it had risen. "That is strange, "she remarked, with emphasis. 

"It is not strange!" flashed back Chris. The laugh had gone from herlips, leaving them white, but she faced her adversary unflinchingly. Itwas open war now--a fierce and bitter struggle for the mastery, for whichshe knew herself to be ill-equipped, but in which she must fight to thelast. She knew that Aunt Philippa had always regarded her with colddislike, and it dawned upon her in that moment that now--now that herposition was assured, now that she was rich and popular and the wife of aman who was universally honoured in that great world of society in whichher aunt had always striven for a leading place--the dislike had turnedto a cruel jealousy that demanded her downfall. And she was horribly ather mercy; deep in her heart she knew that also, but she would not ownit, even to herself. Aunt Philippa had not yet unmasked the truth. Untilshe succeeded in doing so, all was not lost. 

"It is not strange, " she repeated, and this time she spoke quietly, summoning all her strength to the unequal contest. "Captain Rodolphe wasnot of sufficient importance to mention to Trevor. Besides--"

"Although you hate him so bitterly!" Aunt Philippa reminded her. 

Chris pressed on, ignoring the thrust. "Besides, Trevor does not need, does not so much as wish to be told of every little incident that everhappened in my life. He prefers to trust me. "

"And have you never abused his confidence?" asked Aunt Philippa. 

It was inevitable. She flinched ever so slightly, but she covered it withinstant defiance. "What do you mean, Aunt Philippa?"

Aunt Philippa made no direct reply. She knew the value of insinuation insuch a battle as this. "Ask yourself that question, " she saidimpressively. 

It might have provided a way of escape, at least temporarily, but Chriswas too far goaded to see it. "Tell me what you mean, " she said. 

Aunt Philippa's thin lips smiled ironically. "My dear, are you really soblind, or is deceit the very air you breathe? Can you look me in the faceand assure me that nothing has ever passed between you and your husband'ssecretary of which you would not wish him to know?"

That went home, straight to her quivering heart. For a moment the pain ofit held her dumb. Then, with a gasp, she turned from the pitiless eyesthat watched her. 

"Oh, how dare you, Aunt Philippa! How dare you!" she cried in impotence. 

"I trust that I am not afraid to do my duty, " said Aunt Philippa, verygravely. 

But Chris had already turned, completely routed, and fled from the sceneof her defeat; nor did she pause until she had reached her haven at thetop of the house, where, like a wounded bird, she crouched down insolitude and so remained for a long, long time. 

Not till the afternoon was far advanced did any measure of comfort cometo her stricken soul, and then at last she remembered that, after all, she was comparatively safe. Her husband's trust was still hers, implicitand unwavering, and she knew that he would not so much as notice a singlehint from Aunt Philippa, however adroitly offered. That was her one andonly safeguard, and as she realized it the bitterness of her heart gaveplace to a sudden burst of anguished shame. What had she ever done todeserve the generous, unquestioning trust he thus reposed in her?Nothing--less than nothing!

CHAPTER II

FIREWORKS

When Chris emerged from her seclusion, she found that her aunt haddecided to suspend hostilities, and to treat her with the majesticcondescension of the conqueror. It was something of a relief, for Chriswas not fashioned upon fighting lines, and long-sustained animosity wasbeyond her. She was thankful for Noel's plans for the evening'sentertainment as a topic of conversation, even though Aunt Philippaopenly disapproved of the enterprise. She had begun feverishly to countthe hours to her aunt's departure. She would not feel really safe, reassure herself how she might, until she was finally gone. 

It was not until after dinner that Noel emerged from his lair in thegun-room and announced everything to be in readiness. He called Chris outon to the terrace to assist him, and Aunt Philippa and Bertrand wereleft--an ill-assorted couple--to watch and admire the result of hisefforts. Aunt Philippa invariably maintained a demeanour of haughtyreserve if she found herself alone with her host's French secretary, anattitude in which he as invariably acquiesced with an impenetrablesilence which she resented without knowing why. He was always courteous, but he never tried to be agreeable to her, and this also Aunt Philipparesented, though she would have mercilessly snubbed any efforts in thatdirection had he exerted himself to make them. 

The night was dark and still, an ideal night for fireworks. Noel beganwith the failures which he had not the heart to waste. He was keeping thechoicest of his collection till the last. Consequently there were a goodmany crackling explosions on the ground with nothing but a few sparks tocompensate for the noise, and Aunt Philippa very speedily tired of thedin. 

"This is childish as well as dangerous, " she said. "I shall go to thelibrary. There will at least be peace and quietness there. "

"Without doubt, " said Bertrand. 

He accompanied her thither with a polite regard for her comfort for whichhe received no gratitude, and then returned to smoke his cigarette incomfort by the open French window that overlooked the terrace. 

A ruddy glare lit up the scene as he took up his stand. The failures wereapparently exhausted, and Noel had begun upon the masterpieces. Chris'squick laugh came to him, as he stood there watching. Yet he frowned alittle to himself as he heard it, missing the gay, spontaneous, childishring that he had been wont to hear. What had come to her of late? Was ittrue that she had told him on the night of Cinders' death? Was she indeedgrown-up? If so--he changed his position slightly, trying to catch aglimpse of her in the fitful glare of one of Noel's Roman candles--hadthe time come for him to go? He had always faced the fact that she wouldnot need him when her childhood was left behind. And certainly of lateshe had not seemed to need him. She had even--he fancied--avoided him attimes. He wondered wherefore. Could it have been at her aunt'sinstigation? Surely not. She was too staunch for that. 

There remained another possibility, and, after a little, reluctantly, with clenched teeth, he faced it. Had she by some means discovered thatwhich he had so studiously hidden from her all this time? He cast hismind back. Had he ever inadvertently betrayed himself? He knew he hadnot. Never since her marriage had he given the faintest sign; no, noteven on that fateful afternoon when she had clung to him in anguish ofsoul and he had held her fast pressed against his heart. He had beenstrictly honourable, resolutely loyal, all through. He had always heldhimself in check. He had never forgotten, never relaxed his vigilance, never once been other than faithful, even in thought, to the friend whotrusted him. Yet--Max's words recurred to him, piercing him as with astab of physical pain--without doubt women had a genius _incroyable_ fordiscovering secrets. And if Chris were indeed a woman--was it notpossible--

Again her laugh broke in upon his thoughts, and he turned swiftly in thedirection whence it came. She was standing not more than a dozen yardsfrom him, a red whirl of fire all about her, in her hand a whizzing, spitting-aureole of flame. The light flared upwards on her face andgleaming hair. She looked like some fire-goddess, exulting over theradiant element she had created. And, like a sword-thrust to his heart, there went through him the memory of her standing poised like a bird onthe prow of a boat. Just so had she stood then; just so, goddess-like, had she exulted in the morning sunshine and the sparkling water; just sohad her bare arms shone on the day that first he had consciouslyworshipped her, on the day that she had told him of her desire to findout all the secrets that there were. Ah! how much had she found out sincethen--his bird of Paradise with the restless, ever-fluttering wings? Howmuch? How much?

A sudden cry banished his speculations--a cry uttered by her voice, sharpwith dismay. "Oh, Noel! My sleeve!"

Before the words were past her lips Bertrand had leaped forth to therescue. He traversed the distance between them as a meteor hurlingthrough space. But even so, ere he reached her, the filmy lace that hungdown from her elbow had blazed into flame. She had dropped the firework, and it lay hissing on the ground like a glittering snake. He sprang overit and caught her in his arms. 

She cried out again as he crushed her to him, cried out, and tried topush him from her; but he held her fast, gripping the flaming materialwith his naked hands, rending it, and gripping afresh. Something whitewhich neither noticed fluttered upon the ground between them. It musthave actually passed through that frantic grip. It lay unheeded, whileBertrand beat out the last spark and ripped the last charred rag awayfrom the soft arm. 

"You are hurt, no?" he queried rather breathlessly. 

"You, Bertie! What of you?" she cried hysterically, clinging to him. "Your hands--let me see them!"

"By Jove, that was a near thing!" ejaculated Noel, who had followed closeupon Bertrand's heels. "I thought you were done for that time, Chris. Howon earth did you manage it? You must have been jolly careless. "

Chris did not attempt to answer. Now that the emergency had passed, shewas hanging upon Bertrand almost in a state of collapse. 

"Let us go in, " the latter said gently. 

"Yes, run along, " said Noel, who had a wholesome dread of hysterics. "Don't be silly, Chris; there's no harm done. But if it hadn't been forthis chap here you'd have been in flames in another second. Icongratulate you, Bertrand, on your presence of mind. Not hurt yourself, I suppose?"

"I am not hurt, " the Frenchman answered; but his words sounded as ifspeech were an effort to him, almost as if he spoke them through clenchedteeth. 

Chris straightened herself swiftly. "Yes, let us go in, " she said. 

She leaned upon Bertrand no longer, but she still held his arm. As theyentered the drawing-room alone together, she turned and looked at him. 

"Ah! I knew you were hurt, " she said quickly. "Sit down, Bertie. Here isa chair. "

He sank down blindly, his face like death; he had begun to gasp forbreath. His hand groped desperately towards an inner pocket, but fellpowerless before reaching it. 

"Let me!" whispered Chris. 

She bent over him, and slipped her own trembling hand inside his coat. Her fingers touched something hard, and she drew out a small bottle. 

"Is it this?" she said. 

His lips moved in the affirmative. She removed the stopper and shook outsome capsules. 

"_Deux_!" whispered Bertrand. 

She put them into his mouth and waited. Great drops had started on hisforehead, and now began to roll slowly down his drawn face. She took hishandkerchief after a little to wipe them away, but almost immediately hereached up with a quivering smile and took it from her. 

"I am better, " he said, and though his voice was husky he had it undercontrol. "You will pardon me for giving you this trouble. It was only--apassing weakness. "

He mopped his forehead, and leaned slowly forward, moving with caution. 

"But you are ill! You are in pain!" Chris exclaimed. 

"No, " he said. "No, I have no pain. I am better. I am quite well. "

Again he looked up at her, smiling. "But how I have alarmed you!" he saidregretfully. "And your arm, _petite_? It is not burnt--not at all?"

He took her hand gently, and put back the tattered sleeve to satisfyhimself on this point. 

Chris said nothing. Her lips had begun to tremble. But she winced alittle when he touched a place inside her arm where the flame hadscorched her. 

He glanced up sharply. "Ah! that hurts you, that?"

"No, " she said, "no. It is nothing. " And then, with sudden passion:"Bertie, what does a little scorch like that matter when you--whenyou--" She broke off, fighting with herself, and pointed a shaking fingerat his wrist. 

It had been blistered by the flame, and his shirt-cuff was charred; butthe injury was slight, remarkably so in consideration of the utterrecklessness he had displayed. 

He snapped his fingers with easy indifference. "Ah, bah! It is a_bagatelle_, that. In one week it will be gone. And now--why, _chérie_--"

He stopped abruptly. She had dropped upon her knees beside him, her handsupon his shoulders, her face, tragic in its pain, upturned to his. 

"Bertie, why do you try to hide things from me? Do you think I am quiteblind? You are ill. I know you are ill. What is it, dear? Won't you tellme?"

He made a quick gesture as if he would check either her words or hertouch, and then suddenly he stiffened. For in that instant there ranbetween them once again, vital, electric, unquenchable, that Flame thathad kindled long ago on a morning of perfect summer, that Flame whichonce kindled burns on for ever. 

It happened all in a moment, so swiftly that they were caught unawares inthe spell of it, so overwhelmingly that neither for the space of severalthrobbing seconds possessed the volition to draw back. And in the deepsilence the man's eyes held the woman's irresistibly, yet by no consciouseffort, while each entered the other's soul and gazed upon the onesupreme secret which each had mutely sheltered there. 

It was to the man that full realization first came--a realization moreoverwhelming than anything that had gone before, striking him with astunning force that shattered every other emotion like a bursting shellspreading destruction. 

He came out of that trance-like stillness with a gesture of horror, as iffreeing himself from some evil thing that had wound itself about himunawares. 

Her hands fell away from his shoulders instantly. She was white tothe lips. She even for one incredible moment--the only moment in herlife--shrank from him. But that impulse vanished as swiftly as it came, vanished in a rush of passionate understanding. For with a groan Bertrandsank forward and bowed his head in his hands. 

"_Mon Dieu_!" he said. "What have I done?"

She responded as it were instinctively, not pausing to choose her words, speaking in a quick, vehement whisper, because his distress was more thanshe could bear. 

"It is none of your doing, Bertie. You are not to say it--not to think iteven. It happened long, long ago. You know it did. It happened--ithappened--that day at Valpré--the day you--took me into your boat. "

He groaned again, his head dropping lower. She knew that also! Then wasshe woman indeed!

There followed a silence during which Chris remained kneeling beside him, but she was no longer agitated. She was strangely calm. A new strengthseemed to have been given her to cope with this pressing need. When atlast she moved, it was to lay a hand that was quite steady upon his knee. 

"Bertie, " she said, "listen! You have done nothing wrong. You havenothing to reproach yourself with. It wasn't your fault that I took solong to grow up. " A piteous little smile touched her lips, and was gone. "You have been very good to me, " she said. "I won't have you blameyourself. No woman ever had a truer friend. "

He laid his hand upon hers, but he kept his eyes covered. She could onlysee the painful twitching of his mouth under the slight moustache. 

"Ah, Christine, " he said at last, with an effort, "I have tried--I havetried--to be faithful. "

"And you have never been anything else, " she said very earnestly. "Youwere my _preux chevalier_ from the very beginning, and you have done morefor me than you will ever know. Bertie, Bertie"--her voice thrilledsuddenly--"though it's all so hopeless, do you think it isn't easier forme now that I know? Do you think I would have it otherwise if I could?"

His hand closed tightly upon hers with a quick, restraining pressure. Hecould not answer her. 

For some seconds he did not speak at all. At length, "Then--you trust mestill, Christine?" he said, his voice very low. 

Her reply was instant and unfaltering. "I shall trust you as long as Ilive. "

He was silent again for a space. Then suddenly he uncovered his face andlooked at her. Again their eyes met, with the perfect intimacy of aperfect understanding. 

"_Eh bien_, " Bertrand said, speaking slowly and heavily, as one labouringunder an immense burden, "I will be worthy of your confidence. You areright, little comrade. We have travelled too far together--you and I--tofear to strike upon the rocks now. "

He paused a moment, then quietly rose, drawing her to her feet. So for awhile he stood, her hands clasped in his, seeming still upon the verge ofspeech, but finding no words. His eyes smiled sadly upon her, as the eyesof a friend saying good-bye. At last he stooped, and reverently as thoughhe sealed an oath thereby, he pressed his lips upon the hands he held. 

An instant later he straightened himself, and in unbroken silence turnedand left her. 

It was one of the simplest tragedies ever played on the world's stage. They had found each other--too late, and there was nothing more to besaid. 

CHAPTER III

THE TURN OF THE TIDE

It was evening when Mordaunt returned on the following day. He was met atthe station by Noel. Holmes was in charge of the motor, and greeted hismaster with obvious relief. The care of the youngest Wyndham was plainlya responsibility he did not care to shoulder for long. 

"All well?" Mordaunt asked, as he emerged from the station with his youngbrother-in-law hooked effusively on his arm. 

"All well, sir, " said Holmes, with the air of a sentry relaxing afterlong and arduous duty. 

"Flourishing, " said Noel, "though it's the greatest wonder you haven'tcome back to find Chris a heap of ashes. She would have been if Bertrandhadn't--at great personal risk--put her out. "

"What has happened?" demanded Mordaunt sharply. 

"All's well, sir, " said Holmes reassuringly. 

"Fireworks!" explained Noel. "My word, I made some beauties! I wish youcould have seen 'em. I got singed a bit myself. But, then, that's onlywhat one would expect playing with fire, eh, Trevor?" He rubbed his cheekingratiatingly against Mordaunt's shoulder. "You needn't be anxious. Chris was really none the worse. But the Frenchman had a bad attack ofblue funk when the danger was over, and nearly fainted. He's feelingashamed of himself apparently, for I haven't seen him since. By the way, Aunt Phil and Chris had a mill yesterday, and the old lady is sufferingfrom a very stiff neck in consequence. I asked Chris what she did to it, but she wouldn't tell me. Thank the gods, she goes to-morrow! You'll letme drive her to the station, won't you? I should like to go to heaven inAunt Phil's company. She would be sure to get into the smartest set atonce. "

He rattled on in the same cheery strain without intermission throughoutthe return journey, having imparted enough to make Mordaunt thoroughlyuneasy, notwithstanding Holmes's assurance. 

The first person he met upon entering the house was Aunt Philippa. Sheaccorded him a glacial reception, and explained that Chris had retired tobed with a severe headache. 

"It's come on very suddenly, " remarked Noel, with frank incredulity. "Where's Bertrand? Has he got a headache too?"

Aunt Philippa had no information to offer with regard to the Frenchsecretary! She merely observed that she had given orders for dinnerto be served in a quarter of an hour, and therewith swept away to thedrawing-room. 

Mordaunt shook off his young brother-in-law without ceremony, and wentstraight up to his wife's room. 

His low knock elicited no reply, and he opened the door softly andentered. 

The room was in semi-darkness, but Chris's voice accosted him instantly. 

"Is that you, Trevor? I'm here, lying down. I had rather a headache, or Iwould have come to meet you. "

Her words were rapid and sounded feverish, as though she were braced forsome ordeal. She was lying with her back to the curtained windows and herface in shadow. 

Mordaunt went forward with light tread to the bed. "Poor child!" he saidgently. 

He stooped and kissed her, and found that she was trembling. Quietly hetook her hand into his, and began to feel her pulse. 

She made a nervous movement to frustrate him, but he gently insisted andshe became passive. 

"There is nothing serious the matter, " she said uneasily. "I--I didn'tsleep very well last night, that's all. I thought you wouldn't mind if Ididn't come to meet you. "

Mordaunt, with the tell-tale, fluttering pulse under his fingers, madegentle reply. "Of course not, dear. I think you are quite right to takecare of yourself. Is your head very bad?"

"No, not now. I think I'm just tired. I shall be all right after anight's rest. "

Again she tried to slip her hand out of his grasp, and after a moment helet it go. 

"Please don't worry about me, " she said. "You won't, will you?"

"Not if there is really no reason for it, " he said. 

She stirred restlessly. "There isn't--indeed. Aunt Philippa will tell youthat. I was letting off fireworks with Noel only last night. "

"And set fire to yourself, " said Mordaunt. 

She started a little. "Who told you that?"

"Noel. "

"Oh! Well, nothing happened, thanks to--to Bertie. He put it out for me. "

"I think there had better not be any more fireworks unless I am there, "Mordaunt said. "I don't like to think of my wife running risks of thatsort. "

"Very well, Trevor, " she said meekly. 

"Where did the fireworks come from?" he pursued. 

"We made them--Noel and I. We used some of your cartridges for gunpowder. He got saltpetre and one or two other things from the chemist. They werequite a success, " said Chris, with a touch of her old light gaiety. 

"And you are paying for it to-day, " he said. "It will be a good thingwhen Noel goes back to school. "

"Oh no, " she answered quickly. "It wasn't the fireworks. I often havewakeful nights. "

It was the first time she had ever alluded to the fact. He wondered ifshe would summon the courage to tell him something further. He earnestlyhoped she would; but he hoped in vain. Chris said no more. 

He paused for a full minute to give her time, but, save that she becametensely still, she made no sign. Very quietly he let the matter pass. Hewould not force her confidence, but he realized at that moment moreclearly than ever before that she had only really belonged to him duringthe brief fortnight that they had been alone together. The two months oftheir married life had but served to teach him this somewhat bitterlesson, and he determined then and there to win her back as he had wonher at the outset, to make her his once more and to keep her so for ever. 

"I am going to take you away, Chris, " he said. "You are wanting a change. Noel's holidays will be over next week. We will start then. "

"Where shall we go?" said Chris, and he detected the relief with whichshe hailed the change of subject. 

"We will go to Valpré, " he said, with quiet decision. 

"Valpré!" The word leaped out as if of its own volition. Chris suddenlysprang upright from her pillows, and gazed at him wide-eyed. In the dimlight he could not see her face distinctly, but there was somethingalmost suggestive of fear in her attitude. "Why Valpré?" she said, in aqueer, breathless undertone as if she could not control her voice. 

He looked down at her in surprise. "You would like to go to Valpré again, wouldn't you?"

She gasped. "I--I really don't know. But what made you choose it? Youhave never been there. "

"No, " he said. "You will be able to introduce me to all your old haunts. "

She gasped again. "You chose it because of that?"

He put a steadying hand upon her shoulder. "Chris, what makes you sonervous, child? No, I didn't choose it because of that. As a matter offact, I didn't choose it at all. I am due there on business in threeweeks' time, but I thought we might put in a fortnight together therebeforehand. Wouldn't you like that?"

She shivered under his hand, and made no reply. She only said, "Whatbusiness?"

He hesitated a moment, then deliberately sat down upon the bed and drewher close to him. "You remember that blackguard Frenchman Rodolphe whowas staying with the Pounceforts two or three weeks ago?"

"Yes, " whispered Chris. 

"He is to be court-martialled at Valpré, and I have accepted an offer togo as correspondent to the _Morning Despatch_ and report upon his trial. As you know, I represented them at Bertrand's _affaire, _ and this is asequel to that. In fact, Bertrand himself is very nearly concerned in it. Certain transactions have recently come to light tending to show that thecrime of which he was accused was not only committed by this sameRodolphe, but that he also deliberately manufactured evidence to shieldhimself at the expense of Bertrand, the author of the betrayed invention, against whom it seems he had a personal grudge. By the way, he managedskilfully to keep in the background at Bertrand's trial. I fancy he wasaway on some special mission at the time, and he did not appear. I neversaw him before that day at Sandacre Court, and I did not so much as knowthen that he and Bertrand were acquainted. Did you know that?"

She started at the question, but answered it more naturally than she hadbefore spoken. "Yes. I knew that Bertie had belonged to the sameregiment. They did not speak to each other that afternoon. You see, I wasthere. "

"Ah! And you never met him in the old Valpré days?"

Again she answered without apparent agitation; but her hands were fastgripped together in the gloom. "I may have seen him. I never spoke tohim. Bertie was the only one I ever knew. "

"Ah!" Mordaunt said again. He was plainly thinking of Bertrand's affairs. "Well, he is to stand his trial now, and I couldn't resist the chance ofbeing present at it. He was recalled to Paris a week ago, and summarilyarrested; but as popular feeling is running very high, the trial is to beheld at Valpré, which is a fairly important military station. That meansthat the court-martial will take place probably in the fortress in whichthe crime was committed--a pleasing consummation of justice. "

"And--Bertie will be vindicated?" breathed Chris. 

"If Rodolphe is convicted, " Mordaunt answered, "Bertrand will be in aposition to return to France and demand a second trial, the outcome ofwhich would be practically a foregone conclusion, and at which I hope Ishall be present. "

Chris drew a sharp breath. "Then--then he will go to Valpré too?"

"Not yet. He would be arrested and imprisoned if he did, and mightpossibly ruin his cause as well. No, he will have to play a waiting gamefor the present. I think myself it is the turn of the tide, but thingsmay yet go against him. There is no knowing. He is better off where he istill we can see which way the matter will go. He doesn't want to spendthe rest of his life in a fortress. "

Chris shuddered uncontrollably at the bare thought. "Oh no--no! Trevor, you won't let him run any risk of that?"

"I shall certainly counsel prudence, " Mordaunt answered. "If he runs anyrisks, it will be with his eyes open. "

He paused a moment, then turned her face tenderly up to his own, andkissed it. "And you don't like the Valpré plan?" he said, with greatgentleness. 

She hesitated. 

"We can go elsewhere if you prefer it, " he said. "The court-martial willprobably only take a few days. We can stay somewhere near while it is inprogress. But I must have you with me wherever it is. "

He spoke the last words with his arms closely enfolding her. She turnedwith sudden impulse and clasped him round the neck. 

"Oh, Trevor, " she murmured brokenly, "you are good to me--you are good!"

"My darling, " he whispered back, "your happiness is mine--always. "

She made a choked sound of dissent. "I'm horribly selfish, " she said, with a sob. 

"No, dear, no. I understand. I ought to have thought of it before. "

She knew that he was thinking of Cinders, and that a return to the oldhaunts could but serve to reopen a wound that was scarcely closed. Shewas thankful that he interpreted her reluctance thus, even while shemarvelled to herself as she realized how far she had travelled since thebitter day on which she had parted with her favourite. Looking back, shesaw now clearly what that tragedy had meant to her. It had been indeedthe commencement of a new stage in her life's journey. It was on that daythat she had finally stepped forth from the summer fields of herchildhood, and she knew that she would wander in them no more for ever. 

The thought went through her with a dart of pain. They had been verygreen, those fields, and the great thoroughfare which now she trod seemedcruelly hard to her unaccustomed feet. 

A sharp sigh escaped her as she gently withdrew herself from herhusband's arms. "Shall we talk about it to-morrow?" she said. 

CHAPTER IV

"MINE OWN FAMILIAR FRIEND"

Sitting in his writing-room with Bertrand that night Mordaunt impartedthe news that concerned him so nearly. 

The young Frenchman listened in almost unbroken silence, betrayingneither surprise nor even a very great measure of interest. He sat andsmoked, with eyes downcast, sometimes fidgeting a little with the fingersof one hand on the arm of his chair, but otherwise displaying no sign ofagitation. 

Only at the end of the narration did he glance up, and that was butmomentarily, when Mordaunt said, "It transpires that this Rodolphe had anold score to pay off. You were enemies?"

Bertrand removed his cigarette to reply, "That is true. "

"You once fought a duel with him?" Mordaunt proceeded. 

Bertrand's eyelids quivered, but he did not raise them. He merelyanswered, "Yes. "

"That fact will probably figure in the evidence, " Mordaunt said. "Thecause of the duel is at present unknown. "

"It is--immaterial, " Bertrand said, in a very low voice. He paused amoment, then said, "And you, you will be at the trial to report?"

"Yes. I am going. Chris will go with me. "

"Ah!" The exclamation seemed involuntary. Bertrand's hand suddenlyclenched hard upon the chair-arm. "You will take her--to Valpré?" hequestioned. 

"Probably not to the place itself, " Mordaunt made answer. "I think she isnot very anxious to go there. It has associations that she would rathernot renew. We shall stay somewhere within easy reach of Valpré. Perhapsyou can tell me of a suitable resting-place not too far away. You knowthat part of the world. "

"I know it well, " Bertrand said, and fell silent, as though pondering thematter. At the end of a lengthy pause he spoke, abruptly, with just atinge of nervousness. "But why do you take her if she does not desire togo?"

Mordaunt raised his brows a little. 

"You will pardon me, " Bertrand added quickly, "but it occurs to me thatpossibly she may prefer to remain at home. And if that were the case youwould not, I hope, consider my presence here as an obstacle, for"--againhe flashed a swift look across--"it is not my intention to remain. "

"What are your intentions?" Mordaunt asked. 

Bertrand shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know yet. Circumstances willdecide. But it is certain that I can trespass no more upon your kindness. I have already accepted too much from you--more than I can ever hope torepay. Moreover"--he paused--"I do not wish to inconvenience you, andsince I cannot accompany you to France--" he paused again, and finallydecided to say no more. 

"Chris will go with me in any case, " said Mordaunt quietly. "We havealready arranged that. You would cause no inconvenience to anyone bystaying here. In fact, it would be to my advantage. "

"To your advantage!" Bertrand echoed the words sharply, as if in somefashion they hurt him; and then, "But no, " he said with decision. "It hasnever been to your advantage to employ me. You have done it from thekindness of your heart, but it would have been better for you if you hadentrusted your affairs to a man more capable. And for that reason I amgoing to ask you to find another secretary as soon as possible, one whowill perform his duties faithfully and merit his pay. "

"Is that the only reason?" Mordaunt asked unexpectedly. 

There fell a sudden silence. Bertrand, with bent head, appeared to beclosely examining the leather on which his fingers still drummed anuneasy tattoo. At last, "It is the only reason which I have to give you, "he said, his voice very low. 

"It is not a very sound one, " Mordaunt remarked. 

Again that quick shrug of the shoulders, and silence. Several momentspassed. Then with an abrupt movement Bertrand rose, laid aside hiscigarette, which had gone out, and seated himself at the writing-table. 

A pile of letters lay upon it that had arrived by the evening post. Hebegan to turn them over, and presently took up a paper-cutter and deftlyslit them open one by one. 

Mordaunt sat and smoked as one lost in thought. Finally, after a longsilence, he looked up and spoke. 

"Why this sudden hurry to dissolve partnership, Bertrand?" he asked, withhis kindly smile. "Is it this Rodolphe affair that has unsettled you?Because surely it would be wiser to wait and see what is going to happenbefore you take any decided step of this sort. "

"Ah! It is not that!" Bertrand spoke with a vehemence that sounded almostpassionate. "It is nothing to me--this affair. It interests me--notthat!" He snapped his fingers contemptuously. "No, no! The time for thatis past. What is honour, or dishonour, to me now--me who have been downto the lowest abyss and who have learned the true value of what the worldcalls great? Once--I admit it--I was young; I suffered. Now I am old, and--I laugh!"

Yet there was a note that was more suggestive of heartbreak than of mirthin his voice. He applied himself feverishly to extracting a letter froman envelope, while Mordaunt sat and gravely watched him. 

Suddenly, but very quietly, Mordaunt rose, strolled across, and took thefluttering paper out of his hands. "Bertrand!" he said. 

The Frenchman looked up sharply, almost as if he would resent the action, but something in the steady eyes that met his own altered the course ofhis emotions. He leaned back in his chair with the gesture of a manconfronting the inevitable. 

Mordaunt sat down on the edge of the writing-table, face to face withhim. "Tell me why you want to leave me, " he said. 

There was determination in his attitude, determination in the verycoolness of his speech. It was quite obvious that he meant to have ananswer. 

Bertrand contemplated him with a faint, rueful smile. "But what shall Isay?" he protested. "You English are so persistent. You will not becontent with the simple truth. You demand always--something more. "

"There you are mistaken, " Mordaunt made grave reply. "It is the simpletruth that I want--nothing more. "

"_Ciel_!" Bertrand jumped in his chair as if he had been stabbed in theback. "You insult me!"

Mordaunt's hand came out to him instantly and reassuringly. "My dearfellow, I never insult anyone. It is not my way. "

"But you do not believe me!" Bertrand protested. "And that is aninsult--that. "

"I believe you absolutely. " Very quietly Mordaunt made answer. The handhe would not take was laid with great kindness on his shoulder. "I happento know you too well to do otherwise. Why, man, " he began to smile alittle, "if all the world turned false, I should still believe in you. "

"_Tiens_!" The word was almost a cry. Bertrand shook the friendly handfrom his shoulder as if it had been some evil thing, and almost with thesame movement pushed his chair back sharply out of reach. "You should notsay these things to me!" he stammered forth incoherently. "I do notdeserve them. I am not--I am not what you imagine. You do not know me. Ido not know myself. I--I--" He broke off in agitation and sprangimpetuously to his feet. 

With a gesture half-hopeless, half-appealing, he turned and walked to thewindow, as if he could no longer bear to meet the level, grey eyes thatwatched him with so kindly a confidence. 

There fell a silence in the room while Mordaunt, still sitting on thewriting-table, deliberately finished his cigarette. That done, he spoke. 

"Don't you think you had better tell me what is the matter?"

Bertrand jerked his shoulders convulsively; it was the only response hemade. 

Mordaunt waited a few moments more. Then, "Very well, " he said, withoutchange of tone or countenance. "We will dismiss the subject. If youreally mean to leave me, I will accept your resignation in the morning, but not to-night. If--as I hope--you have thought better of it by thenand decide to remain, nothing further need be said. Will that satisfyyou?"

Bertrand wheeled abruptly, and stood facing him, the length of the roomintervening. His mouth worked as if he were trying to speak, but he saidnothing whatever. 

Mordaunt turned without further words to the letter in his hand, andstudied it in silence. After a pause Bertrand came slowly back to thewriting-table. He had mastered his agitation, but he looked unutterablytired. 

Mordaunt moved to one side at his approach. "Sit down!" he said, withoutraising his eyes. 

Bertrand sat down, and began to turn his attention to sorting the lettershe had opened. Mordaunt stood motionless, reading with bent brows. 

Suddenly he spoke. "There is something here I can't understand. "

Bertrand glanced up. "Can I assist?"

"I don't know. Read that!" Mordaunt laid the letter before him. "I can'taccount for it. I think it must be a mistake. "

Bertrand took the letter and read it. It was an intimation from the bankthat in consequence of the bearer cheque for five hundred poundspresented and cashed the week before, Mordaunt's account was overdrawn. 

"What cheque can it be?" Mordaunt said. "Have you any idea?"

Bertrand shook his head. "But no! It is perhaps some charity--a gift thatyou have forgotten?"

"My good fellow, I may be careless, but I'm not so damned careless asthat. " Mordaunt pulled out a bunch of keys with the words. "Let me have alook at my cheque-book. You know where it is. "

Yes, Bertrand knew. He was as cognizant of the whereabouts of Mordaunt'spossessions as if they had been his own, and he had as free an access tothem. Such was the confidence reposed in him. 

He took the keys, selected the right one, stooped to fit it into thelock. And then suddenly something happened. A violent tremor went throughhim. He clutched at the table-edge, and the keys clattered to the ground. 

"Hullo!" Mordaunt said. 

Bertrand was staring downwards with eyes that saw not. At the sound ofMordaunt's voice he started, and began to grope on the floor for the keysas if stricken blind. 

"There they are, man, by your feet. " Mordaunt stooped and recovered themhimself. "What's the matter? Aren't you well?"

Bertrand lifted a ghastly face. "I am quite well, " he said. "But--butsurely the bank would not cash a cheque so large without reference toyou!"

Mordaunt looked at him a moment. "I have been in the habit of drawinglarge sums, " he said. "But I usually write a note to the bank toaccompany a cheque of this sort. "

He turned to the drawer and unlocked it. His cheque-book lay in itsaccustomed place within. He took it out and commenced a carefulexamination of the counterfoils of cheques already drawn. 

Bertrand sat quite motionless, with bowed head. He seemed to be numblywaiting for something. 

Mordaunt was very deliberate in his search. He came to the end of thecounterfoils only, but went quietly on through the sheaf of blank chequesthat remained, gravely scrutinizing each. 

Minutes passed. Bertrand was sunk in his chair as one bent beneath someoverpowering weight, the pile of letters untouched before him. 

Suddenly Mordaunt paused, became tense for an instant, then slowlyrelaxed. His eyes travelled from the open cheque-book to the man in thechair. He contemplated him silently. 

After the lapse of several seconds, he laid the open book upon the tablebefore him. "A cheque has been abstracted here, " he said. 

His voice was perfectly quiet. He made the statement as if there werenothing extraordinary in it, as if he felt assured that there must besome perfectly simple explanation to account for it, as if, in fact, hescarcely recognized the existence of any mystery. 

But Bertrand uttered not a word. He was as one turned to stone. His eyesbecame fixed upon the cheque in front of him, but his stare was wide andvacant. He seemed to be thinking of something else. 

There fell a dead silence in the room, a stillness in which the quietticking of the clock on the mantelpiece became maddeningly obtrusive. Forseconds that dragged out interminably neither of the two men stirred. Itwas as if they were mutely listening to that eternal ticking, as onelistens to the tramp of a watchman in the dead of night. 

Then, at last, with a movement curiously impulsive, Trevor Mordaunt freedhimself from the spell. He laid his hand once more upon his secretary'sshoulder. 

"Bertrand!" he said, and in his voice interrogation, incredulity, evenentreaty, were oddly mingled. "You!"

The Frenchman shivered, and came out of his lethargy. He threw a singleglance upwards, then suddenly bowed his head on his hands. But still hespoke no word. 

Mordaunt's hand fell from him. He stood a moment, then turned and walkedaway. "So that was the reason!" he said. 

He came to a stand a few feet away from the bent figure at thewriting-table, took out his cigarette-case, and deliberately lighted acigarette. His face as he did it was grimly composed, but there werelines in it that very few had ever seen there. His eyes were keen andcold as steel. They held neither anger nor contempt, only a tinge ofhumour inexpressibly bitter. 

Finally, through a cloud of smoke, he spoke again. "Have you nothing tosay?"

Bertrand stirred, but he did not lift his head. "Nothing, " he muttered, almost inarticulately. 

"Then"--very evenly came the words--"that ends the case. I have nothingto say, either. You can go as soon as you wish. "

He spoke with the utmost distinctness. His head was tilted back, and hiseyes, still with that icy glint of amusement in them, watched the smokeascending from his cigarette. 

There was a brief pause. Then Bertrand stumbled stiffly to his feet. Heseemed to move with difficulty. He turned heavily towards the Englishman. 

"Monsieur, " he said with ceremony, "you have--I believe--the right toprosecute me. "

Mordaunt did not even look at him. "I believe I have, " he said. 

"_Alors--_" the Frenchman paused. 

"I shall not exercise it, " Mordaunt said curtly. 

"You are too generous, " Bertrand answered. 

He spoke without emotion, yet there was something in his tone--somethingremotely suggestive of irony--that brought Mordaunt's eyes down to him. He looked at him hard and straight. 

But Bertrand did not meet the look. With a mournful gesture he turnedaway. "I shall never cease to regret, " he said, "the unhappy fate thatsent me into your life. I blame myself bitterly--bitterly. I should havedrawn back at the commencement, but I had not the strength. Onlymonsieur, believe this"--his voice suddenly trembled--"it was never myintention to rob you. Moreover, that which I have taken--I will restore. "

He spoke very earnestly, with a baffling touch of dignity that seemed insome fashion to place him out of reach of contempt. 

Mordaunt heard him without impatience, and replied without scorn. "Whatyou have taken can never be restored. The utmost you can do is to let meforget, as soon as possible, that I ever imagined you to be--what youare not. "

The simplicity of the words effected in an instant that which neithertaunt nor sneer could ever have accomplished. It pierced straight toBertrand's heart. He turned back impulsively, with outstretched hands. 

"But, my friend--my friend--" he cried brokenly. 

Mordaunt checked him on the instant with a single imperious gesture ofdismissal, so final that it could not be ignored. 

The words died on Bertrand's lips. He wheeled sharply, as if at a word ofcommand, and went to the door. 

But as he opened it, Mordaunt spoke. "I will see you again in themorning. "

"Is it necessary?" Bertrand said. 

"I desire it. " Mordaunt spoke with authority. 

Bertrand turned and made him a brief, punctilious bow. "That is enough, "he said, and left the room martially, his head in the air. 

CHAPTER V

A DESPERATE REMEDY

The clock on the mantelpiece struck two, and Mordaunt rose from his chairto close the window. The night was very still and dark. He stood for afew moments breathing the moist air. From somewhere away in the distancethere came the weird cry of an owl--the only sound in a waste of silence. He leaned his head against the window-sash with a sensation of physicalsickness. His heart was heavy as lead. 

"Trevor!"

It was no more than a whisper, but he heard it. He turned. "Chris!"

She stood before him, her white draperies caught together with one hand, her hair flowing in wide ripples all about her, her eyes anxiously raisedto his. 

"Trevor, " she said, "what is the matter?"

There was a species of desperate courage in the low question. The fingersthat grasped her wrapper were tightly clenched. 

He closed the window. "Have you been lying awake for me?" he said. "I amsorry. "

"Something is the matter, " she said with conviction. "Won't you tell mewhat it is? I--I would rather know. "

"I will tell you in the morning, dear, " he said gently. "You must go backto bed. I am coming myself now. "

But Chris stood still. "I want to know now, please, Trevor, " she said. "Ishall not sleep at all unless I know. "

He put his arm about her, looking down at her with great tenderness. "Must I tell you now?" he said, a hint of weariness in his voice. 

She did not resist his touch, but neither did she yield herself to him. She stood within the encircling arm, looking straight up at him withwide, resolute eyes. 

"It is something to do with Bertie, " she said, in the same tone ofunquestioning conviction. 

He raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think so?"

She frowned a little. "It doesn't matter, does it? Won't you tell me whathas happened?"

He hesitated momentarily; then; "Yes, I will tell you, " he said. "Bertrand is leaving to-morrow--for good. "

He felt her stiffen against his arm, and for the first time he noticedher pallor and the unusual steadfastness of her eyes. He realized thatshe was putting strong restraint upon herself, and the fact made herstrangely unfamiliar to him. He was accustomed to vivid speech andimpetuous action. He scarcely knew her in this mood, although herecognized that he had seen it at least once before. 

"Why?" Her lips scarcely moved as they asked the question. Her eyes neverleft his face. 

He drew her to the writing-table on which his cheque-book still lay openat the place whence a cheque had been abstracted with its counterfoil. 

"Sit down, " he said, "and I will tell you. "

She sat down in silence. 

He knelt beside her as he had knelt on their wedding-night, and took hercold hands into his own. 

"I think you know, " he said quietly, "that I have always trusted Bertrandimplicitly. "

"You trust everyone, " she said, with a small, aloof smile, as if she weretrying to appear courteous while her thoughts were elsewhere. 

"Yes, to my undoing, " he told her grimly. "I trusted him to the utmost, and--and he has betrayed my trust. "

She started at that, but instantly controlled herself. "In what way?" sheasked him, her voice scarcely above a whisper. 

He drew the cheque-book to him. "If you look at this cheque and thenext, " he said, "you will see that there is one missing. There has been acheque taken out. "

"Yes?" said Chris. 

Her eyes rested for a moment upon the cheque-book, and returned to hisface. They held a curious expression as of relief and doubt mingled. 

"That is how he betrayed my trust, " he told her quietly. "He used thatcheque to forge my signature and withdraw a sum of money from my accountwhich under ordinary circumstances I should probably never have missed. As he is aware, I keep a large account, and I am in the habit of drawinglarge cheques. As it chanced, the account was not quite so large asusual, and it did not quite cover the amount withdrawn. Consequently myattention was called to it, and I looked into the matter anddiscovered--this. "

"Yes?" said Chris. "Yes?"

She was breathing very fast. It was evident that her agitation wasgetting beyond her control. 

He clasped her hands closer, with a warm and comforting pressure. Heknew--or he thought he knew--what this revelation would mean to her. Hadnot Bertrand been even more her friend, her trusted counsellor, than hisown?

"That is all the story, dear, " he said gently. "We have got to face it asbravely as we can. He will leave in the morning, so you need not see himagain. "

She made a quick, involuntary movement, and her hands slipped from his. 

"Not see him again!" she repeated, staring at him with wide eyes. "Notsee him again!"

"I think it would be wiser not, " he said, very kindly. "It would onlycause you unnecessary pain. "

She uttered a sudden breathless little laugh. "Trevor--am I dreaming?Or--are you mad? You don't--actually--believe he did this thing?"

His face hardened a little. "He had the sense not to attempt to deny it. There was no question as to his guilt. He was the only person besidesmyself who had access to my cheque-book. "

"But--" Chris said, and paused, as if to collect her thoughts. "How muchwas taken?" she asked after a moment. 

"That, " Mordaunt observed, "is the least important part of the wholemiserable business. "

"Still, tell me, " she persisted. 

"He took five hundred pounds. "

"Trevor!" She gasped for breath, and turned so white that he thought fora moment she would faint. 

He put his arm round her quickly. "Chris, we won't discuss it any furtherto-night. You must go back to bed. You will catch cold if you stay hereany longer. "

But for the first time in her life she resisted him. She drew away fromhim. She almost pushed him from her. 

"Five hundred pounds!" she said, speaking through white lips. She wasshivering violently from head to foot. "But--but--what should Bertie wantwith five hundred pounds?"

"I didn't inquire what he did with it. " Mordaunt's answer came withimplacable sternness. "I haven't the least curiosity on that point. It isenough for me that he took it. "

"Oh, Trevor, how hard you are!" The words rushed out like the cry of ahurt creature, and suddenly Chris's hands were on his shoulders, andher face, pinched and desperate, looked closely into his. "You have somuch--so much!" she wailed. "You don't know what temptation is!"

He rose to his feet instantly and lifted her to hers. She was sobbingterribly, but without tears. He held her to him, supporting her. 

"Chris, Chris!" he said. "Don't, child, don't! I know what this means toyou. It means a good deal to me too, more than you realize. But forHeaven's sake let us stand together over it. Let us be reasonable. "

There was strong appeal in his voice; for in that moment, though he heldher to his heart, he knew that the gulf between them had suddenly begunto widen. He saw the danger in a flash of intuition, but he was powerlessto avert it. They viewed the matter from opposite standpoints. Did theynot view all matters moral thus? She could condone what he could onlycondemn, and because of this she deemed him hard and feared him. 

He bent his face to hers as he held her. His lips moved against herforehead. "Chris, " he said softly, "don't cry, dear! Listen to me. I'mnot going to punish him. He will have to go of course. As a matter offact, he meant to do so in any case. But it will go no further than that. There will be no prosecution. "

She turned her face up quickly, and he saw that her eyes were dry, thoughher breathing was spasmodic. "You couldn't prosecute an innocent man, "she said. "And he is innocent. I know he is innocent. You say he didn'tdeny it. It was because he wouldn't stoop to deny it. He knew you wouldnever believe him if he did. "

The words came fast and passionate. She drew back from him to utter them, and for the first time he read a challenge in her desperate eyes. 

He let her go out of his arms. He had tried to bridge the gulf, but thedistance was too great. His tenderness only gave her courage to defy him. 

With a stifled sigh he abandoned the conflict. "As I said before, thereis no question of his guilt, " he said, with quiet emphasis. "Far fromdenying it, he even announced his intention of restoring what he hadtaken. That, of course, is also out of the question. He will probablynever be in a position to do so. But in any case it is beside the point. It is useless to discuss it further. "

She broke in upon him almost fiercely. "Trevor, won't you believe me whenI say that I know--I know--he is innocent?"

He looked at her. "How do you know it?"

She wrung her hands together. "Oh, I have no proof! Can't you believe mewithout proof?"

He was watching her intently. "I believe in your sincerity, of course, "he said. "But I am afraid I don't share your conviction. "

"But you must--you must!" she cried. "I know him better than you do. Iknow him to be incapable of the tiniest speck of dishonour. I swear thathe is innocent! I swear it! I swear it!"

He put out a restraining hand. "Chris, don't say any more! You areonly upsetting yourself to no purpose. Come, child, it is useless to goon--quite useless. "

She flung out her arms with a gesture of utter despair. "You won'tbelieve me?"

He turned to lock up his cheque-book. "I have answered that questionalready, " he said, without impatience. 

She drew near to him. Her blue eyes burned with a feverish light. Herface was haggard. "Trevor, what would you say if--if--I told you he wereshielding someone--if I told you he were shielding--me?" Her voice sankupon the word. 

He turned sharply round, so sharply that she shrank. But he made nomovement towards her. He only looked full and piercingly into her face. At the end of ten seconds he spoke, so calmly that his voice soundedcold. 

"I am afraid I shouldn't believe you. "

His eyes fell away from her with the words. He dropped his keys into hispocket and switched off the light from his writing-table. 

Chris was shivering again, shivering from head to foot. She could barelykeep her teeth from chattering. He came to her and put his arm round her. 

She glanced up at him nervously, but his quiet face told her nothing. Almost involuntarily she suffered him to lead her from the room. 

CHAPTER VI

WHEN LOVE DEMANDS A SACRIFICE

When Chris awoke, the morning sunshine was streaming in through the openwindows, and she was alone. She came back to full remembrance slowly, asone toiling along a difficult road. Her brain felt very tired. She layvaguely listening to the gay trill of a robin on the terrace below, dreading the moment when the dull ache at her heart should turn to activepain. 

A cheery whistle on the gravel under her windows roused her at last. Shetook up her burden again with a great sigh. 

"O God!" she whispered, as she turned her heavy head upon the pillow, "dolet me die soon--do let me die soon!"

But there was no voice nor any that answered. 

Wearily at length she raised herself. It was curious how ill she felt. She looked longingly back at her pillow. 

At the same instant the gay whistle in the garden gave place to a crackedshout. "Hullo, Chris! Aren't you going to get up to-day? Do you know whattime it is?"

She started, and looked at her watch. Ten o'clock! In amazement andconsternation she sprang from the bed. Bertrand was to leave in themorning; so Trevor had told her. She must--she must--see him before heleft! Doubtless Trevor had hoped that she would sleep on till theafternoon, and so miss him. How little he knew! How little he understood!

With a bound she reached the window, there a sudden dizziness attackedher. She clutched at the curtain with both hands. What if he had gonealready? What if she were never to see him again?

Desperately she steadied herself. She must not give way thus. She lookedout and saw Noel, walking along the edge of the balustrade that boundedthe terrace. His arms were outstretched, and he balanced himself withextreme difficulty. It looked perilous, but she knew him well enough tofeel no anxiety, notwithstanding the fact that there was a fall of twelvefeet on one side of him. 

After a few moments she commanded herself sufficiently to call down tohim, "Noel, where is everybody?"

He looked up, lost his balance, and sprang down upon the terrace. "ByJove! Aren't you dressed yet? What are we coming to? Trevor is gone toride round the estate, wouldn't have me for some reason. Bertrand is inhis room with the door locked, says he is busy--all bally rot, of course. And Aunt Phil, thank the gods! is packing her trunk to leave by the fiveo'clock train. By the way, Trevor said I was to see you had somebreakfast. What would you like? I'll bring it up to you myself in twoshakes. "

Chris felt an unexpected lump rise in her throat. Somehow the tendernessof her husband's love hurt her more than it comforted just then. She knewthat he had absented himself and deputed Noel to wait upon her because hehad divined that she would prefer it. His intuition frightened her also. Was he beginning to divine other things as well? Recalling his intentlook of the night before, the wonder struck chill to her heart. Yes, shewas thankful that he had gone; but it would be horribly hard to meet himagain after she and Bertrand had said good-bye. Aunt Philippa'sdeparture, eagerly though she had anticipated it, would make it harder. Very soon Noel also would be gone, and they would be alone together. Howwould she keep her secret then? How hide her soul from those grave, keeneyes that probed so deeply?

Ah! but he trusted her; he trusted her! Back to the old sheet-anchor flewher whirling thoughts. His faith in her was invincible, unassailable. Itkept her safe. It sheltered her from every danger. It was her singlesafeguard in temptation; without it she would be lost. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and leaned from the window to giveher brother the instructions he awaited. 

Turning back into the room, she found a note in her husband's handwritinglying on her table. She took it up. 

"I do not forbid you to see Bertrand, " it ran, "though I think you wouldbe wiser not to do so. I have already taken leave of him. He refuses tobe open with me, so there is no more to be said. It is by his own wishthat he is leaving to-day. As I said to you last night, I shall take nolegal steps against him, but that does not alter the fact that he is acriminal, and for that reason your friendship with him must cease. I amsorry, but it is inevitable. I think you will see it for yourself by andbye, but till then my prohibition must be enough. I cannot be disobeyedin this matter. Bear it in mind, dear, and believe that, even though Imay seem hard, I am acting for your welfare, which is more to me thananything else on earth. 

"Yours, TREVOR. "

Her face was white and strained as she read the note through. She seemedto hear her husband's quiet voice in every sentence. Never till thatmoment had she fully realized the fact that he had the right thus toguide and restrain her actions. Never till that moment had she found herwill in direct opposition to his. A sudden passion of rebellion sweptupon her, possessed her. It was intolerable, impossible; she could notsubmit to the mandate. 

To give up her friend--the dear knight of her girlhood's dreams--to seehim never again, to close her heart to him, to shut out the very memoryof him, to take up her life without him--no, never, never, never! Herthrobbing heart cried out against it. It was not to be borne. A fury akinto hatred surged up within her. There was no man living who could makeher do this thing. 

Fiercely she tore the paper across and across, and flung the fragmentsfrom her. Never would she consent to this! She would defy him sooner!

Defy him! It was as if a voice spoke suddenly in her soul, asking a quietquestion. Could she defy him and still hide her secret? Would not thesteady eyes read her through and through the instant that her willresisted his? Would he not know in a moment? Was it not even possiblethat he had begun already to suspect?

Again she recalled his intent look of the night before, and her heartmisgave her. Had she betrayed herself? Had he seen behind the veil? Sheshivered at the thought, and for a few moments she was overwhelminglyafraid. How would she ever meet those eyes again?

But when presently Noel presented himself she had recovered herself-command. She even compelled herself to eat some breakfast, while hebalanced himself on the window-sill and made careless conversation. Itwas evident that he knew nothing of Bertrand's impending departure, andshe was relieved that this was so. She could not have borne his curiosityor his comments. 

"What are you going to do to-day?" she presently inquired. 

"When you've had a decent meal, I'm going for a ride, " he answeredpromptly. "Can't waste the whole day hanging about and Fiddle's spoilingfor a gallop. You won't come, I suppose?"

She shook her head. "No. I couldn't, anyhow. I must stay with AuntPhilippa to-day. I've had quite a lot to eat. Don't wait. "

He sprang to his feet at once. "You haven't done badly, have you, considering you've been lazing in bed instead of working up an appetitein the open air? I say, Chris, there's nothing the matter, is there?"

"Of course not, " she returned briskly. "Why?"

"You're not looking exactly chirpy, " he said, regarding her critically. "And Trevor was positively bearish this morning. He hasn't been bullyingyou, has he?"

"Of course not, " she said again. "How absurd you are!"

He looked incredulous. "Don't you stick it!" he warned her. "If he triesit on, you come to me. I'll settle him. "

She laughed and turned the subject. "Hadn't you better start? It'sgetting late. "

"P'raps I had. Good-bye, then!" He bent unexpectedly and kissed hercheek. "We'll go for a picnic to-morrow, " he said, "to celebrate AuntPhil's departure. Keep your pecker up! She'll soon be gone. "

He marched away, whistling, and Chris was alone. 

She rose and finished her dressing with feverish haste. Now was her time. 

Noel had said Bertrand was in his room. She must see him alone. But howshould she let him know? If she went in search of him she might encounterAunt Philippa and be detained. She went down to her husband's room, andrang the bell there. 

Holmes answered it in some surprise, knowing his master to be out; butshe gave him no time for speculation. 

"Holmes, " she said, "I believe Mr. Bertrand is somewhere in the house. Iwish you would find him, and say I am waiting to speak to him on a matterof importance. I am going into the garden. He will find me under theyew-tree. "

Holmes departed with his customary dispatch. There was somethingindefinable about his young mistress that made him wish his master wereat hand. He made his way to Bertrand's room and knocked. 

There was no immediate reply; then, "I am busy, " said Bertrand fromwithin. 

"If you please, sir!" said Holmes. 

There was a movement in the room at once, and the door opened. "Ah! It isthe good Holmes!" said Bertrand. "I thought that it was Monsieur Noel. What is it, then? You bring me a message?"

He looked at the man with sleepless eyes that shone curiously bright. Inthe room behind him a portmanteau, half-filled, lay upon the floor. 

For a single instant Holmes hesitated before delivering his message. Thenhe gave it punctiliously, word for word. 

"I am obliged to you, " said Bertrand courteously. "I shall go to Mrs. Mordaunt at once. "

He crossed the threshold therewith, but paused a moment outside the room. 

"Holmes, " he said, "I go to London by the 11. 50. Will you arrange for myluggage to be taken to the station?"

Holmes's well-ordered countenance expressed no surprise. "Very good, sir. And you yourself, sir?" he said. 

"I shall walk, " said Bertrand. 

"You would like me to finish packing for you, sir?" suggested Holmes. 

"Ah! That would be very good. " Bertrand's voice expressed relief. Hestepped back into the room to slip a sovereign into the man's hand. 

But Holmes drew back. "Thank you, sir. I'd rather not, sir. "

Bertrand's brows went up. "How? But we are friends, no?" he questioned. 

"I don't know, sir, " said Holmes, respectful but firm. "Anyhow, I'drather not, sir. "

"_Eh bien_!" The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and turned. "_Adieu_, Holmes!" he said. 

"Good-day, sir!" said Holmes. 

He stood in the middle of the room till Bertrand had gone, then with anexpressionless face he betook himself to the door of Aunt Philippa'sroom. 

Here he knocked again, and, receiving Mrs. Forest's permission to enter, presented himself on the threshold. "I have come to say, madam, that Mrs. Mordaunt is in the garden under the old yew, " he announced deferentially. "Will you be good enough to join her there?"

Aunt Philippa, in the midst of her own preparations for departure, received the news with considerable surprise. It was not Chris's customto send her messages of any description. The summons fired her curiosity;but her dignity would not allow her to hasten overmuch to answer it. 

"I will be with Mrs. Mordaunt in a few minutes, " she said. 

And Holmes departed, impassive still but with a mind uneasy. He wishedwith all his soul that the master had not chosen to absent himself thatmorning. Perhaps he was unreasonably nervous, but there seemed to betragedy in the very air. 

Bertrand, traversing the lawn bareheaded, was keenly aware of tragedy;but it did not delay his steps. He went down the shady path that led toChris's retreat at a speed that left him breathless. He paused with hishand to his heart as he reached the yew-tree before plunging into thegloom beneath its great, drooping branches. He was living too fast, andhe knew it, could almost feel his life running out like the sand in anhour-glass. But a great recklessness possessed him. If his strength couldonly be made to last for a couple of hours more, he did not care whathappened to him, how soon the sand ran out. 

He had suffered more during the past night than he had ever thought tosuffer again. He had fought a desperate fight, and it had cost him nearlyall his strength. He knew instinctively that he must make the most ofwhat was left. Afterwards--afterwards--when the ordeal was over, he wouldsink down and rest, it mattered not where. If he lived long enough, hewould keep his promise to Max Wyndham. If not, --well, he would not beneeding human help. The gods had nearly done with him, and he was tooweary to care. If he could only be faithful a little longer--a littlelonger! Nothing would matter afterwards, and the pain would be over then. 

"Bertie, I am here!"

He started, and for a moment that which he had been fighting down allnight showed in his eyes. He thrust it away out of sight. He answered herwith his usual courteous confidence. 

"Ah! You are there, Christine! You will pardon me for keeping youwaiting. I came as soon as your message reached me. "

He lifted one of the great yew-branches and stepped beneath as ifentering a tent. It fell behind him, and in the green gloom they wereface to face. 

"Were you going without saying good-bye?" said Chris. 

She stood before him, very pale and quiet. Her eyes did not meet hisquite fully. 

He spread out his hands. "I knew not if you would wish to see me. "

"Don't you know me better than that?" she said. He did not answer her. Evidently she did not expect an answer, for she went on almost at once. "Bertie, why did you let Trevor think you had robbed him?"

He made a sharp gesture of protest, but remained silent. 

She laid her hand on his arm. "Come and sit down, Bertie! And pleaseanswer me, because I want to know. "

He went with her to the rustic seat against the tree-trunk. He wasgripping his self-control with all his strength. 

"Mr. Mordaunt must think what he will, " he said at length, with aneffort. "He can never judge me too severely. "

"Why do you say that?" Chris asked the question quickly, nervously, as ifshe had to ask it, yet dreaded the answer. 

"I think you know, Christine, " he answered, his voice very low. 

She shrank a little. "But that money, Bertie? You knew nothing of that?"

He was silent for a moment; then, "We will not speak of that, " he saidfirmly. "I could not stay here in any case, so--it makes no difference. "

"No difference that he should think you a thief!" exclaimed Chris. 

He turned his eyes downwards, staring heavily at the ground between hisfeet. "I ask myself, " he said, "if I am any better than a thief. "

"Bertie!" There was quick distress in her voice this time. "But you havedone nothing wrong, " she declared vehemently, "nothing whatever!"

He shook his head in silence, not looking at her. 

"And you are ill, " she went on, passing the matter by as if not trustingherself. "What will you do? Where will you go?"

He sat up slowly and faced her. "I go to London, " he said, "and I muststart now. Do not be anxious for me, Christine. I have money enough. Mr. Mordaunt offered me more this morning. But I had no need of it, and Irefused. "

He spoke quite steadily. He was braced for the ordeal. He would be stronguntil the need for strength was past. 

But with Chris it was otherwise. For her there was no prospect ofrelaxation. She was but at the beginning of her trial, and her whole soulshrank from the contemplation of what lay before her. The dear dreams ofher childhood had flickered out like pictures on a screen. And she hadawakened to find herself in a prison-house from which all her life longshe could never hope to escape. Did some memory of the arms that hadenfolded her so often and so tenderly come to her as she realized it? Ifso, it was only to stab her afresh with the bitter irony of Fate that hadlavished upon her the love of a man who had filled her life with all thatwoman's heart could desire, and yet had failed to give her happiness. 

And so, when Bertrand spoke of going, the newly awakened heart of herrose up in sudden, hot revolt. His departure was inevitable, and she knewit, but her endurance was not equal to the strain. She had deemed herselfstronger than she was. 

She threw out her hands with a passionate gesture. "Bertie! What shall Ido without you? I can't go on by myself. I can't--I can't!"

It was like the cry of a child, but in it there throbbed all the deeplonging of her womanhood. Ah! why had her eyes been opened? Surely shehad been happier blind!

He took the outflung hands and held them. He looked into her eyes. "But, _chérie_, " he said, "you have your husband. "

"I know--I know!" Piteously the words came from her. "He is very good tome. But, Bertie, he--has never been--first. I know it now. I didn't knowbefore, or I wouldn't have married him. I swear I would never havemarried him--if I had known!"

"_Chérie_, hush!" Almost sternly he checked her, though his eyeswere unfailingly kind. "You must not say it, Christine. Words alwaysmake a bad thing worse. Think instead how great is his love for you. Remember--oh, remember that you are his wife! The sin was mine that youcould ever forget it. But you have not forgotten it, _mignonne!_ Tell methat you have not! Tell me that when you think of me it will be as afriend who gives you no regrets, the friend of your childhood, littleChristine--the comrade with whom you played in the sunshine; no morethan that--no more than that!"

Very earnestly he besought her, holding her hands lightly clasped betweenhis own, ready at her slightest movement to let them go. But she made noeffort to withdraw them. She only bent her head and wept as though herheart were breaking. 

"_Chérie, chérie_!" he said, and that was all; for he had no wordswherewith to comfort her. He had wrought the mischief, but the remedy didnot lie with him. 

His own lips quivered above her bowed head; he bit them desperately. 

After a little she commanded herself sufficiently to speak through hertears. "Bertie, you once said--that there was no goodness without Love. Then why--why is Love--wrong?"

"Love is not wrong, _chérie_. " Instant and reassuring came his answer. "Let us be true to Love, and we are true to God. For Love is God, and inevery heart He is to be found; sometimes in much, sometimes in very, verylittle, but He is always there. "

"I don't understand, " said Chris. "If that were so--why mustn't we loveeach other? Why is it wrong?"

"It is not wrong. " Again with absolute assurance Bertrand spoke. "So longas it is pure, it is also holy. There is no sin in Love. We shall loveeach other always, dear, always. With me it will be more--and ever more. Though I shall not be with you, though I shall not see your face or touchyour hand, you will know that I am loving you still. It will be as anAltar Flame that burns for ever. But I will be faithful. My love shallnever hurt you again. That is where I sinned. I was selfish enough toshow you the earthly part of my love--the part that dies, just as ourbodies die, setting our spirits free. For see, _chérie_, it is not thematerial part that endures. All things material must pass, but thespiritual lives on for ever. That is why Love is immortal. That is whyLove can never die. "

She listened to him in silence, scarcely comprehending at the momentwords that later were to become the only light to guide her stumblingfeet. 

"Would you say that you love the dead no more because you see them not?"he questioned gently. "The sight--the touch--what is it? Only the earthlymedium of Love; Love Itself is a higher thing, capable of the lastsacrifice, greater than evil, stronger than death. Oh, believe me, Christine, Death is a very small thing compared with Love. If our lovewere of the spirit only, Death would be less than nothing; for it is onlythe body that can ever die. "

"But why can't we be happy before we die?" whispered Chris. "Other peopleare. "

He shook his head. "I doubt it, _chérie_. With death in the world therecan be no perfection. All passes--all passes--except only the Love thatis our Life. "

He paused a moment, seeming to hesitate upon the verge of telling hersomething more; but in that instant she raised her head and he refrained. 

"Ah, Christine, " he said sadly, "I never thought that I should make youweep like this. "

"Oh, it's not your fault, Bertie. " She smiled at him, with quiveringlips. "It's just life. But--dearest--I want you to know all thesame--that I'm glad--I'm glad I love you so. And--whether it's right orwrong, I can't help it--I shall always love you--best of all. "

His eyes shone at the words. A passionate answer sprang to his lips, buthe stopped it unuttered. "We are not responsible for that which we cannothelp, " he said instead. "Only--my darling"--for the first time theEnglish word of endearment passed his lips, spoken almost under hisbreath--"never permit the thought of me to come between you and yourhusband. Be faithful, Christine--be faithful!"

She made no answer of any sort; but her eyes were hopeless. 

He waited a while, still holding her hands while tenderly he watched her. At last, "I must go, _chérie_, " he whispered. 

Her face quivered. Suddenly and impetuously as of old she spoke. "Bertie, once--long ago--you meant to marry me, didn't you?"

His own face contracted. "Do not let us torture ourselves in vain, " heurged her gently. 

"But it is true!" she persisted. 

He hesitated an instant. "Yes, it is true, " he said. 

She leaned her head back, looking him straight in the eyes. There was alight in hers that he had never seen before. They gleamed like stars, seeing him only. "Bertie, " she said, and her voice thrilled upon thewords, "I was yours then, and I am yours now. I have always belongedto you, and you to me. Bertie, I--am coming with you. "

His violent start testified to the utter unexpectedness of herannouncement. Such a possibility had not, it was obvious, suggesteditself to him. He turned white to the lips. 

"Christine!" he stammered incredulously. 

Feverishly she broke in upon his astonishment. "Oh, don't be shocked! Itis absolutely the only way. I cannot stay here without you. Trevor willkeep us apart. He will not let me even write to you. He says that ourfriendship must cease. And it cannot--it cannot! Bertie, don't you see?Don't you understand? Don't you--want me?"

A note of despair rang in her voice. Her hands suddenly gripped eachother in agonized misgiving. But on the instant his gripped closer, holding them crushed against his breast in fierce reassurance. His eyesshone full into hers, and for one moment of fiery rapture which both wereto remember all their lives their souls mingled, became fused in one, forgetful of all beside. 

Out of the silence the man's voice came, low and passionate. "_Lebon Dieu_ knows how I want you, my bird of Paradise! But yet--butyet--" Something seemed to choke his utterance. He gave a sudden gasp, and bowed his head forward upon her shoulder. 

Her arms were round him in an instant. "What is it, dearest? You areill!"

"No, " he said. "No. " But still he gasped for breath, and she fancied thathe repressed a shudder. 

He raised his head after a moment. "Pardon me, _chérie_. I am only--weak. Christine, all my life--all my life--I shall remember--how you wereready--to give up all--all--for me. But, _mignonne_, I cannot takesuch a sacrifice. I dare not. Go back to your husband, _chérie_. It isyour duty. You are his, not mine. We will not stain our love thus. Christine"--his voice broke--"_ma mignonne_, I love you too well--toowell--to do this thing. You shall not be ruined--for my sake. "

"Oh, but, Bertie!" she pleaded. She was clinging to him now; hereyes implored him. "Think of me here without you! Never to see youagain--never to have a single word from you any more! Bertie, I can'tbear it--I can't bear it! It will be no sacrifice to me to come withyou. I don't mind hardship. I'm used to poverty, But here--but here--"

Her voice broke also, she could say no more. His arms went round her, straining her to him. His face was close to hers. But his eyes were theeyes of a man in torture. 

"I know--I know all, " he whispered. "Yet--my darling--you must stay--andI must go. When Love demands a sacrifice--"

"I will sacrifice anything--everything--all I have!" she cried outwildly. 

"We must sacrifice each other, " he said. "That is the test of our love, _chérie_. That is the sacrifice that Love demands. "

He spoke quite quietly, with the calmness of one who knew and faced theworst. The torture in his eyes had turned to dumb endurance. "Only thus, "he said--"only thus can we be true to our love. We sacrifice the littlefor the much. _Mignonne_, believe me, it is worth it. You are mine, and Iam yours. So be it, then. Let us be--faithful. "

He spoke with the utmost tenderness; yet was she awed. Her suddenrebellion died. It was as though a quiet hand had been laid upon herheart, stilling her pain. For one moment she looked with him across thelong, dark furrows of mortal life into the great Beyond, and knew that hehad spoken the truth. Their love was worth the sacrifice. 

"Oh, Bertie, " she said, in a whisper, "you are right, dear, you areright. "

His eyes flashed swift understanding into hers; yet for a moment his armstightened about her, as if her submission made it harder for him to lether go. 

She waited till they relaxed, and then she laid her hands upon hisshoulders. "Bertie, " she said very earnestly, "forget I ever asked it ofyou!"

He shook his head instantly, with a sudden, transforming smile thatrevealed in him the young, quick spirit that had caught hers so long ago. "Oh no--no!" he said. "It will be to me the most precious memory of mylife. By it I shall always remember--the so great generosity--ofyour love. "

The smile went out of his face. He leaned nearer to her. She readirresolution in his eyes, and a quiver that was half of hope and half ofapprehension went through her. Was he going to fail, after all, in themoment of victory? If so--if so--

But he restrained himself. She saw him fight down the impulse that urgedhim inch by inch until he had it in subjection. Under her watching eyeshe conquered. He showed her the Omnipotence of Love. 

Quietly, with no exaggeration of reverence, he knelt before her. He tookher hands into his own, turned them upwards, pressed his lips to eachpalm, let them go. 

The silence between them was like a sacrament. She never knew how long itlasted. It was a farewell more final than any words. 

At last, "God keep you, my Christine!" he said. "God bless you!"

He rose to his feet, but he did not look at her again. 

She could not speak in answer; there was no need of speech. He knew herheart as he knew his own. 

And so in silence, with bent head, he left her. And the sun went out ofher sky. 

CHAPTER VII

THE WAY OF THE WYNDHAMS

When Mordaunt returned from his ride, it was close upon theluncheon-hour. He went straight upstairs to prepare for the meal. 

Chris's room was empty. He wondered where she was, but Noel bounded inand enlightened him before he descended. 

"She's doing the pretty to Aunt Philippa, " he reported. "Only three morehours now! Hip, hip, hooray!"

His yell caused Mordaunt to fling the towel he was using at his head, acompliment which seemed to please him immensely. He draped it round hisneck and proceeded to deliver himself of that which he had come to say. 

"Look here, Trevor, you've been bullying Chris, haven't you? You needn'tsay you haven't, because I know you have. "

"Did she tell you so?" Mordaunt sounded grim. 

Noel turned to look at him. "No. She said you hadn't. But she alwaystells a cram when it suits her purpose. I knew you had all the same. "

Mordaunt was silent. 

"She's horribly down in the mouth, " Noel proceeded. "She never used to bebefore she married you. It's a pretty beastly thing to have to say, butsomeone ought to say it, and if I don't no one else will. "

"Go on, " said Mordaunt. "Your sense of duty does you credit. "

"Don't be a beast! It isn't duty at all. I'm simply pointing out theobvious. I should think you could see it for yourself, can't you?"

Mordaunt brushed his hair in silence. 

"It's got to stop anyhow, " Noel went on with determination. "She's not tobe bullied. It's worse than shabby, --it--it's damned mean to--to treather as if--as if--" He became suddenly agitated and lost the thread ofhis discourse. 

Mordaunt had laid down his brushes to listen. His eyes were gravelyattentive. They held no indignation. "Go on, " he said again. "You arequite right to use strong language if you consider the occasion requiresit. "

But Noel's flow of language had failed him. He sprang suddenly at hisbrother-in-law, and caught him by the shoulders. "Oh, do stop it, oldchap!" he urged, with husky vehemence. "We all of us rely on you. And ifyou fail us--can't you see we're done for?"

Mordaunt looked down at him with a faint smile. "Perhaps I had bettertell you what has happened, " he said. "The trouble at the present momentis that Bertrand has robbed me, and has left in consequence. "

"Great Scotland!" ejaculated Noel. "How much did he take?"

"Five hundred pounds. That's a detail of small consequence. " Mordauntspoke with grim precision. "It has upset Chris--quite naturally. But evenyou can hardly hold me responsible for that. "

"I should think not! I say, I'm sorry I spoke. " Impetuously Noel huggedhim to obliterate the effect of his words. "I'm a silly ass. You mustn'tmind me. Do you know, I always thought he would somehow, though Chris wasso keen on him. "

"I was keen on him too, " Mordaunt observed, without much humour. 

"I'm awfully sorry, old chap. It's a bit of a facer for you. But, youknow, you can't trust foreigners. It doesn't do. There was that chap atValpré. He simply bewitched Chris. She never would hear a word againsthim, but I'm sure he was a bounder. I've often thought since that heprobably manoeuvred that cave business. They're such a wily lot, theseFrenchies. "

"What cave business?" There was a hint of sharpness in Mordaunt's voice;his brows were drawn. 

Noel looked surprised. "Why, the time they got hung up by the tide allnight. Mean to say you never heard of it? Oh, my eye!" he broke offblankly. "Then I've let the cat out of the bag!"

"Don't distress yourself. It is of no importance. " Mordaunt's tone wassuddenly very deliberate. He turned away and began to put on his coat. "Are you ready for luncheon? I'm going down now. "

Noel surveyed him doubtfully. "You won't let on I told you, will you?" hesaid uneasily. "Chris may have asked me to keep it dark. "

"I don't suppose she did. " Very quietly Mordaunt made reply. "She hasmore probably forgotten all about it. But I won't give you away in anycase. You are ready? Then suppose we go!"

They descended together to find Aunt Philippa and Chris awaiting them inthe hall. Chris scarcely looked at her husband. She was very pale. 

He followed her to her end of the table to pour her out a glass of wine. 

"Please don't!" she said nervously. "I don't like it. I can't drink it. "

"I think you can, " he answered. "Try!"

He went to his own place, and proceeded to engage Aunt Philippa inconversation. But Aunt Philippa was looking even more severe than usual, and responded so indifferently to his efforts that he presently sufferedthem to flag. There fell a dead silence. Then Noel struck in with furiouszest, and Mordaunt turned to him with relief. But Chris scarcely openedher lips. 

At the end of the meal he addressed her with quiet authority. "Chris, youmust rest this afternoon. Your aunt will excuse you. "

"Certainly, " said Aunt Philippa stiffly. 

Chris rose from the table in unbroken silence. She came slowly down thelong room. Mordaunt got up to open the door, and followed her out. 

"Don't worry about me, please!" Chris besought him as he closed the doorbehind them. "I shall be all right to-morrow. "

He ignored the protest, and accompanied her upstairs. She glanced at himuneasily as they went. "I can't help being--unhappy just for to-day, " shemurmured. "You--you couldn't expect me--not to care?"

He did not speak till they reached her room. Then: "You saw Bertrand, " hesaid, in a tone that was hardly a question. 

"Yes. " She began to tremble a little. "I am sorry, " she said. "But--I hadto. " She stood before him, not meeting his eyes, waiting for him tospeak. "I couldn't let him go--for good--without saying good-bye, " shesaid, as he remained silent. 

He took her gently by the shoulders. "Chris, look at me!"

She drew back, yet in a moment with a desperate effort she raised hereyes to his. He laid his hand upon her forehead, and looked at her longand searchingly. 

She endured the look in quivering silence, but she turned so deathly paleunder it that he thought she would faint. Quietly he let her go. 

"You will lie down now?" he said. 

"Yes, " she answered, under her breath. 

"Don't be in a hurry to get up, " he said. "I will explain to your auntthat I do not wish you to be disturbed, and I shall see her off myself. "

He went to the windows and drew the curtains. She watched him silently. As he turned back into the room, she spoke. 

"Trevor, are you angry with me?"

He paused, as if the question were unexpected. "No, " he said, after amoment. 

Her eyes shone unnaturally bright in the twilight. "You understandthat--that I couldn't obey your wishes about not seeing--Bertrand--beforehe left?"

"I did not forbid you to see him, " he said. 

"But--you are vexed because I did, " she persisted. 

He came quietly back to her. "I believe you did the only thing possibleto you, " he said, in a tone she could not fathom. "Therefore there is nomore to be said. Won't you lie down?"

She complied without further words. He covered her with a rug, but sheshivered under it as one with an ague. He brought a quilt, and laid thatalso over her. 

She reached out then, and caught his hand. "Trevor, forgive me!"

He bent over her. "My dear, I am not angry with you. "

"Ah, but--but--" She broke off helplessly; there was something about himthat unnerved her. Suddenly and inexplicably the longing surged over herto be caught to his breast and held there safe from all the tumult, themisery, the vain regrets, that tortured her quivering soul. But she couldnot tell him so, could not bring herself to pour out all the truth. Forthe first time she saw how wide was the gulf that had opened betweenthem--that gulf which he had tried in vain to span the night before--andher heart died within her. She knew that she was powerless, that now inthe hour of her adversity, now when she felt her need of a protector andcomforter as never before, she dared not confide in him, dared not throwherself upon his mercy, and trust to his generosity to understand and toforgive. 

And so she could only hold his hand very tightly, too agitated to utterany plea, afraid to keep him, yet even more afraid to let him go, lest, apart from her, that dread gulf should widen into an abyss too terriblefor contemplation. 

He waited for a little beside her, to give her agitation time to subside. But it only increased till it became so painfully obvious that he couldignore it no longer. 

"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked her gently. "I amquite ready to listen to you. Only don't be so distressed. Really thereis no need. "

His tone was perfectly kind, but the caressing note she was wont to hearin it was absent. She shivered afresh, conscious of a chill. She couldnot answer him; her throat seemed incapable of producing sound. 

A while longer, with absolute patience, he waited. Then; "I think youmust let me go, dear, " he said. "I am doing you more harm than good justnow. By and bye, when you are calmer, we will have a talk. "

And so by his very forbearance he committed the greatest mistake of hislife. If he had stayed then, she might have been persuaded to tell himall that was in her heart. But--the bitter irony of it!--though she waspossessed by a passionate longing to do so, in face of his quietrestraint she could not. In fear of the physical effect upon her, he heldher back. And she was powerless to pass the barrier. Without hissupporting tenderness, she could not lay bare to him the misery and thepain which in no other way could be relieved. 

She loosened her hold upon his hand, and as he gently withdrew it shefelt as if her last chance of peace were taken away. She turned her faceinto the pillow and lay still, and a moment later the soft closing of thedoor told her he had gone. 

She listened to his quiet tread along the passage, and an overwhelmingsense of desolation swept over her. He had left her alone to cope withher trouble, and the burden of it was greater than she could bear. 

She did not know that he returned a little later and listened for manyseconds at the door, fearing that she might be spending her solitude intears. She never heard him there, or even then her tragedy might havebeen lifted from her. She was lying quite still, with clenched hands, staring dry-eyed into space; for she had no tears to shed. 

And he, deeming her sleeping, went softly away again, to sit on theterrace and await Aunt Philippa, who had retired to make her finalpreparations. 

A long time passed before she made her appearance, and he was beginningto wonder with some uneasiness if she had decided to postpone herdeparture after all, when at length she joined him, ready dressed for thejourney. She sat down beside him, looking very handsome and dignified. 

"I am glad of this opportunity of seeing you alone, my dear Trevor, " shebegan, "as, after long deliberation, I have at last decided to take youinto my confidence upon a matter that has been greatly troubling me. "

Mordaunt laid aside the proof of an article with which he had beenoccupying himself, and replied with his customary courtesy, "I am alwaysglad if I can be of use to you. "

"Thank you, " said Aunt Philippa. 

She carried a bag upon her wrist, and she proceeded to open and searchwithin it. Finally she extracted, a piece of folded notepaper, and handedit to him. 

"Will you read that first?" she said. "It will make a difficult taskeasier. "

Mordaunt took the paper, saw that it was a letter, and proceeded to readit under her watching eyes. 

There followed a long, quiet pause before he said, "I presume that thisis not addressed to you. "

"There, " said Aunt Philippa, "you are quite correct. "

"Then--" He folded it sharply, and made as if he would hand it back toher, but altered his purpose and closed his fingers upon it instead. "Will you explain?" he said. 

Aunt Philippa proceeded to do so in her most judicial manner. "Thatletter I found on the terrace yesterday morning and, believing it to beone of my own that had blown out of my window, I picked it up and laterplaced it in my letter-case. In the evening I took it out with theintention of answering my correspondent, but upon perusing it, Idiscovered it to be the communication which you hold in your hand. As youperceive, it was written from Sandacre Court about a week ago, and I nowrealize that it is not the first letter which the writer has sent to thishouse. You may remember a discussion arising one morning on the subjectof a letter from Sandacre Court. That letter, I am now convinced, waswritten by the same hand, and these facts point to the very unpleasantconclusion that the man who wrote them--Guillaume Rodolphe--has beenlevying blackmail. He is apparently aware of a most unfortunate episodewhich occurred at Valpré in Chris's early girlhood--"

Mordaunt held up his hand abruptly; his face was set in iron lines. "Ihave already heard of the episode to which you refer, " he said. 

"Indeed!" said Aunt Philippa. "And may I ask how long you have been awareof it?"

He hesitated momentarily. "Is that material?"

"I think it is, " she rejoined. "If Chris has brought herself even at theeleventh hour to be open with you, none will rejoice more sincerely thanI. It has always been my principle that wives should have no secrets fromtheir husbands. But, knowing her as I do, I question very much if thiscan be the case. I have remonstrated with her myself upon the subject, but she refused so stubbornly to listen to me that I cannot but feel thatthe time has come for me to take my own measures. I should not be doingmy duty otherwise. Painful as it is to me, I feel it incumbent upon me totell you the truth. Now, my dear Trevor, are you aware that there hasto-day been a scene between your wife and your secretary which I can onlydescribe as--a love passage? Has she confessed this to you? Because, ifnot, you must no longer remain in ignorance of the true state of affairs. Chris has deceived me throughout in the most flagrant manner. Had Iknown--as I now know--that the man who caused the Valpré scandal and yoursecretary, Bertrand de Montville, a criminal exile living upon yourcharity, were one and the same person, I would never have permitted youto marry my niece and expose her afresh to a temptation which she hadalready shown herself unable to resist. "

Her last words were somewhat hurried, for Mordaunt had risen to his feet, and there was that in his eyes that warned her that if she paused for asingle instant they would never be uttered at all. And Aunt Philippanever liked to leave a task unfinished. That which she undertook sheinvariably carried through undeviatingly, whatever the cost, andnotwithstanding any adverse circumstances which might arise during itsaccomplishment. 

She finished her sentence therefore, and then resigned herself to themartyrdom of being grossly misunderstood. 

For that he utterly misread her motives was apparent from his veryexpression, even before he said with extreme deliberation: "Mrs. Forest, you will oblige me very greatly by not pursuing this subject any further. As I said to you before, Chris is in my keeping now, and it will be myfirst care to see that no harm comes to her. As to my secretary, he hasleft me for good, and I doubt if I ever see him again. "

"I see, " said Aunt Philippa. "You have quarrelled with him then?"

"I have. " Sternly he made reply. He still held the note she had given himcrumpled in his hand. 

Aunt Philippa stiffened her neck severely. "And you left them alone tosay good-bye! My dear Trevor, are you mad, or only criminally indifferentto your own interests?"

"I am neither, " he said. 

"And do you know what happened?"

"I do not wish to know. "

She contemplated him for a moment in silence, then: "Your own servant hasmore common sense, " she said. 

"Do you mean Holmes?" He spoke with absolute composure, not as onevitally interested; but his eyes made her nervous, they were so still andintent. 

"I do mean Holmes, " she said. "He came to me in the course of the morningand informed me that his mistress was under the yew-tree and wanted me. Ithought his message unusual at the time. When I went out to the yew-treeabout ten minutes later, I understood the meaning of it. They weretogether there, in each other's arms. I did not interrupt them, for Ifelt it my duty to ascertain, if possible, how far the mischief had gone. But I was not successful. The interview came to an end almost at once. Heknelt down upon the ground and kissed her hands, after which he got upand went away. I did not hear what he said to her, but it was certainlyno word of farewell. Personally I am convinced that his leave-taking wasnot final. As for Chris herself, she seemed dazed, and I left her torecover. "

Aunt Philippa paused. He had not interrupted her, but she did not feelhis silence to be reassuring. She found it impossible to meet his lookany longer, though she made a valiant effort to do so. 

"I hope you will believe, " she said, after a moment, "that nothing but amost urgent sense of duty has impelled me to tell you this. "

He did not answer, and she began to flounder a little, finding hissilence hard to fathom. 

"I felt that you ought to be upon your guard. As I have told you before, not one of the Wyndhams is to be trusted. I think you have been toogenerous in this respect, and have laid yourself open to deception. However--now that I have warned you once more, you will perhaps be morecareful in the future. I can only hope that my warning has come in time. "

Again she paused, but still he remained silent, looking straight at herwith a steely regard that never altered. 

She mustered her forces at length to ask a direct question. "What do youpropose to do with regard to that letter you hold in your hand?"

With a quiet movement he transferred it to his pocket. "I have not hadtime to consider the matter, " he said. 

She was momentarily surprised, and showed it. "I thought you would knowwhat to do at once, " she said. "It was, in fact, my reason for tellingyou of it. I felt that something ought to be done--and quickly. "

"Something will be done, " Mordaunt answered quietly. "You have placed thematter in my hands, and I shall deal with it. I think I need not ask youto refrain from mentioning it to anyone else?"

"You need not, " said Aunt Philippa with dignity. 

"Thank you. And that is all you wish to say to me?"

She met his steady eyes for an instant and at once looked away again. "All, " she replied, "except that I think it was a great pity that yourefused so persistently to profit by my former warning. It might haveaverted much trouble both for yourself and for Chris. "

He made her a slight bow. "I fear I am not unique, " he said, "inpreferring to conduct my own affairs in my own way. "

When Aunt Philippa took her departure that afternoon it was in a mostunwonted state of doubt, not unmingled with apprehension. Despite hismoderation, she had an uneasy feeling that her communication to TrevorMordaunt had set in motion a devastating force which nothing could arrestor divert until it had spread destruction over all that lay in its path. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE TRUTH

In answer to her husband's low knock, Chris turned from herdressing-table. She had switched on the electric light, and had takendown her hair, preparatory to dressing for dinner. It hung all about herin magnificent ripples of ruddy light and shade. Her face, in the midstof it, looked very small and tired. She was clad in a plain whitewrapper, that fell away from her neck and arms, giving her a verychildish appearance. 

"Yes, I'm getting up, " she said, with the flicker of a smile. "I couldn'tsleep. "

He entered and closed the door behind him in silence. 

"Has Aunt Philippa gone?" she asked. 

He responded briefly, "Three hours ago. "

"Ah!" She stretched out her arms with the gesture of one freed from anirksome burden, but they fell again immediately, almost as if a freshburden had taken its place. 

She stood for a few seconds motionless, looking straight before her. Finally, with a hint of nervousness, she turned her eyes upon herhusband; they shone intensely blue in the strong light. 

"We shall soon be quite alone, " she said. 

His eyes did not answer hers. They looked remote and cold. "Come and sitdown, " he said. 

He seated himself on the couch from which she had just risen. Chriscaught up a slide from the dressing-table, and fastened back her hairwith fingers that trembled inexplicably. 

Then she went to him. "Trevor, " she said, and there was pleading in hervoice, "do you know, I don't want to talk about anything. I think onegets over some troubles best that way. Do you mind?"

He took her wrists very quietly, and drew her down beside him. "What wereyou trying to tell me this afternoon?" he said. 

She shivered and turned her face away. "Nothing, really nothing. I wasfoolish and upset. Please let me forget it. "

She would have withdrawn from his hold, but his hands tightened upon her. "Won't you reconsider the matter?" he asked. "It would be better for usboth if you told me of your own accord. "

"Trevor!" She turned to him swiftly, flashing into his face a look ofsuch wild alarm that he was touched, in spite of himself. 

"My dear, " he said, "I have no wish to frighten you. But you must see foryourself that it is utterly impossible for us to go on like this. You arekeeping something from me. I want you to tell me quite quietly andwithout prevarication what it is. "

She turned white to the lips. "There is nothing, Trevor. Indeed, there isnothing, " she said. 

His face changed, grew stern, grew implacable. He bent towards her, stillholding her firmly by the wrists. He looked closely into her eyes, and inhis own was neither accusation nor condemnation, only a deep and awfulquestioning that seemed to probe her through and through. 

"For Heaven's sake, " he said, "don't lie to me!"

And Chris shrank, shrank from that dread scrutiny as she would haveshrunk from naked steel. She did not attempt to speak another word. 

For seconds that seemed to her agonized senses like hours, he held herso, waiting, waiting for she knew not what. Her heart thumped within herlike the heart of a terrified creature fleeing for its life. She began topant audibly through the silence. The strain was more than she couldbear. 

"Chris!" he said. 

She started violently; every pulse leaped, every nerve jarred. But shedid not lift her eyes to his; she could not. 

"Don't tremble, " he said, his voice very cold and even. "Just tell me thetruth. Begin with what happened at Valpré. "

Her white lips quivered. "What--how much--do you know?"

"I will tell you that, " he said, "when you have answered me quite fullyand unreservedly. "

She cast an imploring look at him that did not reach his eyes. "But, Trevor, nothing happened, " she told him piteously. "That is to say, nothing beyond--" She broke off short. "I was only a child. I didn'tknow, " she ended, in a confused murmur. 

"What didn't you know?" Stern and pitiless came the question. His handswere holding her wrists tightly locked. There was compulsion in theirgrasp. 

She answered him because she could not help it, but her words werewild and incoherent. "I didn't know what it meant. I didn't see the harmof it. I was too young. It all happened before I realized. And eventhen--even then--I didn't understand--that it was serious--until--until--the duel. Trevor--Trevor, you are hurting me!"

His hold relaxed, but he did not set her free. "Was that duel fought onyour account?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she whispered. 

"In what way?"

She was silent. 

"Answer me, " he said. 

She clenched her hands in sudden, strenuous rebellion. "I don't know. Inever heard. "

"Was it because you had compromised yourself with Bertrand de Montville?"

Very deliberately he asked the question, so deliberately that she couldnot evade it. 

"It is not fair to--to put it like that, " she said. 

"I am waiting to hear your own version, " he told her grimly. 

"You have only heard Aunt Philippa's, so far?" she hazarded. 

"I have heard nothing whatever about what happened at Valpré from youraunt, " he answered. "But that is beside the point. Are you quiteincapable of telling me the truth?"

She winced sharply. "Trevor! Why are you so cruel? I have done nothingwrong. "

"Then look at me!" he said. 

But she would not, for his eyes terrified her. Nor could she bringherself to speak of Valpré under their piercing scrutiny. Onlyclose-locked in his arms could she have poured out the poor little secretthat she had sacrificed so much to keep. Not the nature of the adventureitself, but the fact that she had given her love to the man who hadshared it with her, held her silent. She could not spread her love beforethose pitiless eyes, and to disclose the one without the other had becomeimpossible to her. 

And so she remained silent, counting the seconds as she felt hisforbearance ebb away. 

When at last he moved and released her, she cowered almost as if sheexpected a blow. Yet when he spoke, though there was in his tone a subtledifference, his words came with absolute composure. She could almost haveimagined that he was smiling. 

"Since you refuse to be open with me, " he said, "you compel me to draw myown conclusions. Now, with regard to this letter which you received aweek ago from Captain Rodolphe--you have another letter from himsomewhere in your possession?"

He took the missive from his pocket and opened it as if he would read itagain. But the sight was too much for Chris. It tortured her beyondendurance, galvanizing her into sudden, unconsidered action. She snatchedit from him and tore it passionately into fragments. 

"You shall not!" she cried. "You shall not!"

With the words she sprang to her feet, and stood before him, goaded tofrenzy, challenging his calm. 

"Where did you find it?" she demanded. 

"It was found on the terrace, " he said. 

She flung out a trembling hand. "Ah! Then I dropped it that night that mydress caught fire. I thought it was burnt. And you found it--you dared toread it!"

He did not attempt to explain his action. Perhaps he realized hewas more likely to obtain the truth from her thus than by endlesscross-questioning. "Yes, I have read it, " he said. 

She made a desperate gesture. "And because of this--because ofthis--you--you accuse me of--"

"I have accused you of nothing, " he said sternly. "I have only asked youto tell me the truth. I hoped you would do so of your own free will, butsince you will not--"

"Yes?" she cried back. "Since I will not--?"

"I shall find another means, " he answered. 

He rose abruptly. They stood face to face. There was no shrinking aboutChris now. She was braced to defiance. 

"Where is that other letter?" he said. 

"I have destroyed it. "

She uttered the words with quivering triumph, strung to a fever-pitch ofexcitement in which fear had no part. 

His eyes went to her jewel-drawer. 

"It is not there, " she said. "The letter I hid there was the one you havejust read. "

She spoke rapidly, but she was no longer incoherent. Her words camewithout effort, and he knew that she was telling the truth as the victimin a torture-chamber might tell it, because she was goaded thereto andincapable at the moment of doing otherwise. He also knew that, notwithstanding this, she was scarcely aware of what she said. Out of theagony of her soul, because the pain was unbearable, she had yieldedwithout knowing it. 

"I only kept this letter, " she said, "in case he ever asked for more. Butit doesn't matter now--nothing will ever matter any more. You know theworst, and"--fiercely--"you are welcome to know it. I--I'm even glad!I've nothing left to be afraid of. "

She drew in her breath hysterically. She was on the verge of dreadfullaughter, but she caught it back, instinctively aware that she must keepher strength--this unwonted strength of desperation that had cometo her--as long as possible. 

He heard her without emotion. His face was grim and mask-like, frozeninto hard, unyielding lines. 

"It is certainly best that I should know it, " he said. "But I have notyet heard all. How much did this Rodolphe charge for his silence?"

She had almost answered him before she remembered, and checked the wordsupon her lips. "No, I don't think I need tell you that, " she said. 

"That is better than telling me a lie, " he rejoined. "As a matter offact, there is no need, as you say, for you to tell me. I know what sumhe asked for, and I know how he obtained it. "

He spoke with steady conviction, his eyes unwaveringly upon her. Forseconds now she had endured his look without flinching. As she had said, there was nothing left for her to fear. But at his words her facechanged, and unmistakable apprehension took the place of despair. 

"No, no!" she said quickly. "He did not obtain it in that way. Atleast--at least--Trevor, I swear to you that Bertrand knew nothing ofthat. "

"You need not take that trouble, " he said coldly. 

She gripped her hands together. "You don't believe me--but it is thetruth. Bertrand never knew that I had heard from Captain Rodolphe. "

"You deceived him too, then?" Pitilessly he asked the question. He alsohad begun to feel that nothing could ever matter any more. 

She wrung her hands in anguish. Her face was still raised to his, whiteand strained and desperate--the face of a woman who would never dissemblewith him again. "Yes, " she said, "I deceived him too. "

"Then"--slowly he uttered the words--"it was you who forged my name uponthat cheque? It actually was you whom he was shielding? And you tell methat he did not know what it was for?"

"He did not know, " she said. She would not have given such an explanationof her own volition at that moment, but--since upon this point she couldnot tell him the truth--it was simpler to let it pass. What did itmatter, after all? Let him think her a thief also if he would! She waspast caring what he thought. 

"And when do you expect to meet again?" Mordaunt asked, with greatdistinctness. 

She flinched as if he had struck her. "Oh, haven't you tortured meenough?" she said. 

His jaw hardened. He stepped suddenly to her and took her by theshoulders. His eyes appalled her. It was as if a devil looked out ofthem. She shrank away from him in sheer physical terror. 

"Oh, you needn't be afraid, " he said. "I shan't hurt you. Why should I?You are nothing to me. But--for the last time--let me hear you speak thetruth. You love this man?"

The words, curt and cold, might have fallen from the lips of a stranger, so impersonal were they, so utterly devoid of any emotion. 

Wide-eyed, she faced him, for she could not look away with his hands uponher, compelling her. 

"You love this man?" he repeated, his speech still cold but incisive--asharp weapon probing for the truth. 

She caught her quivering nerves together, and valiantly answered him. "Ido!" she said. "I do!" And as she spoke, the power within her surgedupwards, defying constraint, dominating her with a mastery irresistible. She suddenly stripped her heart bare of all reserve and showed him thelove that agonized there. "I have always loved him!" she said. "I shalllove him till I die!"

It was a woman's confession, in which triumph and anguish were strangelymingled. In a calmer moment she would never have made it, but that momentwas supreme, and she had no choice. Regardless of all consequences, shetold the burning truth. She would have told it with his hands upon herthroat. 

In the silence that followed the avowal she even waited for violence. Butshe was unafraid. The greatness of the power that possessed her hadlifted her above all fear. She trod the heights where fear is not. Andall-unconsciously, in that moment she won a battle which she had deemedirrevocably lost. 

Mordaunt's hands fell from her, setting her free. "In Heaven's name, " hesaid, "why didn't you go with him?"

She did not understand his tone. It held neither anger nor contempt, andso quiet was it that she could still have fancied it almost indifferent. Yet, inexplicably, it cut her to the heart. 

"I'll tell you the truth!" she said, a little wildly. "I--I would havegone with him. I offered--I begged--to go. But he--he sent me back. "

"Why?" Again that deadly quietness of utterance, as though, indeed, adead man spoke. 

Her throat began to work spasmodically, though she had no desire to weep. She felt as if her heart were bleeding from a mortal wound. 

With an effort that nearly choked her, she made reply. 

"He said--it was--my duty. "

"Your duty!" He repeated the word deliberately. Though the devil had goneout of his eyes, she could not meet them any longer. Not that she fearedto do so; but the pain at her heart was intolerable, and it was his look, his voice, that made it so. 

Almost as if he divined this, he turned quietly from her. He walked tothe window and opened it wide, as if he felt suffocated. The wind wasmoaning desolately through the trees. There was the scent of coming rainin the air. 

He spoke with his back to her, without apparent effort. "I release youfrom your duty, " he said. "Go to him! Go to him--now!"

She gazed at him, dumbfounded, not breathing. But he remained motionless, his hands clenched, his face to the night. 

"Go to him!" he repeated. "I shall set you free--at once. Go--and tellhim so!"

Then, as still she neither moved nor spoke, he slowly turned and lookedat her. 

From head to foot she felt his eyes comprehend her, and from head tofoot, under his look, she shuddered. She spoke no word; she was as oneparalysed. 

Very quietly he pulled the window to behind him, still with his eyes uponher. In that moment he was complete master of himself. He stood aloof, shrouded, as it were, in an icy calm. She had no clue to his thoughts. She only knew that by some means, inexplicable and irresistible, he boundher even as he set her free. 

"You understand me?" he said, his voice cold, level, pitilessly distinct. "It is my last word upon the subject. You and I have done with eachother. Go!"

It was literally his last word. As he uttered it, his eyes fell away fromher. He crossed the room with even, unhurried tread, opened theintervening door that led into his own, passed through with no backwardglance, and shut it steadily behind him. 

As for Chris, she stood numbly gazing after him till only the panels ofthe door met her look. And then, her strength leaving her, without soundshe sank downwards and lay crumpled, inanimate, broken, upon the floor. 

PART IV

CHAPTER I

THE REFUGEE

Autumn on a Yorkshire moor. 

Hilda Davenant leaned back and looked from her sketch to the moor withslight dissatisfaction in her calm eyes. 

"What's the matter with it?" said Lord Percy. 

He was lying in the faded heather beside her, sucking grass-stems withbovine enjoyment. He surveyed the faint pucker on his wife's foreheadwith lazy amusement. 

She looked down at him. "It isn't nearly good enough. "

He laughed comfortably. "Put it away! It'll do for my birthday. I shan'tlook at it from an artist's point of view. "

She smiled a little. "Oh, any daub would do for you. You simply don'tknow what art is. "

"Exactly, " he rejoined tranquilly. "Any daub will do, provided your handlays on the colours. But nothing less than that would satisfy me. Come!Isn't that a pretty speech? And you didn't angle for it either!" Hecaught her hand and rubbed it against his cheek. "You are civilizing mewonderfully, " he declared. "I never knew how to make pretty speechesbefore I met you. "

"Surely I never taught you that!" she protested. "I am never guilty ofempty compliments myself. "

"Nor I, " smiled her husband. "I say what I think to you always. Now whatdo you say to coming for a stretch? There's an hour left before I needbuzz down to the station and meet Jack. You will admit I have been verygood and patient all this time. Pack up your painting things, and I'lltrek back to the house with them. "

"No. We will go together, " Hilda said. "Why not?"

"I thought you would prefer to sit and admire the landscape, " he said. 

She smiled and made no response. 

"A case in point!" laughed Lord Percy. "But here the compliment would nothave been empty since you obviously prefer my company to the solitude ofa Yorkshire moor. "

She looked at him with the smile still in her eyes, but she did not putthe compliment into words. Only, as she rose to leave the scene of herlabours, she slipped her hand within his arm. 

"I have been thinking a great deal of Chris lately, " she said. "I wishshe would write to me again. "

"I thought your mother was there, " said Lord Percy. 

"She has been. I believe she left them yesterday. But then, she does notgive me any detailed news of Chris. I have a feeling that I can't get ridof that the child is unhappy. "

"She has no right to be, " rejoined her husband. "She's married about thebest fellow going. "

"Who understands her about as thoroughly as you understand art. "

"Oh, come!" he remonstrated. "Mordaunt is not quite such a fool as that!The little monkey ought to be happy enough--unless she tries to play fastand loose with him. Then, I grant you, there would be the devil to pay. "

Hilda smiled. "I can't help feeling anxious about her. It has always beenmy fear that, when the glamour of first love is past, Trevor mightmisjudge her. She is so gay and bright that many people think her empty. I know my mother does for one. "

"Your mother might, " he conceded. "Trevor wouldn't--being a man ofconsiderable insight. Tell you what, though, if you want to satisfyyourself on the score of Chris's happiness, we will get them to put us upfor a night when we leave here for town three weeks hence. How will thatsuit you?"

"I should love it, of course, " she said. "But wouldn't it be rather farout of our way?"

"I daresay the car won't mind, " said Lord Percy. 

They walked back to the house that a friend had lent for theirthree-months' honeymoon. It nestled in a hollow amongst trees, the longline of moors stretching above it. They were well out of the beatentrack. Few tourists penetrated to their paradise. Near the house was aglade with a miniature waterfall that filled the place with music. 

"That waterfall makes for laziness, " Lord Percy was wont to declare, andmany were the happy hours they had spent beside it. 

They passed it by without lingering to-day, however, for both werefeeling energetic. Briskly they crossed the little lawn before the house, and entered by a French window. 

"Better secure some refreshments before we go on the tramp, " suggestedLord Percy. "I've got a thirst already. Hullo! What on earth--"

He broke off in amazement. A slight figure had risen up suddenly from asettee in a dark corner; and a woman's face, wild-eyed and tragic, confronted them. 

"Great Scott! Who is it?" said Lord Percy Davenant. 

And "Chris!" exclaimed Hilda, at the same moment. 

As for Chris, she stood a second, staring at them; then: "Trevor hasturned me out, so I've come to you, " she said her white lips movingstiffly. "I've nowhere else to go. "

With the words she stumbled forward, feeling vaguely out before her asthough she saw not. Hilda started towards her on the instant, caught her, folded warm arms about her, held her fast. 

"My darling!" she said, and again, "My darling!"

But Chris heard not, nor saw, nor felt. She had reached the end of herstrength, and black darkness had closed down upon her agony, blotting outall things. She sank senseless in her cousin's embrace.... 

It was long before they brought her back, so long that Hilda becamefrightened and dispatched her husband in the motor for a doctor, whollyforgetting her brother's expected visit in her anxiety. 

Lord Percy ultimately returned with the local practitioner, whom he haddragged almost by force from the bedside of a patient ten miles away. He, too, had forgotten Jack, but remembered him as he set down the doctor, and whirled away again in a cloud of dust, leaving him to announcehimself. 

Chris had by that time recovered consciousness, in response to Hilda'sstrenuous efforts, but she had scarcely spoken a word. She lay on thesofa in the drawing-room, cold from head to foot, and shiveringspasmodically at intervals. She drank the wine that Hilda brought herwith shuddering docility; but it seemed to have no effect upon her. Itwas as if the blood had frozen at her very heart. 

"Get her to bed, " were the doctor's orders, and he himself carried Chrisup to Hilda's room. 

She was perfectly passive in their hands, but quite incapable of thesmallest effort, and so painfully apathetic that Hilda grew more and moreuneasy. She had never imagined that her gay, light-hearted Chris could bethus. It wrung her heart to see her. She was like a dainty flower crushedinto the dust of the highway. 

"Nervous prostration consequent upon severe mental strain, " was thedoctor's verdict later. "You will have to take great care of her, andkeep her absolutely quiet, or I can't be answerable for the consequences. She is in a very critical state, and"--he paused a moment--"I think herhusband ought to be with her. "

"Ah!" Hilda said, and no more. 

He passed the matter over. "Don't let her talk at all if you can preventit, and reassure her in every way possible. I will send a composingdraught, or she will be in a high fever before the morning. "

"You fear for the brain?" Hilda hazarded. 

"I fear--many things, " he answered uncompromisingly. 

He took his departure just as Lord Percy and his guest arrived, and Hildapaused upon the step to greet her brother. 

He sprang from the car before it came to a standstill, and she saw on theinstant that he was in a towering fury. Jack Forest, the kindly, theeasy-going, the careless, was actually white with anger. 

He scarcely stopped to greet her. "Where is Chris?" he demanded. 

"She is in bed, " Hilda answered, seeing he had heard the whole story. "No, " as he turned inwards, "you can't see her. Indeed you mustn't, Jack. The doctor says--"

"Damn the doctor!" said Jack. "I'm going to see her, in bed or not. Whereis she?"

He was half-way upstairs with the words, and Hilda's protest fell uponempty air. She could only follow and look on. 

Jack opened the first door he came to, and found himself in Chris'spresence. He strode straight across the room, as one who had a perfectright, stooped over her as she lay, and gathered her up into his arms. 

"My little sweetheart!" he said, and kissed her fiercely over and overagain. 

That woke her from her lethargy, as no more tender ministrations couldhave done. She wound her arms about his neck, and clung to him like alost child. 

"Oh, Jack!" she said. "Oh, Jack!" and burst into an agony of tears. 

Hilda closed the door softly, and went away. Jack's treatment seemed thebest, after all. 

When she saw him again he was quite calm, but there was about him agrimness of purpose with which she was not familiar. He drew her aside. 

"Look here! I can't sleep on this. I'm going to see Trevor--at once. If Idon't bring him to reason, I shall probably shoot him; but I haven't toldher that. All she wants is to be left in peace, and peace she shall have, whatever the cost. "

"But, my dear boy, quarrelling with Trevor on her behalf won't make forpeace, " Hilda ventured to point out. 

He acknowledged the truth of this with a brief nod. "All the same, I'mdamned if I'll stand by and see him wreck her life. Let me know how shegoes on. Send a wire to the club to-morrow. No, don't! I'll wire to youfirst, and let you know where I am. I'm going straight back to thestation now. With any luck I ought to catch the afternoon express. Where's Percy?"

"You must have something to eat, " urged Hilda. "You've had nothingwhatever. "

He frowned impatiently. "Oh, rats! I can feed on board. I shan't starve. "

But she knew, with sure intuition, that the moment he was out of herpresence all thought of refreshment would leave his mind. 

She saw him go, and then returned to Chris. 

She found her sitting up in bed, rocking herself to and fro, and crying, crying, crying, the tears of utter despair. But this distress, despiteits violence, was better--Hilda knew it instinctively--than her formercold inertia. She gathered her to her breast, and held her close pressedtill her anguish had somewhat spent itself. 

By degrees and haltingly the story of Chris's tragedy was unfolded. 

"I've told Jack everything, " she said at last. "And now I've told you, but we won't ever talk about it any more. Jack is going to see Trevor, and--and try to make him understand. I didn't want him to, but he woulddo it. But he has promised me that Trevor shan't follow me here. Do youthink he will be able to prevent him? Do you? Do you?"

She shuddered afresh uncontrollably at the bare thought, and Hilda hadsome difficulty in calming her. 

"Dearest, I am sure he will never come to you against your will, " shesaid, with conviction. "I am sure you needn't be afraid. But oh, Chris, my darling, he is your husband. Always remember that!"

"I know! I know!" Feverishly Chris made answer, and Hilda knew thatshe must not pursue this subject. "But I can never see him again, never--never--never! I think it would kill me. Besides--besides--" Shebroke off inarticulately, and Hilda did not press her to finish. 

She found that she must not speak much of Bertrand either, though she didventure to ask why the Valpré escapade had ever been kept from Trevor inthe first place. 

"I really can't quite explain, " Chris answered wearily. "When it dawnedon me that vile things had been said and actually a duel fought becauseof it I felt as if I would rather die than let him know. Besides, at theback of my mind, I think I somehow always knew--though I did notrealize--that--Bertie--came first with me, and I--I was terrified lestTrevor should suspect it. Of course it doesn't matter now, " she ended. "He knows it all, and--as he says--we have done with each other. " Sheuttered a long, quivering sigh, and turned her face into the pillow. 

"My darling, so long as you both live, that can never be, " Hilda saidvery earnestly. "Whatever mistakes you have made, you are still his andhe is yours. Nothing can alter that. "

"He doesn't think so, " said Chris. "In fact, he--he told me to go toBertie, so that--so that"--she shivered again--"he could set me free. "

"Oh, Chris, he did--that?"

"Yes, I think he meant it for my sake as much as for his own. But Icouldn't do it. You see, I don't know where Bertie has gone for onething. And then--I know Bertie would have thought it wrong. You see"--thetears were running down her face again--"we love each other so much, and--and love like ours is holy. He said so. "

"I wonder how he learned that, " Hilda said. "It is not a creed that mostmen hold. "

"But Bertie is not like most men. " Very softly came Chris's answer, andthrough her tears her eyes shone with the light that is kindled bynothing earthly. "Bertie has come through a great deal of suffering, " shesaid. "It has taught him to know the good from the bad. And--he said Ishouldn't be ruined for his sake. As if I cared for that!" she ended, smiling wanly. 

"Thank God he did for you!" Hilda said. 

"Oh, do you think it matters?" said Chris. 

CHAPTER II

A MIDNIGHT VISITOR

It was a dark, wet night. The rain streamed from the gutters and pattereddesolately on the pavement below. It had rained for hours. 

Trevor Mordaunt sat alone, with a pipe between his teeth, his windowsflung wide to the empty street, and listened to the downpour. He hadarrived in town that afternoon to make a few necessary arrangementsbefore leaving England. These arrangements completed, there was nothingleft to do but to await the next morning for departure. 

It was not easy, that waiting. He faced it with grim fortitude, realizingthe futility of going to bed. It was possible that he might presentlydoze in his chair, but ordinary sleep was out of the question, and hewould not trouble himself to court it. Tossing all night sleepless on hispillow was a refinement of torture that he did not feel called upon tobear. 

He had spent the previous night tramping the country-side, but he couldnot tramp in London, and though he was not aware of fatigue, he knew thenecessity for bodily rest existed, and he compelled himself to take it. 

So he sat motionless, listening to the rain, while the hours crawled by. 

The roar of London traffic rose from afar, for the night was still. Nowand then a taxi whirred through the sloppy street, but there were fewwayfarers. Once a boy passed whistling, and the man at the window abovestiffened a little, as if in some fashion the careless melody stirredhim, but as the whistler turned the corner he relaxed again with his headback, and resumed his attitude of waiting. 

It was nearly midnight when a taxi hummed up to the flaring lamp-postbefore the house, and stopped to discharge its occupant. Mordaunt heardthe vehicle, but his eyes were closed and he did not trouble to openthem. He had laid aside his pipe, and actually seemed to be on the vergeof dozing at last. The window-curtain screened him from the view of anyin the street, and it did not occur to him that the new arrival could bein any way connected with himself. 

It was, therefore, with a hint of surprise that he turned his head at theopening of the door. 

"Mr. Wyndham to see you, sir, " said Holmes. "Says it's very particular, sir. "

"Who? Oh, all right. Show him in. " A bored note sounded in Mordaunt'svoice. "And you needn't sit up, Holmes. I'll let him out, " he added. 

"Very good, sir, " said Holmes, without enthusiasm. He never liked toretire before his master. 

Mordaunt rose with a faint touch of impatience. He expected to see Max, and wondered that the news of his arrival in town had reached him soquickly. But it was Rupert who entered, and turned to satisfy himselfthat the door was shut before he advanced to greet his brother-in-law. 

Mordaunt stood by the window and watched the precaution with a certaingrim curiosity. He fancied he could guess the reason of this midnightvisitation, but as the boy came towards him and halted in the full lighthe saw that he was mistaken. There was no indignant questioning visibleon Rupert's face. It looked only grey and haggard and desperate. 

"Look here, " he said, speaking jerkily, as if it were only by a series oftense efforts that he spoke at all. "I've come to tell you something. Idon't know how you'll take it. And I may as well admit--that I'm horriblyafraid. Do you mind if I have a drink--just to help me through?"

Mordaunt closed the window, and came quietly forward. Just for a momenthe fancied that Rupert had already fortified himself in the mannerindicated for the ordeal of meeting him, and then again he realized thathe was mistaken. The eyes that looked into his were perfectly sane, butthey held an almost childlike appeal that made his heart contractsuddenly. He bit his lip savagely. Why on earth couldn't the fellow haveleft him alone for this one night at least?

He forced himself to be temperate, but there was no warmth in his tone ashe said, "I've no objection to your having a drink if you want it. Isuppose you've got into a scrape again, and want me to help you out?"

"No, it's not that--at least, not in the sense you mean. "

Hurriedly Rupert made answer. He looked for a moment at the glasses onthe table, but he did not attempt to help himself. Suddenly he shivered. 

"Ye gods! What an infernal night! I had to walk ever so far before Ifound a taxi. I came up by the evening train--couldn't get off dutysooner. I thought you would be off to Dover before I got here. And I--andI--" He broke off blankly and became silent, as if he had forgotten whathe had meant to say. 

Mordaunt leaned over the table, and mixed a drink with the utmoststeadiness. "Sit down, " he said. "And now drink this, and pull yourselftogether. There's nothing to be in a funk about, so take your time. "

He spoke with authority, but his manner had the aloofness of one notgreatly interested in the matter in hand. He resented the boy'sintrusion, that was all. 

Rupert accepted his hospitality in silence. This obvious lack of interestincreased his difficulties tenfold. 

Mordaunt went back to his chair by the window, and relighted his pipe. Heknew he was being cold-blooded, but he felt absolutely incapable ofkindling any warmth. There seemed to be no warmth left in him. 

Rupert gulped down his drink, and buried his face in his hands. He feltthat the thing he had come to do was beyond his power to accomplish. Hecould not make his confession to a stone image. And yet he could not go, leaving it unmade. 

In the long pause that followed it almost seemed as if Mordaunt hadforgotten his presence in the room. The minutes ticked away, and he madeno sign. 

At last, desperately, Rupert lifted his head. "Trevor!"

Mordaunt looked at him. Then, struck possibly by the misery of the boy'sattitude, he laid down his pipe and turned towards him. 

"Well, what is it?"

Vehemently Rupert made answer. "For pity's sake, don't freeze me up likethis, man! I--I--oh, can't you give me a lead?" he broke off desperately. 

"You see, I don't know in the least what you have come to say, " Mordauntpointed out. "If it has anything to do with--recent events"--he spokewith great distinctness--"I can only advise you to leave it alone, sinceno remonstrance from you will make the smallest difference. "

"But it hasn't, " groaned Rupert. "At least, of course, it's in connectionwith that. But I've come to try and tell you the truth--something youdon't know and never will know if I don't tell you. And--Heaven helpme!--I'm such a cur--I don't know how to get through with it. "

That reached Mordaunt, stirring him to activity almost against his will. He found himself unable to look on unmoved at his young brother-in-law'sdistress. He left his chair and moved back to the table. 

"I don't know what you've got to be afraid of, " he said, with a touch ofkindliness in his tone that deprived it of its remoteness. "I'm notfeeling particularly formidable. What have you been doing?"

Rupert groaned again and covered his face. "You'll be furious enoughdirectly. But it's not that exactly that I mind. It's--it's thedisgusting shabbiness of it. We Wyndhams are such a rotten lot, we don'tsee that part of the business till afterwards. "

"Hadn't you better come to the point?" suggested Mordaunt. "We can talkabout that later. "

"No, we can't, " said Rupert, with conviction. "You'll either throw me outof the window or kick me downstairs directly you know the truth. "

"I'm not in the habit of doing these things, " Mordaunt remarked, with theghost of a smile. 

"But this is an exceptional case. " Rupert straightened himself abruptly, and turned in his chair, meeting the quiet eyes. "Damn it, I'll tellyou!" he said, springing to his feet with sudden resolution. "Trevor, I--I'm an infernal blackguard! I forged that cheque!"

"You!" Sternly Mordaunt uttered the word. He moved a step forward andlooked Rupert closely in the face. "Are you telling me the truth?" hesaid. 

"I am. " Rupert faced him squarely, though his eyelids quivered a little. "I'm not likely to lie to you in this matter. I've nothing to gain andall to lose. And I shouldn't have told you--anyway now--if Noel hadn'tcome over this morning with the news that you had kicked out yoursecretary for the offence I had committed. Even I couldn't stick that, soI've come to own up--and take the consequences. "

He braced himself, almost as if he expected a blow. But Mordaunt remainedmotionless, studying him keenly, and for many seconds he did not utter aword. 

At last, "Bertrand knew of this, " he said, in a tone that held more ofconviction than interrogation. 

"No, he didn't. He knew nothing, or, if he did, it was sheer guess-work. I never suspected that he knew. " Rupert's hands were clenched. He wasface to face with the hardest task he had ever undertaken. 

"He knew, for all that. " Mordaunt's brows contracted; he seemed to befollowing out a difficult problem. 

Finally, to Rupert's relief, he turned aside. "Go on, " he said. "I'llhear the whole of it now. What did you do with the money?"

Rupert's teeth closed upon his lower lip. "That's the only question Ican't answer. "

"Why not?" The question was curt, and held no compromise. 

"Private reasons, " Rupert muttered. 

"Family reasons would be more accurate, " Mordaunt rejoined, in the samecurt tone. "You gave it to--Chris. "

The momentary hesitation before the name did not soften its utterance. Itcame with a precision almost brutal. 

Rupert made a slight movement, and stood silent. 

"You are not going to deny it?" Mordaunt observed, glancing at him. 

He turned his face away. "What's the good?"

"Just so. You had better tell me the whole truth. It will save trouble. "

"But I don't see that there is anything more to tell. " Rupert spokewith an effort. "I stole the cheque in the first place--that Sundayafternoon--you remember? I was a bit top-heavy at the time. That's noexcuse, " he threw in. "I daresay I should have done it in any case. But--well, you know the state of mind I was in that day. You had justbeen beastly generous, too. And that reminds me; you left your keysbehind, do you remember? I came in for another drink and saw them. Thetemptation came then, and I never stopped to think till the thing wasdone. Bertrand nearly caught me in the act. He didn't suspect anything atthe time, but he may have remembered afterwards. "

"Probably, " said Mordaunt. "You weren't frank with me that day, then?There were debts you didn't mention. "

Rupert nodded. "You were a bit high-handed with me. That choked me off. Still, though in an evil moment I took the cheque out of your book, Iloathed myself for it afterwards. I hadn't the strength of mind todestroy it, or the courage to send it back. But"--he turned back againand met Mordaunt's eyes--"I wasn't going to use it, though I was curenough to keep it, and to like to feel it was there in case of emergency. I didn't mean to use it--on my oath, I didn't. I don't expect you tobelieve me, but it's true. "

"I believe you, " Mordaunt said quietly. "And--the emergency arose?"

Rupert nodded again. "Chris came to me--in great distress. Couldn't tellme what she wanted it for. You weren't to know, neither was Bertrand. Shecouldn't use her own without your finding out. And so--as it seemedurgent--in fact, desperate--and as it was for her--" He broke off. "No, Iwon't shelter myself in that way. I did it on my own. She didn't know. Noone knew. If Bertrand suspected, he must have thought I took it for myown purposes. Heaven knows what she wanted it for, but she was mostemphatic that it shouldn't get round to him. "

"And you tell me she did not know how you obtained the money? Are youcertain of that?" Mordaunt's tone was deliberate; he spoke as one whomeant to have the truth. 

"Why, man, of course I am! What do you take her for? Chris--mysister--your wife--"

"Stop!" The word was brief, and very final. "We need not go into that. She may not have known at the time, but she suspected afterwards. Infact, she knew. "

"Is that what you quarrelled about?" Eagerly Rupert broke in. "Noel triedto get it out of her, but she wouldn't tell him. You'll find out whereshe's gone, and set it right? She can't be very far away. "

"That, " Mordaunt said, in a tone from which the faintest hint of feelingwas excluded, "is beside the point. We will not discuss it. "

"But--" Rupert began. 

"We will not discuss it. " Mordaunt repeated the words in the same utterlyemotionless voice, and Rupert found it impossible to continue. "In fact, there seems to be nothing further to discuss of any sort. Can I put youup for the night?"

Rupert stared at him. 

"Well?" Mordaunt's brows went up a little. 

"Are you in earnest?" the boy burst out awkwardly. "I mean--I mean--don'tyou want to--to--give me a sound kicking?"

"Not in the least. " A steely glint shone for a moment in the grey eyes. "I don't think that sort of treatment does much good, as a rule. And Ihave not the smallest desire to administer it. If you think you deserveit, I should imagine that is punishment enough. "

Rupert swung round sharply on his heel. "All right. I'm going. If youwant me, you know where to find me. I shan't run away. And I shan't tryto back out. What I've said I shall stick to--if it means perdition. "

"And what about the Regiment?" Quietly Mordaunt's voice arrested himbefore he reached the door. "Or doesn't the Regiment count?"

Rupert stopped dead, but he did not turn. "The Regiment"--he said--"theRegiment"--he choked suddenly--"they'll be damned well rid of me, " heended, somewhat incoherently. 

"Come back!" Mordaunt said. 

He made an irresolute movement, but did not comply. 

"Rupert!" There was authority in the quiet voice. 

Unwillingly Rupert turned. He came back unsteadily, with features thathad begun to twitch. 

Mordaunt moved to meet him. The coldness had gone out of his eyes. Hetook Rupert's arm, and brought him back to the table. 

"I think you had better let me put you up, " he said. "You can sleep in myroom; I'm not wanting it for to-night. There, sit down. You mustn't be afool, you know. You are played out, and want a rest. "

"I--I'm all right, " Rupert said. 

He made as if he would withdraw his arm, but changed his intention, andstood tense, battling with himself. 

"Oh, man!" he burst out at last, hoarsely, "you--you don't know whata--what a--cur I feel! I--I--I--" Words failed him abruptly; he flunground and sank down again at the table with his head on his arms, toohumbled to remember his manhood any longer. 

"My dear fellow, don't!" Mordaunt said. He put his hand on the boy'sheaving shoulders and kept it there. "There's no sense in lettingyourself go. The thing is done, and there is no more to be said, sinceneither you nor I can undo it. Come, boy! Pull yourself together. I amgoing to forget it, and you can do the same. I think you had better go tobed now. We shall have time for a talk in the morning. What?" He stoopedto catch a half-audible sentence. 

"You'll never forget it, " gasped Rupert. 

"Yes, I shall--if you will let me. It rests with you. I never wish tospeak or think of it again. I have plenty of other things to think about, and so have you. That's settled, then. I am going to see if I can findyou something to eat. "

He stood up. His face had softened to kindness. He patted Rupert'sshoulder before he turned away. 

"Buck up, old chap!" he said gently, and went with quiet tread from theroom. 

CHAPTER III

A FRUITLESS ERRAND

"Hullo, Jack!" Noel sprang to meet his cousin with the bound of a youngpanther. "Where on earth have you come from? My good chap, you'repositively drenched! You've never walked up from the station!"

"And missed the way twice, " said Jack grimly. He shook Noel off withoutceremony. "Where is Trevor? I have come to see him. "

"Oh, he's cleared out; went to town this afternoon, says he's going toParis to-morrow. There's been no end of a shine, you know. Chris boltedlast night. Heaven only knows where she's gone. I think she might havetold me first. "

"I can tell you, " said Jack. "She is with Hilda at Graysdale. I have justcome from there. Trevor is in town, you say?"

Noel nodded. "Bertrand's gone too, you know. That was the beginning ofit. Trevor kicked him out for robbing him. Beastly little thief! I toldTrevor he would long ago. I say, you are not going again!"

Jack, still standing on the mat, was consulting his watch. "If there isanother up train to-night I must catch it. There's a motor here, isn'tthere? Send round word that it is wanted. "

"But there isn't a train!" Noel protested. "I know the last one goes atnine-fifty, and it's past ten now. Have you all gone raving mad? I alwaysthought you, anyhow, had a little sense. "

Jack uttered a grim laugh. "Well, find a time-table. I must go by thefirst train in the morning, whatever the hour. I've got to see Trevorbefore he leaves England. "

"You won't get any sense out of him, " Noel remarked. "I told him he was abeastly cad myself before he went, and he didn't even punch my head. Oh, I say, Jack, this place is pretty ghastly with no one in it. I can'tstick it much longer. "

"Just get me a drink, " Jack said, "and we will discuss your affairs atlength. "

Noel departed with his customary expedition. He returned with drinks fortwo, which he proceeded to mix with a lavish hand. 

"I'm not going to let you have that, " Jack observed. "You have dined, andI haven't. Get me some food like a good chap, and then we will have atalk. "

Noel submitted meekly. He was fond of Jack. Returning with sufficient tosatisfy his cousin's immediate needs, he seated himself on the tablewhile he ate, and embarked upon a more detailed account of the happeningsof the past two days. 

"I only saw Chris for a few minutes, " he said in conclusion. "She lookedpretty desperate, and seemed horribly scared. But she wouldn't tell mewhy. I knew there was something up, of course. Trevor had told me she wasupset about Bertrand. But I had no idea she was going to cut and run. Idon't know if Trevor had, but I couldn't get anything out of him. It's mybelief the silly ass was jealous. "

Jack grunted. 

"I didn't know what to do, " Noel ended. "So I thought I'd stick on heretill someone turned up. "

"You ought to be going back to school, " Jack remarked. 

Noel leaned carelessly down upon his elbow and looked him straight in theeyes. "I'm not going, " he said. 

"Why not?"

"I've other things to think about. I'm going to Graysdale. Can you lendme a couple of quid for the journey? I'll pay you back when I come ofage. "

Jack surveyed him with one brow uplifted. "Suppose I can't?"

"I shall tramp, that's all. " Noel made unconcerned response. He wasaccustomed to fend for himself, and the prospect of such an adventure wasrather alluring than otherwise. 

Jack smiled a little. He liked the boy's independence. "What do you wantto go to Graysdale for?" he asked. 

"To look after Chris, of course. "

"Hilda can do that. "

"Not in the same way. You needn't try to put me off. I'm going. " Noel gotoff the table with his hands in his pockets and broke into a whistle. 

Jack went on with his meal in silence. 

Finally Noel came round and stood beside him. "That's understood, is it?"he said. "One of us ought to be with her, and as you and Rupert arechasing after Trevor, and Max is in town, it looks like my job. Anyhow, I'm going to take it on. "

"All right, " Jack said. "Go and prosper. I'm not sure that you will bewanted. But that's a detail. I daresay Chris may like to have you. "

Noel grinned boyishly. "You're a white man, Jack! I'm jolly glad youturned up. Between ourselves, I don't mind telling you that I've been ina fairly stiff paste all day. It's a beastly feeling, isn't it? I'd havelooked after her better if I'd known. "

"You're a white man too, " said Jack kindly. "Mind you behave like one. "

They parted for the night soon after, to meet again very early in themorning, and finally separate upon their various errands. 

Noel departed upon his in obviously high spirits; but he maintained hisair of responsibility notwithstanding, and Jack took leave of him with asmile of approval. 

He himself telegraphed to Hilda as soon as he arrived in town, andacquainted her with the fact of the boy's advent. He directed her to sendher answering message to him at Mordaunt's rooms, and then proceededthither with the firm determination to see the owner thereof withoutfurther delay. 

Holmes admitted him, and imparted the information that his master was atbreakfast with the eldest Mr. Wyndham, who had arrived overnight. 

Jack's jaw hardened at the news. He had not expected to find Rupertaccepting his brother-in-law's hospitality. He shrugged his shouldersover the volatility of the Wyndhams, and announced curtly that he desiredto see Mr. Mordaunt in private. 

"Will you come into the smoking-room, sir?" asked Holmes. 

"Certainly. But tell him I can't wait, " said Jack. 

He marched into the smoking-room therewith, and Holmes softly closed thedoor upon him. The window by which Mordaunt had sat all night long wasopen, and the sounds of the street below came cheerily in. Jack crossedover and quietly shut it. 

Turning from this, his eyes fell upon a photograph on the mantelpiece. Hewent up to it and took it between his hands. Gaily the pictured facelaughed up at him--Chris in her happiest, wildest mood, with Cindersclasped in her arms; Chris, the child of the sunny eyes that no shadowhad ever darkened!

Something rose suddenly in Jack's throat. He gulped hard, and put theportrait back. Was it indeed Chris--the broken-hearted woman he had heldin his arms but yesterday? Then was the Chris of the old days gone forever. 

Someone entered the room behind him and he wheeled round. 

"Good morning, " said Mordaunt. 

He offered his hand, but Jack ignored it and his greeting alike. 

He stood for a couple of seconds in silence, looking at him, whileMordaunt waited with absolute composure. Then, "I daresay you arewondering what I have come for, " he said. "Or perhaps you can guess. "

"Why should I?" Mordaunt said. 

Jack frowned abruptly. He had met this impenetrable mood before. But hewould not be baffled by it. It was no moment for subtleties. He wentstraight to the point. 

"I have come to tell you that Chris is at Graysdale with Hilda, " he said. 

Mordaunt's brows went up. He said nothing. 

But Jack was insistent. "Did you know that?"

"I did not. " Very deliberately came Mordaunt's answer; it held no emotionof any sort. The subject might have been one of utter indifference tohim. 

"Then where did you think she was?"

There was an undernote of ferocity in Jack's question, almost a hint ofmenace; but Mordaunt seemed unaware of it. 

"Forgive me for saying so, Jack, " he said. "But that is more my affairthan yours. I have nothing whatever to discuss with you, nor do I holdmyself answerable to you in any way for my actions. "

"But I do, " Jack said curtly. "I have always held myself responsible forChris's welfare. And I do so still. "

Mordaunt listened unmoved. "You can hardly expect me to acknowledge yourauthority, " he said, "since my responsibility in that respect is greaterthan yours. "

"I have no desire to dictate to you, " Jack answered quickly. "But I doclaim the right to speak my mind on this matter. Remember, it was I whofirst brought you into her life. "

Mordaunt shrugged his shoulders slightly. "As to that, I am fatalistenough to believe that we should have met in any case. But isn't thatbeside the point? I have declined to discuss the matter with anyone, andI am not going to make an exception of you. "

"You must, " Jack said. He threw back his shoulders as if bracing himselffor a physical conflict. He was plainly in earnest. 

Mordaunt turned to the table and sat down. "You are wasting your time, "he said. "Argument is quite useless. I have already decided upon my planof action, and quarrelling with you is no part of it. "

"What is your plan of action?" Jack demanded. 

Mordaunt took out his cigarette-case. "I shall start for Paris in acouple of hours. Meantime"--he glanced up--"I suppose you won't smoke?Have you had any breakfast?"

"Then you mean to desert her?" Jack said. 

Mordaunt's face remained immovable. He began to smoke in dead silence. 

Jack's teeth clenched. "I am going to have an answer, " he said. 

"Very well. " Coldly the words fell; there was something merciless intheir very utterance. "Then I will answer you; but it is my last wordupon the subject. My wife followed her own choice in leaving me, and itis my intention to abide by her decision. If you call that desertion--"

"I do, " Jack broke in passionately. "It is desertion, nothing less. Sheleft you--oh, I know all about it--she left you because you literallyscared her away. You terrified her into going; there was nothing else forher to do. She had done nothing wrong. But you--you dared to suspect herof Heaven knows what. You dared to think that Chris--my Chris--wascapable of playing you false, you who were the only man on earth Ithought good enough for her. And do you know what you have done? You havebroken her heart!" He took the portrait from the mantelpiece and thrustit in front of the man at the table. "That, " he said, and suddenly hisvoice was quivering, "that was the child you married. I gave her intoyour care willingly, though, God knows, I worshipped her. No, you didn'tcut me out. I was never in the running. I never so much as made love toher. I always knew she was not for me. When she accepted you, I thoughtit was the best thing that could possibly happen. I felt she would besafe with you. You were the one fellow I would have chosen to guard her. And she needed guarding. She was as innocent and as inexperienced as ababy. She didn't know the world and its beastly ways. I thought you wereto be trusted to keep her out of the mud; I could have sworn you were. But you withdrew your protection just when she needed it most. Youpractically turned her out, cut her adrift. She might have gone straightto the bad for all you cared. And now, like the damned blackguard thatyou are, you are going to clear out and leave her to break her heart!"

Fiercely the words rushed out. Jack, the placid, the kindly, thecareless, was for the moment electrified by a tornado of feeling thatswept him far beyond the bounds of his customary easy _bonhomie_. Hetowered over the man in the chair as if at the first movement he wouldfell him to the ground. 

But Mordaunt remained quite motionless. He had removed his cigarette, andsat looking straight up at him with steely eyes that never changed. WhenJack ceased to speak, there fell a silence that was in a sense morefraught with conflict than any war of words. 

Through it at length came Mordaunt's voice, measured and distinct andcold. "It is not particularly wise of you to take that tone, but that isyour affair. I have already warned you that you are wasting your time. Your championship is quite superfluous, and will do no good to anyone. I think you will see this for yourself when you have taken time to thinkit over. Wouldn't it be as well to do so before you go any further--foryour own sake, not for mine?"

"I am not thinking of myself at the present moment, " Jack respondedsternly, "or of you. I'm thinking of Chris--and Chris only. Man, do youwant to kill her? For you're going the right way to do it. "

The cigarette between Mordaunt's fingers slowly doubled and crumpled intoshapelessness, but the steely eyes never altered. They barred the wayinflexibly to the man's inmost soul. He uttered neither question noranswer. 

But Jack was not to be silenced. "I tell you, she is ill, " he said. "Isaw her myself yesterday. She was simply broken down. I never saw such achange in anyone. I couldn't have credited it. Hilda is horribly anxiousabout her. She is going to wire to me here as to her condition. "

"Why here?" Very calmly came the question. 

Jack explained. Almost in spite of himself his own heat had died down, cooled by that icy deliberation. "I went to Kellerton yesterday in searchof you, found only Noel there, but had to spend the night as it was late. I came on by the first train, and wired to Hilda to send her message herein case you may be wanted. It ought to come through in about an hour. "

"And you propose to wait for it?"

"Yes, I do. " Jack paused an instant; then, "You must wait too, " he saiddoggedly. "She isn't very likely to want you, and I've sworn you shan'tfrighten her any more; but you shan't abandon her either while there isthe faintest chance that she may want you. "

"There is not the faintest. " Mordaunt glanced down at the thing that hadonce been a cigarette which he still held between his fingers, contemplated it for a moment, then rose and went to the mantelpiece foran ash-tray. "You have taken a good deal upon yourself, Jack, " he said. "But I have borne with you because I know that your position is adifficult one. You say you know everything. That may be so, and againit may not. In either case, our points of view do not coincide. I willwait until that telegram comes; but it is not my intention to go to mywife--whatever it may contain. "

Jack bit his lip savagely. "In short, you don't care what happens toher!" he said. "You want to be rid of her--one way or another. And youdon't care how!"

He spoke recklessly, uttering the thought that had come uppermost in hismind without an instant's consideration. Perhaps instinctively he soughtto rouse the devil that till then had been held in such rigid control. But the effect of his words was such as he had scarcely looked for. 

Mordaunt turned with the movement of a goaded creature and gripped him bythe shoulder. "You believe that?" he said. 

They stood face to face. Mordaunt was as white as death. His eyes in thatmoment were terrible. But it seemed to Jack that they expressed more ofanguish than of anger, and he felt as if he had seen a soul in torment. He averted his own instinctively. It was a sight upon which he could notlook. 

"Do you believe it?" Mordaunt said, his voice very low. 

"No!" Impulsively Jack made answer. That instant's revelation hadquenched his own fire very effectually. "Forgive me!" he said. "I--didn'tunderstand. "

The hand on his shoulder relaxed slowly. There fell a silence. Then, "Allright, Jack, " Mordaunt said very quietly. 

And Jack knew that he had dropped the veil again that shrouded his soul'sagony. 

"You will wait here for that telegram?" Mordaunt asked, after a moment. 

"Yes, please. "

"Will you come into the other room? Rupert is with me. "

"No. I'll wait here, thanks. "

"Very well. I shall see you again. " Mordaunt crossed to the door, thenpaused, and after a moment came slowly back to the table. 

He stood before it in silence, looking down upon the portrait that Jackhad laid there as one looks upon the face of the dead. 

His face showed no sign of softening, yet Jack made a last effort to movehim. "You're not going to let her fret her heart out for you? You'll goback to her if she is wanting you? Damn it, Trevor! You can't know whatshe is suffering! And after all--she is your wife!"

Mordaunt's mouth hardened. He made no response. 

"Surely you don't--you can't--think evil of her?" Jack said. 

Mordaunt raised his eyes slowly. "You have said enough, " he said, withquiet emphasis. "As for this portrait, take it if you value it. I nevercared for it myself. "

"Never cared for it!" Jack ejaculated. 

"No. It never conveyed very much to me. I did not regard her in thatlight. "

"Then you never knew her, " Jack said with conviction. 

"Possibly not. " Mordaunt turned away once more. "Most of us are blind, "he said, "until our eyes are opened. I am going to send you in somebreakfast if you are sure you prefer to stay here. "

He went out quietly, leaving Jack marvelling at his own docility. Thelast thing he would have expected of himself was that at the end of theinterview he also would be accepting the hospitality of the man he hadcome almost prepared to shoot. The turn of events forced him into aspecies of unwilling admiration. There was no denying the fact that, mismanage his own private affairs as he might, this was a born leader ofmen. 

Mordaunt himself brought him his sister's telegram some time later. 

He remained in the room while Jack opened it, but he betrayed noimpatience to hear its contents. As for Jack, he stood for severalseconds with the message in his hand before he looked up. 

"I suppose you will have to see it, " he said then reluctantly. 

"That is as you like. "

But though the words were emotionless, Mordaunt's eyes searched his face, and in answer to them Jack held out the paper. 

"I am sorry, " he said. 

"In no danger. Keep Trevor away, " was the message it contained. 

"As I thought, " Mordaunt observed, and handed it back without furthercomment. 

"She will be wanting you presently, " Jack said uneasily, "You know howwomen change. "

And Mordaunt smiled, a grim, set smile. "Yes, I know, " he answered. 

CHAPTER IV

THE DESIRE OF HIS HEART

The night was very hot, even hotter than the day had been. Only thewhirring electric fan kept the air moving. It might have been midsummerinstead of the end of September. 

Bertrand de Montville, seated in an easy-chair and propped by cushions, raised his head from time to time and gasped for breath. He held anewspaper in his hand, for sleep was out of the question. He had beensuffering severely during the day, but the pain had passed and onlyweariness remained. His face was yet drawn with the memory of it, and hiseyes were heavily shadowed. But the inherent pluck of the man was stillapparent. His pride of bearing had not waned. 

He was reading with close attention a report upon the chief event of thehour--the trial of Guillaume Rodolphe at Valpré. It had been in progressfor four days, and was likely to last for several more. The report heread was from the pen of Trevor Mordaunt, an account clear and direct asthe man himself. So far the evidence had seemed to turn in Bertrand'sfavour, and, his protestations notwithstanding, it was impossible not tofeel a quickening of the pulses as he realized this fact. Would they eversend for him? He asked himself. Would they ever desire to do justice tothe man they had degraded?

It was evident that the writer of the account before him thought so. However Mordaunt's opinion of the man himself had altered, his convictionon the subject of his innocence of that primary crime had plainlyremained unshaken. He had not allowed himself to be biased bysubsequent events. 

"And that is strange--that!" the Frenchman murmured, with his eyesupon the article. "Perhaps _la petite Christine_ has convinced him. But no--that is not probable. "

He broke off as the door opened, and a quick smile of welcome flashedacross his face. He stretched out both hands to the new-comer. 

"All right. Sit still, " said Max. 

He sauntered across the room, his coat hanging open and displayingevening dress, and gave his hand into Bertrand's eager clasp. It was avery cool hand, and strong with a vitality that seemed capable ofimparting itself. 

He looked down at Bertrand with a queer glint of tenderness in his eyes. "I shouldn't have come up at this hour, " he said, "but I guessed youwould be awake. How goes it, old chap? Pretty bad, eh?"

"No, I am better, " Bertrand said. "I am glad that you came up. "

Max drew up a chair, and sat down beside his _protégé_. For nearly threeweeks now Bertrand had been with him. A post-card written from a squalidback-street lodging had been his first intimation that the Frenchman wasin London, and within two hours of receiving it Max had removed him tothe private nursing-home in which he himself was at that time domiciled. For, notwithstanding his youth, Max Wyndham was a privileged person, andowned as his greatest friend one of the most distinguished physicians inLondon. 

His natural brilliance had brought him in the first place to the greatman's notice; and though he was but a medical student, his foot wasalready firmly planted upon the ladder of success. There was little doubtthat one day--and that probably not many years distant--Max Wyndham wouldbe a great man too. Even as it was, his grip upon all things thatconcerned the profession he had chosen was so prodigious that his patronwould upon occasion consult with him as an equal, detecting in him thatflare of genius which in itself is of more value than years ofaccumulated knowledge. He had the gift of magnetism to an extraordinarydegree, and he coupled with it an unerring instinct upon which he was notafraid to rely. Equipped thus, he was bound to come to the front, thoughwhether the Wyndham blood in him would suffer him to stay there was aproposition that time alone could solve. 

His effect upon Bertrand was little short of magical. Sitting therebeside him with the wasted wrist between his fingers, and his green eyesgazing at nothing in particular, there was little about him to indicate aremarkable personality. Yet the drawn look passed wholly away from thesick man's face, and he leaned back among his pillows with a restfulnessthat he had been very far from feeling a few seconds earlier. 

"So you are reading all about the Rodolphe _affaire_, " Max saidpresently. 

"It is Mr. Mordaunt's own report, " Bertrand explained. "It interestsme--that. I feel as if I heard him speak. "

Max grunted. He had asked no question as to the circumstances that hadled to Bertrand's departure, and Bertrand had volunteered no information. It had been a closed subject between them by mutual consent. But to-nightfor some reason Max approached it, warily, as one not sure of his ground. 

"When do you hope to see him again?"

A slight flush rose in Bertrand's face. "Never--it is probable, " he saidsadly. 

"Ah! Then you had a disagreement?"

Bertrand looked at him questioningly. 

Max smiled a little. "No, it isn't vulgar curiosity. Fact is, I cameacross my cousin Jack Forest to-day. You remember Jack Forest? I've beendining with him at his club. We hadn't met for ages, and naturally we hada good deal to say to one another. "

He paused, gently relinquishing his hold upon Bertrand's wrist, andgot up to pour something out of a bottle on the mantelpiece into amedicine-glass. 

"Drink this, old chap, " he said, "or I shall tire you out before I'vedone. "

"You have something to say to me?" Bertrand said quickly. 

Max nodded. "I have. Drink first, and then I will tell you. That's theway. You needn't be in a hurry. You were going to tell me about thatdisagreement, weren't you? At least, I think you were. You have been rashenough to trust me before. "

"But naturally, " Bertrand said. He handed the glass back with a courteousgesture of thanks. "And I have not had cause to regret it. I will tellyou why I disagreed with Mr. Mordaunt if you desire to know. It wasbecause he found that he had been robbed, and that I"--he spread outhis hands--"was the robber. "

Max stared. "Found that you had robbed him! You!"

Bertrand nodded several times, but said no more. 

"I don't believe it, " Max said with conviction. 

Bertrand smiled rather ruefully. "No? But yet the evidence was againstme. And me, I did not contradict the evidence. "

"I see. You were shielding someone. Who was it? Rupert?"

At Bertrand's quick start Max also smiled with grim humour. "You see, Iknow my own people rather well. I'm glad it wasn't Chris, anyway. Thenshe had nothing at all to do with your quarrel with Trevor?"

"Nothing, " Bertrand said--"nothing. " He paused a moment, then added, withsomething of an effort, "But I had decided that I would go before that. Mr. Mordaunt did not know why. "

"Because of Chris?" There was a touch of sharpness in Max's voice. 

Bertrand bent his head. "You were right that night. A man cannot hope tohide his heart for ever from the woman whom he loves. "

"You told her, then?"

"It arrived without telling, " Bertrand answered with simplicity. 

"That means she cares for you?" Max said shrewdly. 

Bertrand looked up. "_Mais c'est passé_, " he said, his voice very low. "You have guessed the truth, but you only know it. Her husband--"

"My dear fellow, that's just the mischief. He knows it too, " Max said. 

"He!" Bertrand started upright. 

Instantly Max's hand was upon him, checking him. "Keep still, Bertrand!You can't afford to waste your strength. Yes, Trevor knows. He knew onthe very day you left. He found out that that blackguard Rodolphe hadbeen blackmailing her. He had a scene with Chris, and she left him. "

"Rodolphe! _Le canaille! Est-ce possible? Alors_, she is not--not withhim--at Valpré--as I thought?" gasped Bertrand. 

"No. She has not been near him since. I knew nothing of this till to-day. She hardly ever writes. I thought--as you did--that she had gone toFrance with Trevor. Instead of that, Jack tells me, she has been with hissister in Yorkshire all this time. She has been ill, is so still, Ibelieve. They are coming to town to-morrow, to Percy Davenant's flat. Jack is very worried about it. He saw Trevor before he left England, butcouldn't get him to listen to reason. He seems to have made up his mindto have no more to do with her, while she is fretting herself to askeleton over it, but daren't make the first move towards areconciliation. It probably wouldn't do any good if she did. He is ashard as iron. And if his mind is once made up--" Max left the sentenceunfinished, and continued: "I think I shall go to Valpré and see what Ican do. This has gone on long enough, and we can't have Chris makingherself ill. I should think even he would see the force of that. Thistrial business will be over in a few days, and if I don't catch him hemay go wandering, Heaven knows where. But it won't do. He must come backto her. I shall tell him so. "

But at that Bertrand laid a nervous hand upon his arm. "My friend, " hesaid, "you will not persuade him. "

Max looked at him, and was confronted by eyes of gleaming resolution. "Ibelieve I shall, " he said. "I can persuade most people. "

"You will not persuade him, " Bertrand repeated. "That _scélérat_ haspoisoned his mind. Moreover, you do not even know what passed betweenus. "

"I don't need to know, " Max said curtly. 

Bertrand began to smile. "And you think you can plead your sister's causewithout knowing, _hein_? No, no! the affair is too much advanced. Thereis only one man who can help the little Christine now. He would notlisten to you, _mon cher_, if you went. But--to me, he will listen, eventhough he believes me to be a thief; for he is very just. I know that Ican make him understand. And for that I shall go to him to-morrow. As yousay, we cannot let _la petite_ fret. "

He spoke quite quietly, but his eyes were shining with a fire that hadnot lit them for many a day. 

"My dear chap, you can't go. You're not fit for it. " Max spoke with quickdecision. "I won't let you go, so there's an end of it. "

But Bertrand laughed. "So? But I am more fit than you think, _mon ami_. Also it is my affair, this, and none but I can accomplish it. See, Istart in the morning, and by this hour to-morrow I shall be with him. "

"Folly! Madness!" Max said. 

But indomitable resolution still shone in the Frenchman's eyes. "Listento me, Max, " he said. "If I spend my last breath thus, why not? I havenot the least desire to cling to life. And is that madness? I love _lapetite_ more than all. And is that folly? Why should I not give thestrength that is still in me to accomplish the desire of my heart? Ismortal life so precious to those who have nothing for which to live?"

"Rot!" Max said fiercely. "You have plenty to live for. When thisscoundrel Rodolphe is disposed of they will be reinstating you. You'vegot to live to have your honour vindicated. Does that mean nothing toyou?"

Bertrand shrugged his shoulders. "It would interest me exactly as theprocession under the windows interests those who watch. The processionpasses, and the street is empty again. What is that to me?" He snappedhis fingers carelessly. But the animation of his face had transformed itcompletely, giving him a look of youth with which Max was whollyunfamiliar. "See!" he said. "_Le bon Dieu_ has given me this thing to do, and He will give me the strength to do it. That is His way, _mon ami_. Hedoes not command us to make bricks without straw. "

Max grunted. "Whatever you do, you will have to pay for, " he observeddryly. "And how are you going to get to Valpré without being arrested?"

"But I will disguise myself. That should be easy. " Bertrand laughedagain, and suddenly stretched out his arms and rose. "I am well, " hedeclared. "I have been given the strength, and I will use it. Have nofear, Max. It will not fail me. "

"I shall go too, then, " Max said abruptly. "Sit down, man, and berational. You don't suppose I shall let you tear all over France in yourpresent condition by yourself, do you? If you excite yourself in thisfashion, you will be having that infernal pain again. Sit down, I tellyou!"

Bertrand sat down, but as if he moved on wires. "No, " he said withconfidence, "I shall not suffer any more to-night. You say that you willgo with me? But indeed it is not necessary. And you have your work to do. I would not have you leave it on my account. "

"I am coming, " Max said, with finality, "And look here, Bertrand, I shallbe in command of this expedition, and we are not going to travel atbreak-neck speed. You will not reach Valpré till the day after to-morrow. That is understood, is it?"

Bertrand hesitated and looked dubious. 

"Come, man, it's for your own good. You don't want to die before you getthere. " Max's tone was severely practical. 

"Ah no! Not that! I must not fail, Max. I must not fail. " Bertrand spokewith great earnestness. He laid an impressive hand on his companion'sarm. For a moment his face betrayed emotion. "I cannot--I will not--diebefore her happiness is assured. It is that for which I now live, forwhich I am ready to give my life. Max--_mon ami_--you will not let me diebefore--my work--is done!"

He spoke pantingly, as though speech had become an effort. The strain wasbeginning to tell upon him. But his eyes pleaded for him with a dumbintensity hard to meet. 

Max took his wrist once more into his steady grasp. "If you will do as Itell you, " he said, "I will see that you don't. Is that a bargain?"

A faint smile shone in the dark eyes at the peremptoriness of his speech. "But how you are despotic--you English!" protested the soft voice. 

"Do you agree to that?" insisted Max. 

"_Mais oui_. I submit myself--always--to you English. How can one--doother?"

"Then don't talk any more, " said Max, with authority. "There's no timefor drivel, so save your breath. You will want it when you get toValpré. "

"Ah, Valpré!" whispered Bertrand very softly as one utters a belovedname; and again more softly, "Valpré!"

CHAPTER V

THE STRANGER

A long wave broke with a splash and spread up the sand in a broad band ofsilver foam. The tide was at its lowest, and the black rocks of Valpréstood up stark and grotesque in the evening light. The Gothic archway ofthe Magic Cave yawned mysteriously in the face of the cliff, and over it, with shrill wailings, flew countless seagulls, flashing their wings inthe sunset. 

The man who walked alone along the shore was too deeply engrossed inthought to take much note of his surroundings, although more than once heturned his eyes towards the darkness of the cave. A belt of rocksstretched between, covered with slimy, green seaweed. It was evident thathe had no intention of crossing this to explore the mysteries beyond. Just out of reach of the sea he moved, his hands behind him and his headbent. 

All through the day he had been pent in a stuffy courtroom, closelyfollowing the evidence that, like a net of strong weaving, was graduallyclosing around the prisoner Guillaume Rodolphe. All France was seethingover the trial. All Europe watched with vivid interest. 

Another man's name had begun to be uttered on all sides, in court and outof it, coupled continuously with the name of the man who was standing histrial. Bertrand de Montville, where was he? All France would soon bewaiting to do him justice, to pay him high honour, to compensate him forthe indignities he had wrongfully suffered. He would have to face anothercourt-martial, it was true; but the outcome of that would be a foregoneconclusion, and his acquittal would raise him to a pinnacle of popularityto which he had surely never aspired, even in the days when ambition hadbeen the ruling passion of his life. 

Undoubtedly he would be the hero of the hour, if he could be found. Butwhere was he? Everyone was asking the question. None knew the answer. Some said he was in England, awaiting the turn of events, abiding hisopportunity; others that he was already in France, lying hidden in Paris, or even risking arrest at Valpré itself. The police were uniformlyreticent upon the subject, but it was generally believed that there wouldbe small difficulty in finding him when the moment arrived. Some went sofar as to assert that he had actually been arrested, and was being kept aclose prisoner by the authorities, who were plainly in fear of seriousrioting. Whatever the truth of the matter, the fact remained that thetide of public opinion had set very strongly in his favour, and waslikely to wax to a tumultuous enthusiasm exceedingly difficult to copewith when the object thereof should present himself. 

With all of this Trevor Mordaunt was well acquainted; but he, on hispart, was firmly convinced that Bertrand would keep away until he himselfhad left France. To come to Valpré now would be to court a meeting withhim, and this, he was convinced, Bertrand would do his utmost to avoid. The break between them had been quite final. Moreover, he probablybelieved that Chris was at Valpré also, and he had apparently determinednot to see her again. But here an evil thought forced its way. Might theynot, quite possibly, be in communication with one another? It hadpresented itself many times before, that thought, and he had sought toput it from him. But to-night it would not be denied. It conquered andpossessed him. Was it at all likely that the parting between them hadbeen final?

Only that afternoon evidence had been given of the episode that had ledto the duel on the Valpré sands more than four years before. He hadlistened with a set face to the account of the insult and the subsequentchallenge, and though no name had been mentioned, he had known and facedthe fact that the woman in the case had been his wife. Even then, Bertrand had regarded her as his peculiar charge, as under his exclusiveprotection. And she--had she not told him with burning unrestraint thatshe had always loved this man, would love him till she died?

With the gesture of one who relinquishes his hold upon something he hasdiscovered to be valueless, Trevor Mordaunt turned in his tracks andbegan to walk back over the long stretch of sand. He looked no longer inthe direction of the Magic Cave, but rather quickened his steps as thoughhe desired to leave it far behind. But there was no escaping thatall-mastering suspicion. It went with him, closely locked with his ownspirit, and he could not shake it off. 

Back to his hotel he walked, with no glance at sea or shiningsunset, and went straight to his own room. There was a privatesitting-room adjoining, which he was wont to share with some of hisfellow-journalists. They used it as a club writing-room when theproceedings of the court-martial were over for the day. He had his notesin his pocket; his report was not yet written. He remembered that he mustcatch the midnight mail, and decided that he would not stop to dress. That day's sitting had been longer than usual, and his walk along theshore had made him late. 

He passed straight through his bedroom, therefore, and into thesitting-room that overlooked the sea. A small, round-backed man, with ashag of black hair upon his face, was sitting by the window. There werethree other men in the room, all writing busily. All, save the man by thewindow, glanced up at Mordaunt's entrance and nodded to him. They wereall English, with the exception of the stranger, who was obviouslyFrench. 

Mordaunt looked at him questioningly, but no one volunteered anexplanation. He had evidently been sitting there for some time. His gazewas fixed upon the darkening sea. It was plain that he had no desire tocourt attention. 

Quietly Mordaunt crossed the room to him. He was crouched like a monkey, his chin on his hand, and made no movement at his approach. 

Mordaunt reached him, and bent a little. "_Est-ce que vous attendezquelqu'un, monsieur_?"

Dark eyes flashed up at him, and sharply Mordaunt straightened himself. 

"I await Mr. Mordaunt, " a soft voice said. 

There was an instant's pause before, "That is my name, " Mordaunt saidvery quietly. 

"_Eh bien, monsieur_! May I speak with you--in private?"

The stranger rose shufflingly. He had the look of an old man. 

"Come this way, " Mordaunt said. 

He re-crossed the room, his visitor hobbling in his wake. No one spoke, but all surveyed the latter curiously, and as the door of Mordaunt'sbedroom closed upon him there was an interchange of glances and a raisingof brows. 

But nothing passed behind the closed door that would have enlightened anyof them. For Mordaunt scarcely waited to be alone with the man before hesaid, "I must ask you to wait some time longer if you wish to speak tome. I am not at liberty at present. "

"If I may wait here--" the stranger suggested meekly. 

"Yes. You can do that. Have you dined?"

"But no, monsieur. "

Mordaunt rang the bell. His face was quite immovable. He stood and waitedin silence for an answer to his summons. 

Holmes came at length. He betrayed no surprise at sight of the strangerin the room, but stood stiffly at attention, as though prepared to removehim at his master's bidding. 

"Holmes, " Mordaunt said very distinctly, "this--gentleman has privatebusiness with me, and he will wait in this room until I am able to attendto him. Will you get him some dinner, and see that no one but yourselfcomes into the room while he is here?"

"Very good, sir, " said Holmes. 

He looked his charge over with something of the air of a sentry takingstock of a prisoner, and turned about. 

"See that he has all that he wants, " Mordaunt added. 

"Very good, sir, " Holmes said again, and withdrew. 

Mordaunt turned at once towards the other door. "I may be a couple ofhours, " he said, and passed through gravely into his sitting-room. 

The trio assembled there glanced up again at his entrance withprofessional curiosity, but Mordaunt's face was quite inscrutable. Without speaking, he went to the table, took out his notebook, and beganto write. The evidence had that evening been completed, and the trialadjourned for two days. It was his intention to write a short _résumé_ ofthe whole, and this he proceeded to do with characteristic clearness ofoutline. His pen moved rapidly, with unwavering decision, and for upwardsof an hour he was immersed in his task, to the exclusion of all otherconsiderations. 

The three other men in the room completed their own reports, and went outone by one. The hotel was full of journalists from all parts, and thedinner-hour was always a crowded time. It was considered advisable by theEnglish _coterie_ to secure the meal as early as possible, but to-nightMordaunt neglected this precaution. He did not look up when the othersleft, or stir from his place until the article upon which he was engagedwas finished. 

He threw down his pen at last, and leaned back to run his eye over whathe had written. It was a very brief inspection, and he made nocorrections. 

Finally he shook the loose sheets together, added two or three sketchesfrom his notebook, thrust them into a directed envelope, and went to thedoor. 

Holmes came to him at once along the passage. 

"Get this sealed and dispatched without delay, " Mordaunt said. "Thegentleman is still waiting, I suppose?"

"Still waiting, sir, " said Holmes. 

"He has dined?"

"If you can call it dining, sir. "

"Very well. You can go, Holmes. "

But Holmes lingered a moment. "Won't you dine yourself, sir?"

"Later on. I am engaged just now. All right. Don't wait. "

Holmes shook his head disapprovingly without further words, and turned toobey. 

Mordaunt closed the door and turned the key, then walked slowly acrossthe room to the window by which the Frenchman had sat that afternoon, andopened it wide. The night was very dark, and through it the sea moaneddesolately. The wind was rising with the tide and blew in salt and cold, infinitely refreshing after the stuffy heat of the day. He leaned hishead for a while against the window-frame. There was intense weariness inhis attitude. 

He uttered a great sigh at last and stood up, paused a moment, as thoughto pull himself together, then, with his customary precision of movement, he turned from the open window and walked across to the door that ledinto the next room. His face was somewhat paler than usual, but perfectlycomposed. 

Without hesitation he opened the door and spoke. "Now, Bertrand!"

CHAPTER VI

MAN TO MAN

There was a quick movement in answer to the summons, and in a moment thevisitor presented himself. He had taken the false hair from his face, andhis gait was no longer halting. He looked up at Mordaunt with sharpanxiety as he came through. 

"No one else has recognized me?" he asked. 

"I believe not. "

He drew a quick breath of relief. "_Bien_! It has been an affair _trèsdifficile_. I have feared detection _mille fois_. Yet I did not expectyou to recognize me so soon. "

"You see, I happen to know you rather well, " Mordaunt said. 

The Frenchman spread out his hands protestingly. The excitement of theadventure had flushed his face and kindled his eyes. He looked youngerand more ardent than Mordaunt had ever seen him. The weariness that hadso grown upon him during his exile had fallen from him like a cloak. "Butyou do not know me at all!" he said. 

Mordaunt passed over the remark as if he had not heard it. "What have youcome for?" he asked. 

"To see you, monsieur. " The reply was as direct as the question. Amomentary challenge shone in Bertrand's eyes as he made it. 

But Mordaunt remained coldly unimpressed. "It was not a very wise move onyour part, " he remarked. "You will be arrested if you are discovered. Theauthorities are not ready for you yet. They are quite capable ofsuppressing you for good and all if it suits their purpose. "

"I know it. But that is of no importance after to-night. " Bertrand stoodand faced him squarely. "After to-night, " he said, "they may do what theywill. I shall have accomplished that which I came to do. "

"And that?" said Mordaunt. He looked back into the eager eyes with thealoofness of a stranger. His manner was too impersonal to express eitherenmity or contempt. 

The keenness began to die out of Bertrand's face, and a certain dignitytook its place. "That, " he made answer, "is to tell you the truth in sucha fashion that, although you think that I am a thief, you will believeit. "

"I do not think that you are in a position to tell me anything that I donot know already, " Mordaunt answered quietly. "By the way, it mayinterest you to hear that the affair of the cheque has been cleared up. Iwronged you there, but I do not think that I was responsible for thewrong. "

"I was responsible, " Bertrand said, his voice very low. "I deceived you. And for that you will not pardon me, no?"

But the level grey eyes looked through and beyond him. "That, " Mordauntsaid, "is a matter of small importance now. Deceptions of that kind arenever excusable in my opinion; but as I do not expect you to share mypoint of view, it seems scarcely worth while to discuss it. "

Bertrand bowed stiffly. "It is not of that that I desire to speak. Of myself you will think--what you will. I have merited--and I willendure--your displeasure. But of _la petite_"--he paused--"ofChristine"--he faltered a little, and finally amended--"of _madame votrefemme_, you will think only that which is good. For that is her nature, that. And for me, " his voice throbbed with sudden passion, "I wouldrather bear any insult than that you should think otherwise of her. Forshe is pure and innocent as a child. Do you not see that I would soonerdie than harm her? And it has always, always been so. You believe me, no?"

Mordaunt's face was as stone. "I shouldn't go on if I were you, " he said. "You have nothing whatever to gain. As I have told you, I know alreadyall that you can tell me upon this subject, and what I think of it is myaffair alone. It is a pity that you took the trouble to come here. If youtake my advice, you will leave me on the earliest opportunity. "

"But you are mistaken. You do not know all. " Impulsively Bertrand threwback the words. "You cannot refuse to listen to me, " he said. "I appealto your honour, to your sense of justice. If you knew all, as you say, you would not leave her thus. If you believed her to be blameless--asshe is--you would not abandon her in her hour of trouble. I tell you, monsieur"--his breath quickened suddenly and he caught his hand to hisside--"if you know the truth, you are committing a crime for which nopenalty is enough severe. "

He broke off, panting, and turned towards the open window. 

Mordaunt said nothing whatever. His face was set like a mask. The onlysign of feeling he gave was in the slow clenching of one hand. 

After a few moments Bertrand wheeled round. "See!" he said. "I havefollowed you here to tell you the truth face to face, as I shall tellit--_bientôt_--to the good God. You shall bind me by any oath that youwill, though it should be enough for you that I have nothing at all togain, as you have said. I shall hide nothing from you. I shall extenuatenothing. I shall tell you only the truth, man to man, as my heart knowsit. For her sake, you will listen, yes?"

His voice slipped into sudden pleading. He stretched out his handspersuasively to the impassive Englishman, who still seemed to be lookingthrough him rather than at him. He waited for an answer, but none came. 

"_Eh bien_!" he said, with a quick sigh of disappointment. "Then I shallspeak in spite of you. I begin with our meeting four years ago among therocks of Valpré. It was an accident by which we met. I was working tocomplete my invention, and for the greater privacy I had taken it to theold cave of the contrabandists upon the shore--a place haunted by thespirits of the dead--so that I was safe from interruption. Or so Ithought, till one afternoon she came to me like a goddess from the sea. She had cut her foot among the stones, and I bound it for her and carriedher back to Valpré. She was only a child then, with eyes clear as thesunshine. She trusted herself to me as if I had been her brother. That iseasy to comprehend, is it not?"

Again he paused for an answer, but Mordaunt said no word; his lips werefirmly closed. 

With a characteristic lift of the shoulders Bertrand continued. "_Après cela_ we met again and then again. _La petite_ was lonely, and I, I played with her. I drew for her the pictures in the sand. Webecame--pals. " He smiled with a touch of wistfulness over the word thathis English friend had taught him. "We shared our secrets. Once--shewas bathing"--his voice softened imperceptibly--"and I took her into myboat and rowed her back. It was then that I knew first that I loved her. Yet we remained comrades. I spoke to her no word of love. She was tooyoung, and I had nothing to offer. I said to myself that I would win herwhen I had won my reputation, and in the meantime I would be patient. Itwas not very difficult, for she did not understand. And then one day wewent to explore my cavern--she called it the Magic Cave, of which she wasthe princess and I her _preux chevalier_. We were as children in thosedays, " he put in half-apologetically, "and it was her _fête_. _Bien_, westarted. _Le petit_ Cinders went with us, and almost before we hadentered he ran away. We followed him, for Christine was very anxious. Ihad never been beyond the second cavern myself, and we had only onelantern. We came to a place where the passage divided, and here we agreedthat she should wait while I went forward. I took the lantern. We couldhear him yelp in the distance, and she feared that he was hurt. So I lefther alone, and presently, hearing him, as I thought, in front of me, Iran, and stumbled and fell. The lantern was broken and I was stunned. Itwas long before I recovered, and then it was with great difficulty that Ireturned. I found her awaiting me still, and Cinders with her. It wasdark and horrible, but she was too brave to run away. I heard hersinging, and so I found her. But by that time the sea had reached themouth of the cave, and there was no retreat. We had no choice. We wereprisoners for the night. It might have happened to anyone, monsieur. Itmight have happened to you. You blame me--not yet?"

Again the note of pleading was in his voice, but Mordaunt maintained hissilence. Only his eyes were no longer sphinx-like. They were fixedintently upon the Frenchman's face. 

Bertrand went on as though he had been answered. "I kept watch allthrough the night, while she slept like an infant in my arms. You wouldhave done the same. In the morning when the tide permitted, we laughedover the adventure and returned to Valpré. She went to her governess andI to the fortress. By then everybody in Valpré knew what had happened. They had believed that we were drowned, and when we reappeared all wereastonished. Later they began to whisper, and that evening the villainRodolphe, being intoxicated, proposed in my presence an infamous toast. Istruck him in the mouth and knocked him down. He challenged me to a duel, and we fought early in the morning down on the sand. But that day thegods were not on my side. Christine and Cinders were gone to the sea tobathe, and, as they returned, they found us fighting. _Le bon_ Cinders, he precipitate himself between us. _La petite_ rush to stop him--toolate. Rodolphe is startled; he plunge, and my sword pierce his arm. _C'était là un moment très difficile. La petite_ try to explain, toapologize, and me--I lead her away. _Après cela_ she go back to England, and I see her not again. But Rodolphe, he forgive me--never. That, monsieur--and only that--is the true story of that which happened atValpré. The little Christine left--as she arrived--a pure and innocentchild. "

He stopped. Mordaunt's eyes were still studying him closely. He met themwith absolute freedom. 

"I will finish, " he said, "and you shall then judge for yourself. Asyou know, I had scarcely attained my ambition when I was ruined. It wasthen that you first saw me. You believed me innocent, and later, whenDestiny threw me in your path, you befriended me. I have no need to tellyou what your friendship was to me. No words can express it or mydesolation now that I have lost it. I fear that I was never worthy ofyour--so great--confidence. " His voice shook a little, and he paused tosteady it. "It was my intention--always--to be worthy. The fault lay inthat I did not realize my weakness. I ought to have left you when I knewthat _la petite_ was become your fiancée. "

For the first time Mordaunt broke his silence. "Why not have told me thetruth?"

Bertrand raised his shoulders. "I did not feel myself at liberty to tellyou. Afterwards, I found that her eyes had been opened, and she wasafraid for you to know. It did not seem an affair of great importance, and I let it pass. We were pals again. She gave me her confidence, and Iwould sooner have died, " he spoke passionately, "than have betrayed it. Ithought that I could hide my heart from her, and that only myself wouldsuffer. And this I can say with truth: by no word, no look, no action, ofmine were her eyes opened. I was always _le bon frère_ to her, neitherless nor more, until the awakening came. I was always faithful to you, monsieur. I never forgot that she belonged to you--that she was--the wifeof--my friend. "

Something seemed to rise in his throat, and he stopped sharply. A momentlater very slowly he sat down. 

"You permit me?" he said. "I am--a little--tired. As you know, I began tosee at last that I could not remain with you. I resolved to go. But thedeath of Cinders prevented me. She was in trouble, and she desired me tostay. I should have grieved her if I had refused. I was wrong, I admitit. I should have gone then. I should have left her to you. I do notdefend myself. I only beg you to believe that I did not see the danger, that if I had seen it I would not have remained for a single moment more. Then came the day at Sandacre, the encounter with Rodolphe. I knew thatevening that something had passed between them; what it was she would nottell me. I tried to persuade her then to let me tell you the whole truth. But she was terrified--_la pauvre petite_. She thought that you would beangry with her. She feared that you would ask questions that she couldnot answer. She had kept the secret so long that she dared not revealit. "

"In short, " Mordaunt said, "she was afraid that I should suspect her ofcaring for you. "

His words were too quiet to sound brutal, but they were wholly withoutmercy. Bertrand's hands gripped the arms of his chair, and he wincedvisibly. 

Yet he answered with absolute candour. "Yes, monsieur. I believe she was. I believe that it was the beginning of all this trouble. But had I knownthat Rodolphe would use his knowledge to extort money from her, I wouldnot have yielded--no, not one inch--to her importunity. I did not knowit. Christine was afraid of me also. I had fought one duel for her;perhaps she dreaded another. And so the mischief was done. "

"And who told you that she had been blackmailed?" Mordaunt demandedcurtly. 

Bertrand made answer without hesitation. "I heard that two days ago fromMax. "

"Max?"

"Her brother, Max Wyndham. "

"And who told him?"

Bertrand's black brows went up. "I believe it was his cousin CaptainForest. "

"Ah! So he sent you, did he? I might have known he would. " For the firsttime Mordaunt spoke with bitterness. 

"Monsieur, no one sent me. " There was dignity in Bertrand's rejoinder, adignity that compelled belief. "I came as soon as I knew what hadhappened. I came to redress a great wrong. I came to restore to you thatwhich is your own property--of which, in truth, you have never beendeprived. With your permission, I will finish. On the night of thefireworks, the night you were in London, I--betrayed myself. I cannottell you how it happened. I know only that my love became suddenly aflame that I could not hide. She had been in danger, and me--I lost myself-control. The veil was withdrawn, I could hide my love no more. Ishowed her my heart just as it was, and--she showed me hers. "

Bertrand rose with none of his customary impetuosity and stood in frontof Mordaunt, meeting the steady eyes with equal steadiness. 

"I tell you the truth, " he said. "We understand each other, and we loveeach other. But you--you are even now more to her than I have ever been. She has need of you as she has never had of me. You are the reality inher life. I"--he spread out his hands--"I am the romance. "

He paused as if to gather his strength, then went rapidly on. But hisface was grey. He looked like a man who had travelled fast and far. "Monsieur, " he said very earnestly, "believe me, I do not stand betweenyou. I love her--I love you both--too much for that. My one desire, myone prayer, is for her happiness--and yours. Do not, I beseech you, makeme an obstacle. You are her protector. Do not leave her unprotected!"

Again for an instant he paused, seeming to strive after self-control. Then suddenly he relinquished the attempt. He flung his dignity fromhim; he threw himself on his knees at the impassive Englishman's feet. "Mr. Mordaunt, " he cried out brokenly, "I have told you the truth. Asa dying man, I swear to you--by God--that I have hidden nothing. Monsieur--monsieur--go back to her--make her happy--before I die!"

His voice dropped. He sank forward, murmuring incoherently. 

Mordaunt stooped sharply over him. "Bertrand, for Heaven's sake--" hebegan, and broke off short; for the face that still tried to look intohis was so convulsed with agony that he knew him to be for the momentbeyond the reach of words. 

He lifted the huddled Frenchman to a chair with great gentleness; but theparoxysm did not pass. It was terrible to witness. It seemed to rack himfrom head to foot, and through it he still strove to plead, though hisspeech was no more than broken sound, inexpressibly painful to hear, impossible to understand. 

Mordaunt bent over him at last, all his hardness merged into pity. "Mydear fellow, don't!" he said. "Give yourself time. Haven't you anythingwith you that will relieve this pain?"

Bertrand could not answer him. He made a feeble gesture with his righthand; his left was clenched and rigid. 

Mordaunt began to feel in his pockets; his touch was as gentle as awoman's. But his search was unavailing. He only found an empty bottle. Bertrand had evidently taken the remedy it had contained earlier in theevening. 

He turned to get some brandy, but Bertrand clutched at his sleeve anddetained him. "Max is here, " he gasped. "Find Max! He--knows!"

His hand fell away, and Mordaunt went to the door. Holmes had returned tohis post in the passage. He came forward as the door opened. 

"Mr. Max Wyndham is somewhere here, " Mordaunt said. "Go and find him, andbring him back with you--at once. "

Holmes nodded comprehension and went. 

Mordaunt turned back into the room. Bertrand had slipped to the flooragain, and was lying face downwards. His breathing was anguished, but hemade no other sound. 

Mordaunt poured out some brandy and went to him. He knelt down by hisside and tried to administer it. But Bertrand could not drink. He couldonly gasp. Yet after a moment his hand came out gropingly and touchedthe man beside him. 

Mordaunt took it and held it. 

"You--believe me?" Bertrand jerked out. 

"I believe you, " Mordaunt answered very gravely. 

"You--you forgive?"

Painfully the question came. It went into silence. But the hand that hadtaken Bertrand's closed slowly and very firmly. 

"_Et la petite--la petite--_" faltered Bertrand. 

The silence endured for seconds. It seemed as if no answer would come. And through it the man's anguished breathing came and went with adreadful pumping sound as of some broken machinery. 

At last, slowly, as though he weighed each word before he uttered it, Mordaunt spoke. 

"You may trust her to me, " he said. 

And the hand in his stirred and gripped in gratitude, Bertrand deMontville had not spent himself in vain. 

CHAPTER VII

THE MESSENGER

"Roses!" said Chris. "How nice!"

She held the white blossoms that Jack had sent her against her face, andsmiled. 

It was a very pathetic smile, a wan ghost of gaiety, possessing more ofbravery than mirth. She lay on a couch by the window, looking out underthe sun-blinds at the dusty green of the park. Though October had begun, the summer was not yet over, and the heat was considerable. It seemedoppressive after the fresh air of the moors, and Hilda watched hercousin's languor with some anxiety. For her face had scarcely more colourthan the flowers she held. 

"Is the paper here?" asked Chris. 

She also was closely following the progress of the Valpré trial. Thoughshe never discussed it, Hilda was aware that it was the only thing inlife in which she took any interest just then. 

She gave her the paper containing the last account that Mordaunt hadwritten, and for nearly an hour Chris was absorbed in it. At last, with asigh, she laid it down, and drew the roses to her again. 

"It's very dear of Jack to send them. Hilda, don't you want to go out?You mustn't stay in always for me. "

"I want you to come out too, dear, " Hilda said. 

"I? Oh, please, dear, I'd rather not. " Chris spoke quickly, almostbeseechingly. She laid a very thin hand upon Hilda's. "You don't mind?"she said persuasively. 

Hilda took the little hand and stroked it. "Chris darling, " she said, "doyou know what is the matter with you?"

The quick blood rushed up over the pale face, spread to the temples, andthen faded utterly away. "Yes, " whispered Chris. 

Hilda leaned down, and very tenderly kissed her. "I felt sure you did. And that's why you will make an effort to get strong, isn't it, dear? Itisn't as if it were just for your own sake any more. You will try, my ownChris?"

But Chris turned her face away with quivering lips. "I think--and Ihope--that I shall die, " she said. 

"Chris, my darling--"

"Yes, " Chris insisted. "If it shocks you I can't help it. I don't want tolive, and I don't want my child to live, either. Life is too hard. If--ifI had had any choice in the matter, I would never have been born. And soif I die before the baby comes, it is the best thing that could possiblyhappen for either of us. And I think--I think"--she hesitated momentarilybefore a name she had not uttered for weeks--"Trevor would say the same. "

"My dear child, I am quite sure he wouldn't!" Hilda spoke with mostunaccustomed vigour. "I am quite sure that if he knew of this, he wouldbe with you to-day. "

"Oh no, indeed!" Chris said. She spoke quite quietly, with absoluteconviction. "You don't know him, Hilda. You only judge him from outside. If he knew--well, yes, he might possibly think it his duty to be near me. But not because he cared. You see--he doesn't. His love is quite dead. And"--she began to shiver--"I don't like dead things; they frighten me. So you won't let anyone tell him; promise me!"

"But, my dear, he would love the child--his child, " urged Hilda softly. 

"Oh, that would be worse!" Chris turned sharply from her. "If he lovedthe child--and--and--hated the mother!"

"Chris! Chris! You are torturing yourself with morbid ideas! Such a thingwould be impossible. "

"Not with him, " said Chris, shuddering. "He is not like Percy, you know. You think him gentle and kind, but he is quite different, really. He isas hard--and as cold--as iron. Ah, here is Noel!" She broke off withobvious relief. "Come in, dear old boy. I've been wondering where youwere. "

Noel came in. He usually haunted Chris's room during the day. TheDavenants had done their utmost to persuade him to go to school, but Noelhad taken the conduct of his affairs into his own hands, and firmlyrefused. 

"I shan't go while Chris is ill, " he declared flatly. "We'll see whatshe's like at the mid-term. "

Jack's authority was invoked in vain, for Jack was on the youngster'sside. 

"I've squared him, " said Noel, with satisfaction. "Of course, I'm sorryto be a burden to you, Hilda, but I'll pay up when I come of age. "

Which promise invariably silenced Hilda's protests, and made Lord Percychuckle. 

Aunt Philippa was still absent upon her autumn round of visits, acircumstance for which Noel was openly and devoutly thankful. Not thather influence was by any means paramount with him, but her presence mightof itself have been sufficient to drive him away. The only person whocould really manage him was his brother-in-law, but as he had apparentlyforgotten Noel's very existence, it seemed unlikely that his authoritywould be brought to bear upon him. Meanwhile, Noel swaggered in and outof his sister's presence, penniless but content, and Chris plainly likedto have him. 

On the present occasion he interrupted their conversation withoutapology, pushed Chris's feet to one side, and seated himself on the endof the sofa. 

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he said to Hilda. 

"Yes, I do, " said Hilda. 

"All right, then. You'd better go. " He pulled a clay pipe out of hispocket, and an envelope that contained tobacco. "I know Chris doesn'tmind, " he said, with a twinkling glance in her direction. "Also, mycousin, someone wants you in the next room. "

"Who is it?" said Hilda. 

"Don't ask me, " said Noel. 

She hesitated momentarily. "Well, I suppose I must go. But mind, Noel, you are not to smoke in here. "

"Say please!" said Noel imperturbably. 

"Please!" said Hilda obediently. 

He rose and accompanied her to the door. "Madam, your wishes shall berespected. "

He opened the door with a flourish, bowed her out, closed it, and softlyturned the key. 

Then he wheeled round to his sister with gleaming eyes. "That's done thetrick, I bet. Trevor has just turned up with Jack. But you needn't beafraid. I shan't let him in. "

"What!" said Chris. 

She started up, uttering the word like a cry. 

Noel left the door swiftly, and came to her. "It's all right, old girl. Don't you worry yourself. We'll hold the fort, never fear. He shan't comein here, unless you say the word. "

Chris's hands clutched him with feverish strength. Her face was deathly. "Oh, Noel!" she breathed. "Oh, Noel!"

He hugged her reassuringly. "It's all right, I tell you. Don't get in ablue funk for nothing. He's not coming in here to bully you. "

But Chris only clung faster to him, not breathing. The sudden shock hadsent all the blood to her heart. She felt choked and powerless. 

"There! Lie down again, " said Noel. "I'm here. I'll take care of you. Iknew he would turn up again; it's what I've been waiting for. But I swearhe shan't come near you against your will. That's enough, isn't it? Youknow you are safe with me. "

She could not answer him, but she crouched back upon the sofa in responseto his persuasion. She was shaking from head to foot. 

Noel sat solidly down beside her. "Don't be frightened, " he said. "We'regoing to have some fun. "

"What--what can he have come for?" whispered Chris. 

"Goodness knows! But he isn't going to get it, anyway. Good old Hilda!She went like a bird, didn't she? I call this rather amusing. "

Noel began to whistle under his breath, obviously enjoying the situationto the utmost. 

But Chris restrained him. "I want to listen, " she murmured piteously. 

He became silent at once, and several seconds crawled away, accompaniedby no sound save the interminable buzzing of a fly on the window-pane. 

Noel arose at length and with a single swoop of the hand captured andkilled it. Then he went back to Chris. 

"I say, don't look so scared! No one is going to hurt you. "

The words were hardly uttered before Hilda's light step sounded outside, and her hand tried the door. 

Chris started violently, and cowered among her cushions. Noel chuckledsoftly. 

"Chris dear, what is the matter? Let me in!" Anxiety and persuasion weremingled in Hilda's voice. 

Noel's chuckle became audible. "She isn't going to. She doesn't wantanyone but me. Do you, Chris?"

Chris made no reply. She was staring at the door with starting eyes. 

Noel went leisurely across and set his back against it. His eyes stillgleamed roguishly, but his mouth had ceased to smile. 

"I say, Hilda, " he said, over his shoulder, "if you want to do Chris agood turn, tell that beastly cad behind you to go. I shan't let him in, anyhow, not if he stays till doomsday. So he may as well clear out atonce. "

"My dear Noel, how can you be so absurd?" Hilda's placid tones held realannoyance for once. 

But the cause of it was quite unimpressed. 

"Your dear Noel is acting up to his lights, " he returned, "and he has nointention of doing anything else, absurd or otherwise. Chris is nearlyscared out of her wits, so you had better take my advice sharp. "

This last information took instant effect upon Hilda. She turned herattention to Chris forthwith. 

"My dear, do let me in! There is nothing whatever to frighten you. Ipromise you shall not be frightened. Chris, tell that absurd boy to openthe door--please, dearest!"

"I--can't!" gasped Chris. 

"She isn't going to, " said Noel. "You run along, Hilda. And you can tellTrevor with my love that if he'll clear out now I'll meet him at any timeand place he likes to mention and have a damned old row. "

"Very good of you!" Another voice spoke on the other side of the door, and Noel jumped in spite of himself. "But at the present moment you don'tcount. Is Chris there? I want to speak to her. "

The leisurely tones came, measured and distinct, through the closed door, and Chris covered her face and shivered. "Oh, you'll have to let him in!"she said. "Only--don't go away! Don't leave me alone with him!"

"Chris!" Mordaunt's voice, calm and unhurried, addressed her directly. "Jack is here with me. Will you let us in?"

Chris lifted a haggard face. "Open the door, Noel!" she said. 

"Why?" demanded Noel, with sudden ferocity. "We are not going to knockunder to him. Why should we?"

"It's no use, " she said. "We can't help it. Besides--besides--" She brokeoff with something like a sob, and rose from the sofa. 

Noel looked at her under drawn brows. "You really mean it?"

"Yes. " She pushed the hair from her forehead, and made a great effort tostill her agitation. "I do mean it, Noel. I--wish it. "

"All right. " The boy whizzed round and turned the key. 

He met Mordaunt face to face on the threshold with clenched hands, hisface dark with passion. "If you hurt her--I'll kill you!" he said. 

Had Mordaunt laughed at him, he would probably have attempted to carryout his threat then and there, for his mood was tempestuous. But thequiet eyes that met his blazing ones held no derision. They went beyondhim instantly, seeking the girlish figure that leaned against thesofa-head for support; but a hand grasped his shoulder at the same momentand turned him back into the room. 

"I shan't quarrel with you on that account, " Mordaunt said. "You can stayif you like, and satisfy yourself. "

Jack entered behind him, and went straight to Chris. He took herquivering hands into his, and held them fast. 

"That boy deserves to be horsewhipped for startling you like this, " hesaid. 

She smiled at him wanly, but not as if she heard his words. "You willstay with me, Jack?" she said beseechingly. 

"If you wish it, dear. But Trevor wants to say something rather private. Really, you have nothing to be afraid of. "

His kindly eyes looked down reassuringly into hers. They seemed to reasonwith her, to persuade and soothe at the same time. 

But Chris's hands clung to his. "Don't--don't go!" she said. "I wantyou--I want you, Jack. "

"Suppose we sit down, " said Jack practically. "Trevor, I wish you'd kickthat boy downstairs. It would do him good and me too. This isn't a familyconclave. "

"Noel can stay, " Mordaunt answered quietly. He was still looking towardshis wife, but he did not seem to be regarding her very intently. "You aremistaken in thinking that I have anything to say to Chris in private. Ihave only come to tell her what I have already told you, that Bertrand isat Valpré, ill and wanting her. I will take her to him--if she willcome. "

"Trevor!" She turned to him with eyes of sudden horror--horror sodefinite that it swamped all her personal shrinking. "How is he ill?You--you have hurt him!"

"I have done nothing to him, " Mordaunt answered. "He is suffering fromheart-disease, and cannot be moved. I must start from Charing Cross in anhour. Will you come with me?"

"To go to him?" Her eyes were still dilated, but they did not waver fromhis. 

"To go to him. " He repeated the words with precision, and waited for heranswer. 

But Chris sat in silence, her hands in Jack's. 

"Look here, " Noel broke in abruptly, "if Chris goes, I go. "

"Very well, " Mordaunt said. "If Chris desires it, you may. "

Chris came out of her silence with a little shudder, and turned to theman beside her. "Jack, tell me what to do!"

"I think you had better go, dear, " Jack said. 

"But if--but if--oh, is he very ill?" She looked again at her husband. 

"He is very ill indeed, " Mordaunt said. 

"You think I ought to go?" She asked the question with an obvious effort. 

"I have come to fetch you, " he said. 

"Then--he is dying!" she said, with sudden conviction. 

Mordaunt was silent. 

Abruptly she left Jack and went up to him. "Trevor, " she said, "would youwant to take me to him if--if--"

"If--?" he repeated quietly. 

"If you thought I was doing wrong to go?"

He made a slight movement, as if the question were unexpected. "I shouldhave explained to you, " he said, "that your brother Max is in charge ofhim, so that when I am not with you--and, as you know, I am attending theRodolphe trial--you will not be alone. "

"Oh, Max is there!" she said, with relief. "But what is he doing atValpré?"

"He went there with Bertrand. "

"But I thought Bertrand could not go to France, " she hazarded. 

"He went in disguise. "

"Why?" Her lips trembled upon the word. 

"Because he had something to say to me. " With the utmost calmness hisanswer came. 

"Ah!" She started and turned so white that he put out a hand to steadyher. 

She laid her own within it, as it were instinctively, because she neededsupport. 

"What was it?" she whispered. 

He looked at her gravely. "Are you afraid to be alone with me?" he said. 

"No. "

"Then--quick march!" said Jack, with his hand through Noel's arm. 

They went out together, Noel glancing back for the smallest sign from hissister to remain. 

But she made none. She stood quite still, with her hand in her husband's, waiting. 

As the door closed Mordaunt spoke. "Have you been ill?"

"No, " she said faintly. "Not--not really ill. "

She was aware of his close scrutiny for a moment, but she made not theslightest attempt to meet it. 

"You want to know what Bertrand said to me, " he said. "And you have aright to know. He told me the whole history of your friendship from thebeginning to the end. "

"He told you about--about Valpré?" Her eyelids quivered, as if she wishedto raise them but dared not. 

"Yes. "

"Then you know--" Her hand fluttered in his. 

"I know everything, " he said. 

Her white face quivered piteously. "And you--you are still angry?"

"No, I am not angry. " He led her back to the sofa. "Sit down a minute, "he said. "I don't think you are quite fit for this, and if you are goingback with me to Valpré, you will need to reserve your strength. "

He sat down beside her, both her hands firmly clasped in his, as ifthereby he would impart to her the strength she lacked. 

"You mean me to go, then?" murmured Chris. 

"Don't you want to go?" he asked. 

"If he really wants me--" she faltered. "And if you--you wish it, too. "

"My dear, " he said, "do my wishes make any real difference?"

She caught her breath sharply, and bent her head that he might not seeher face. "Yes, " she whispered, under her breath. 

"Very well, " he said, "I wish it, too. "

She was silent, but suddenly her tears began to fall upon the stronghands that held hers. She would have given anything to have repressedthem at that moment. With her whole soul she shrank from showing him herweakness, but it overpowered her. She bowed her head lower still, andwept. 

He sat quite motionless for seconds, so that even in the depth of herdistress she marvelled at his patience. But at last, very gently, hemoved, let her hands go, and rose. 

He stood awhile turned from her, his face to the window, though thesun-blind was all that could have met his view; finally, with gravekindness, he spoke. 

"I think I had better leave you to prepare for the journey. There is notmuch time at your disposal, and you will probably need it all. It issettled that Noel is to go with us?"

"You won't mind?" she whispered. 

"I think it a very good plan, " he answered. 

He turned round and came back to her. She had commanded herself to acertain extent, but still she could not raise her face. She waitedtensely as he approached, possessed by a sudden, almost delirious longingto feel the touch of his lips. 

Her desire surged into leaping hope as he stopped beside her. Wouldhe--could he? But he did not stoop. He only laid his hand for a momentupon her head. 

"Chris, " he said, "try to think of me as a friend--and don't be afraid. "

She thrilled at the low-spoken words. In another moment she would haveconquered all hesitation and sprung up to feel his arms about her, tohide her face against him, to open to him all her quivering heart. Butfor that moment he did not wait. 

With the utterance of the words his hand fell, and he moved away. 

The opening and the closing of the door told her he had gone. 

CHAPTER VIII

ARREST

"Ah, but what a night for dreams!"

The cool salt air came in from the sea like a benediction, blowing softlyabout the sick man by the window, sending a gleam of life into eyes grownweary with long suffering. He leaned back upon his pillows for the firsttime in many hours. 

"It is as if the door of heaven had opened, " he said. 

"You're not going yet, old chap!" Max answered, a curious blending ofgrimness and tenderness in his voice. 

"But no--not yet--not yet. " Softly Bertrand made answer, but resolutionthrobbed in his words also. "I must not fail her--my little pal--my birdof Paradise. But the night is very long, Max, _mon ami_. And thedarkness--the darkness--"

Max's hand came quietly down and closed upon his wrist. "I'll see youthrough, " he said. 

"Yes--yes. You will help me. You are one of those created to help. Thatis why you will be great. The great men are always--those who help. "

The words came slowly, sometimes with difficulty, but the young medicalstudent made no attempt to check them. He only sat with shrewd eyes uponthe sick man's face and alert finger on his wrist, marking the waningstrength while he listened. For he knew that the night was long. 

Years afterwards it came to be said of him that his patients never dieduntil his back was turned. It was not strictly true, but it conveyedsomething of the magnetism with which he wrought upon them. He knew thecrucial moment by instinct, when to grapple and when to slacken his hold, and he never went by rule. 

And so on that his second night of vigil by the side of a dying man, though he recognized speech as a danger, he made no effort to silencehim. He knew that weariness of the spirit that finds no vent was agreater danger still. 

"So you think I have a future before me?" he said. 

"I am sure of it. " Bertrand spoke with conviction. "It will not be aneasy future, _mon ami_. Perhaps it will not be happy. Those who climbhave no time to gather the flowers by the way. But--it will be great. Youdesire that, yes?"

"In a fashion, " Max said. "I don't know that I consider greatness initself as specially valuable. Do you?"

"I?" said Bertrand. "But I have passed all that. There was a time whenambition was to me as the breath of life. I thought of nothing else. Andthen"--his voice dropped a little--"there came a greater thing--thegreatest of all. And I knew that I had climbed above ambition. I knewsuccess and fame as a procession that passes--that passes--the mirage inthe desert--the dream in the midst of our great Reality. I knew all thisbefore my ruin came. It was as if a light had suddenly been held up, andI saw the work of my life as pictures in the sand. Then the great tiderushed up, and all was washed away. But yet"--his voice vibrated, helooked at Max and smiled--"the light remained. For a time, indeed, I wasblind, but the light came back to me. And I know now that it was alwaysthere. "

He paused, and turned his head sharply. 

"What is it?" said Max. 

"I heard a sound. "

"There are plenty of sounds in this place, " Max pointed out. 

"Ah! but this was different. It sounded like--" He stopped with a gaspthat made Max frown. 

Undoubtedly there was a sound outside, the tread of feet, the jingle of asword. Max got up, still frowning, and went to the door. 

He had barely reached it before there came a loud knock upon the panels, and a voice cried: "_Ouvrez_!"

Max's knowledge of French was exceedingly limited, but that fact by nomeans dismayed him. He turned round to Bertrand for a moment. 

"I'm going to have a talk with this johnny. Don't agitate yourself. Youare not to move till I come back. "

"_Ouvrez_!" cried the voice again. 

"All right?" questioned Max. 

Bertrand was leaning forward. His eyes were very bright, his breathingvery short. "They have come--to take me, " he said. 

"I'll see them damned first, " said Max. "You keep still, and leave it tome. "

His hand was on the door with the words. A moment more he stood, thick-set and British, looking back. Then with a curt nod, he opened thedoor, and passed instantly out, pulling it after him. 

Half a dozen soldiers filled the passage. The one who had knocked--anofficer--stood face to face with him. 

"Now what do you want?" asked Max. 

He stood, holding the door-handle, his red brows drawn, a glint of battlein the green eyes beneath them. And so, during a brief silence, theymeasured each other. 

Then quite courteously the Frenchman spoke. "Monsieur, my duty brings mehere. Will you have the goodness to open that door?"

"It's a good thing you can speak English, " Max remarked, with hisone-sided smile. "What do you want to go in there for? The room is mine. "

"And you are entertaining a friend there, monsieur. " The Frenchman stillspoke suavely; he even smiled an answering smile. 

"That is so, " Max said. "Do you know his name?"

"It is Bertrand de Montville. " There was no hesitation in the reply. Helooked as if he expected the Englishman to move aside, as he made it. ButMax stood his ground. 

"And what is your business with him?" he asked. 

The officer's brows went up. "Monsieur?"

"You have come to arrest him?" Max questioned. 

The Frenchman hesitated for a moment, then: "I must do my duty, " he said. 

The green eyes contemplated him thoughtfully for a space. Then, "Isuppose you know he is dying?" Max said slowly. 

"Dying, monsieur!" The tone was sharp, the speaker plainly incredulous. 

Max explained without emotion. "He is suffering from an incurable diseaseof the heart, caused by hardship and starvation. If you go in and agitatehim now, I won't give that for his chances of lasting through the night. "

He snapped his fingers without taking his eyes from the other's face. 

"Is it true?" the Frenchman said. 

"It is absolutely true. " Max spoke quietly, but there was force behindhis words. "You can do what you like to safeguard him, though he is quiteincapable of getting away. You can surround the house and post sentriesat the door. But unless you want to kill him outright, you won't take himaway from here. You can send one of your own doctors to certify what Isay. You don't want to kill him, I presume?"

The Frenchman was listening attentively. It was evident that Max Wyndhamwas making an impression. 

"My orders are to arrest him and to take him to the fortress, " he said. 

"Dead or alive?" asked Max. 

"But certainly not dead, monsieur. All France will be calling for himto-morrow. "

"That's the funny part of it, " said Max. "France should have thought ofthat before. Well, sir, if you want him to live, all you can do is towait. I will keep him going through the night, and you can send a doctorround in the morning. "

"You are a doctor?" asked the Frenchman keenly. 

"No. I am a medical student. "

"And you are friends, _hein_?"

"Yes, we are friends. It was I who brought him here. "

"But what a pity, monsieur!" There was a touch of kindly feeling in thewords. 

"Yes, " Max acknowledged grimly. "It was a pity. But his reason for comingwas urgent. And, after all, it made little difference. It has onlyhastened by a few weeks the end that was bound to come. "

"You think that he will die?"

"Yes. " Max spoke briefly. His tone was one of indifference. 

The Frenchman looked at him curiously. "And what was his reason forcoming?"

"It was a strictly private one, " Max said. "This trial had nothing to dowith it. It will certainly never be made public, so I am not at libertyto speak of it. "

"And has he done--that which he left England to do?"

"Not yet, sir, but he may do it--if he lives long enough. " Again Max'stone was devoid of all feeling. He still stood planted squarely againstthe closed door. 

"And you think he will not do that?"

"On the contrary, " said Max, "I think he will--if I am with him to keephim going. "

He spoke with true British doggedness, and a gleam of humour crossed theFrenchman's face. He made a brief bow. 

"M. De Montville is fortunate to possess such a friend, " he said. 

The corner of Max's mouth went down. "As to that, " he said dryly, "hemight do a good deal better, and a very little worse. Now, sir, what areyou going to do?"

The Frenchman looked quizzical. "It seems that I must take your advice, monsieur, or risk very serious consequences. I shall leave a guard hereduring the night, and I must ask you to give me the key of this door. _Après cela_"--he shrugged his shoulders--"_nous verrons_. "

Max turned without protest, opened the door, and withdrew the key. Hestood a moment listening before he turned back and laid it in theofficer's hand. His face was grave. 

"I think I must go to him, " he said. "You will see to it that he is notdisturbed?"

"No one will enter without your permission, " the Frenchman answered. "Andyou, monsieur, will remain with him until I return. "

"I see, " said Max. Again, for an instant, the fighting gleam was in hiseyes, then carelessly he laughed. "Well, I shan't try to run away. He andI are down in the same lot. You would find it harder to turn me out thanto keep me here. "

"I believe it, monsieur. " There was no irony in the words or in the bowthat accompanied them. "And I repeat, he is a happy man who possessesyour friendship. "

"Oh, rats!" said Max, and suddenly turned scarlet. "You are talkingthrough your hat, sir. If you've quite done, I'll go. "

It was the most boyish utterance he had permitted himself, and as he gavevent to it he was so obviously ill at ease that the Frenchman smiled. 

"But you are younger than I thought, " he said. "Will you shake hands?"

Max gave his customary hard grip. They looked into each other's eyes fora moment, and separated with mutual respect. 

Five seconds later Max had returned to his self-appointed task of helpinga dying man to live through the night. 

CHAPTER IX

VALPRÉ AGAIN

"How dark it is!" said Chris. "And how we are crawling!"

She turned her white face from the carriage-window with the words. Theywere the first she had uttered since leaving Paris. 

Neither of her two companions responded at once. Noel was curled up inthe farther corner asleep, and her husband sitting opposite was writingrapidly in a notebook. He stopped to finish his sentence before he lookedup. She was conscious of a little sense of chill because he did so. 

"Why don't you try to get a sleep?" he said then. "We shall not reachValpré for another two hours. "

"I can't sleep, " she said. 

Her eyes avoided his instinctively. They were more nearly alone togetherat this moment than they had been since their brief interview thatmorning at the Davenants' flat. It seemed weeks ago to Chris already. 

"Have you tried?" he asked. 

"No. "

He did not make the obvious rejoinder, but glanced again at his writing, added something, and put it away. Then, with his usual deliberation ofmovement, he left his seat and came over to her side. 

She had a moment of desperate shyness as he sat down. "Don't let meinterrupt you, " she said nervously. 

He ignored the words, as if he considered them foolish "I should like youto get a little sleep, " he said. "You have had a long day. Look at thatfellow over there, setting the good example. "

"He hasn't so much to think about, " said Chris, with a smile thatquivered in spite of her. 

"Are you thinking very hard?" he asked. 

"Yes. " She brought out the word with an effort, for suddenly she wantedto cry again, and she was determined to keep back her tears this time. 

He made no comment, but sat and looked at the blank darkness of thewindow. 

After a time she mastered herself, and stole a glance at his grave face. 

"You--I suppose you will be busy at the court again to-morrow?" she said. 

"Yes. " He turned to her in his quiet way. "It will be the last day in allprobability. "

"You think the verdict will be made known?"

"Yes. "

She shivered a little. "And the sentence?"

"The sentence will probably not be disclosed till later. "

She shivered again, and he reached forward and drew the window a littlehigher. 

"I'm not cold, " she said quickly. "Trevor, aren't you--justa little--sorry for him?"

"For whom?"

"For the prisoner--for--for Captain Rodolphe. " She stammered the namewith downcast eyes. 

"No. " Very calmly and very decidedly came his answer. "I have no pity fora man of that sort. I think he should be shot. "

"Oh, do you?" she said with a gasp. 

"Yes, I do. A treacherous scoundrel like that is worse than a murderer inmy opinion. So is anyone who is fundamentally untrustworthy. "

"Oh, but--but--Trevor--, " she said, and suddenly there was a note ofpleading in her halting words, "that includes the weak people with thewicked. Don't you think--that is rather hard?"

"Quite possibly. " He made the admission in a tone she did not understand, and relapsed into silence. 

She felt as if the subject were closed, and did not venture to pursue it. 

But after a moment he surprised her by a quiet question: "Why don't youtry to convince me that I am wrong?"

She looked up at him quickly, as if compelled. His eyes were waiting forhers, met them, held them. 

"I am not suggesting that you should defend Rodolphe, " he said. "You werenot thinking of him. He is not one of the weak. "

"I was thinking of myself, " she said. "And--and--and--" She wavered andstopped. 

"Rupert?" he suggested. 

She caught her breath. "What made you think of him?"

"You were thinking of him, were you not?"

She made a gesture of helplessness. "Yes. "

"I see, " he said. "But you needn't be anxious about Rupert. He came to melong ago and told me the truth. "

She opened her eyes wide. "What made him do that?"

"He heard that Bertrand was bearing the blame for his misdeeds, and hehad the decency to be ashamed of himself. "

"Oh!" said Chris. She was silent for a moment, still meeting his steadygaze. Suddenly her mouth quivered and she turned from them. "Trevor, I--Iam ashamed too. "

"Hush!" he said. 

The word was brief, it sounded stern; but in the same instant his handfound hers and held it very tightly. 

She mastered herself with a great effort in response to his insistence. "Were you very angry with him?" she whispered. 

"No. "

"You didn't--punish him in any way?"

"No. I told him to forget it and said I should do the same. As a matterof fact, I had forgotten it until this moment. " Mordaunt's tone wasunemotional; he released her hand as he was speaking, and again she wasconscious of that small sense of chill. 

"You forgave him, then?" she said. 

"Yes, I did. " He paused a moment; then: "By and bye, " he said, "Rupertwill take on the management of the Kellerton estate, and I think he willprobably be a great help to me. "

Chris's eyes shot upwards in amazement. "Trevor! Not really?"

He smiled a little. "Yes, really. It is the sort of life that suits himbest; and he will be pretty busy, so it ought to keep him out ofmischief. "

"Oh, but, Trevor--" she said, and stopped short. 

"Well?" he said gently. 

"I didn't think you would do that, " she murmured in confusion. "I didn'tthink you would ever trust any of us again. "

"You think I may regret it?" he said. 

She turned her face to the window and made no answer. 

He sat beside her for a little longer in silence, then rose, bundled up atravelling-rug to form a cushion, and arranged it in her corner. "Leanagainst that, " he said kindly. "I know you can sleep if you don't try notto. "

She thanked him with trembling lips, and as he turned away she caught hishand for a moment and held it to her cheek. 

He withdrew it at once though with absolute gentleness. He did not speaka word. 

Thereafter she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but the drumming ofthe train was in her ears perpetually, and she could not forget it. Present also was the consciousness of her husband's quiet watchfulness. Though he held aloof from her, his care surrounded her unceasingly. Notonce had she felt it relax since she had placed herself in his charge. Did he guess? she asked herself, and trembled inwardly. He was being verykind to her in a distant, measured fashion. Was that the reason for it?Could it be?

Her thoughts went back to her talk with her cousin, to the bitter wordsshe had uttered. Would he really care if she were to die? Would he? Wouldhe? She longed to know. 

But of course he would not, or he could not be so cold. For Bertrand'ssake he had come to fetch her. He had evidently forgiven Bertrand just ashe had forgiven Rupert. He forgave everybody but her, she thought toherself forlornly. For his wife alone he could not make allowances. 

Again the hot tears welled up, and her closed lids could not keep themback. The dumb anxiety that had gnawed at her heart all through the dayreturned upon her overwhelmingly, became a burden too heavy to be borne. She covered her face and sobbed. 

"Chris!" Her husband's voice came down to her in the depths of herdistress. His hand pressed her head. "Leave off crying, " he said. "Youmustn't cry. "

She turned her face upwards, all blinded with tears. "Trevor, I know--Iknow we shan't be in time!"

They were not the words she wanted to say to him, but they came uppermostand were uttered almost before she knew. She wondered if they would makehim angry, but it was too late to recall them. She reached out her handsto him imploringly. 

"Oh, forgive me for caring so much!"

"Hush!" he said again very gently. "I understand. "

He put the hair back from her forehead, and dried her eyes. There wassomething almost maternal in his touch. 

"You mustn't cry, " he said again. "I think you will be in time, and ifyou are, you will need all your strength; so you mustn't waste it now. Come, you are going to be brave?"

"I'll try, " she said faintly. 

"See if you can get to sleep, " he said. 

"But I know I can't, " whispered Chris. 

"I think you can. " He spoke with grave conviction. 

"Will you--will you hold my hand?" faltered Chris. 

He took it at once. She felt his fingers close steadily upon it, and asense of comfort stole over her. She clasped them very tightly, andclosed her eyes. 

The train drummed on through the night, bearing her back to Valpré, backto the old enchantments, to the sands, the caves, and the rocks. Shebegan to hear again the long, low wash of the sea. Or was it the sound ofwheels that raced over the metals? Before her inner vision came thespreading line of foam that had rushed how often to catch her dancingfeet. And the quiet pools crystal-clear among the rocks, with thesunshine that turned their pebbly floors to gold, so that they becamepalaces of delight, draped with exquisite curtains of rose and palestgreen, peopled with scuttling crabs that were not really crabs at all, but the spellbound retinue of the knight who dwelt in the Magic Cave. 

She looked towards the Gothic archway, expectant, with quickeningbreath. Surely he would be coming soon! Ah, now she saw him--a radiant, white-clad figure, with the splendour of eternal youth upon him and theDeathless Magic in his eyes. 

And suddenly her own eyes were opened, so that she knew beyond alldoubting that the spell that bound him--that bound them both--was thespell of Immortality, the Divine Passport--Love the Indestructible. 

Thereafter came a wondrous peace, solacing her, calming her, wrapping herround. Once she stirred, and was conscious of a quiet hand holding hers, lulling her to a more assured restfulness. And so at last she slippedinto the quiet of a deep slumber, and the throbbing anxiety sank utterlyaway. 

When she opened her eyes again it was in answer to her husband's voice. She awoke quite naturally to find him bending over her. 

"We are at Valpré, " he said. 

She sat up quickly. "Why, I have been asleep!"

"Yes, " he said. "And you will be the better for it. Noel has gone tosecure a conveyance. The place is crammed, as you know. You are feelingall right?"

Again for a moment she felt his scrutiny, and her heart quickened underit. But she mustered a smile. 

"Yes, quite. You will let me come with you, Trevor? You won't go onfirst?"

"I shall not leave you, " he said. 

He gave her his hand to descend from the train, and she clung to it whilethey threaded their way through the noisy, gesticulating crowd thatthronged the platform. 

She breathed a sigh of relief when she found herself at last in theramshackle _fiacre_ which Noel by strenuous effort had managed tocommandeer. The din bewildered her. But for her husband's protectingpresence she would have felt like a lost child. 

As they rumbled away over the stones of Valpré he spoke. "We are in time, Chris. "

Her heart gave a great throb. "Are we? But how do you know?"

"Everyone is talking of him, " he said quietly. "And I gather that he hasbeen arrested. "

"Oh, Trevor!" she breathed in dismay. 

"Max is with him, " he reminded her. "I don't think they would get rid ofhim very easily. We shall know more when we get there. "

They clattered on to the _plage_, and the cold sea wind blew in uponthem. 

Noel snuffed it appreciatively. "Smells decent, anyway. Wonder if they'restill running the same old show. I say, Chris, do you remember the Goat?"

Chris did. With her face to the dark sea and the sound of its waves inher ears, she recalled the old light-hearted days and the shrilladmonitions of Mademoiselle Gautier. How often had she prophesieddisaster for her charge among the rocks of Valpré! Chris smiled a littlepiteous smile. Ah, well!

The _fiacre_ jerked and jolted over the stones. They left the _plage_behind and came to a standstill with a violent swerve. 

"Now what?" said Noel. 

They seemed to have come suddenly upon a crowd of people. Late though itwas, all Valpré apparently was awake and abroad. 

They staggered on again at a snail's pace, hearing voices all aboutthem, now and then catching glimpses of faces in the light of thecarriage-lamps. 

"Feels like a funeral procession!" observed Noel jocularly. 

"Shut up!" said Mordaunt curtly. 

Chris squeezed his hand very hard and said nothing. 

Slowly, slowly they drew near to the hotel. A glare of lights shone uponthem. The whole place was a buzz of excitement. 

They turned into the courtyard, passing two soldiers on guard at thegate. No one spoke to them, or attempted to delay their progress. Theystopped before the swing-doors. 

An obsequious official came forward to greet them as they descended, andMordaunt entered into conversation with him. Two soldiers were on guardhere also, standing like images on each side of the entrance. Noelstudied them with frank interest. Chris stood and waited as one in adream. 

At last her husband turned to her. He introduced the obsequious one, whobowed very low and declared himself enchanted. And then she found herselfmoving through the vestibule, where a great many men of all nationalitieslooked at her curiously and a great babble of voices hummed like someimmense machinery. 

She turned to the man beside her with a touch of nervousness, and at oncehis hand closed upon her arm. 

"Bertrand is still living, " he said. 

She looked up at him imploringly. "Can't we go to him?"

"Yes, we are going now. He is upstairs. They wanted to take him to thefortress, but he is too ill to be moved. "

They went on together. He led her into a lift, and they passed out ofreach of the staring crowd. 

A familiar figure was awaiting them above, and greeted Chrisdeferentially as she stepped into the corridor. 

"Why, Holmes!" she said, and held out her hand to him. 

He took it with reverence. For the first time in her memory she detecteda hint of emotion on his impassive face. 

"He--hasn't gone, Holmes?" she whispered breathlessly. 

"No, madam. He is waiting for you, " Holmes made answer, very gently. 

Waiting for her! She smiled piteously in her relief. Bertrand deMontville would be her perfect knight to the last. 

As they went on down the long corridor she missed the grasp of herhusband's fingers, and stopped like a child to slip her hand back intohis. 

He looked down at her gravely, saying nothing. And so they came at lastto the door of Bertrand's room. 

Two soldiers were on guard here also. The door was closed. 

Holmes went quietly forward and showed a paper to one of the sentries. 

Chris waited with a beating heart. Suddenly, with a sob, she turned andclung to her husband's arm. "Trevor, I--I am afraid!"

"There is no need, " he said. 

"I have never seen death, " she whispered. "Will he seem--different?"

He looked at her for a second in such a way that her eyes fell from his. 

"Would you like me to go in first?" he asked. 

"No--no. Only, Trevor, hold my hand! You won't let go? Promise!"

He did not promise, but somehow without words he reassured her. The dooropened before them, and they entered. 

CHAPTER X

THE INDESTRUCTIBLE

Within the room all was dim. 

An arm-chair piled with many pillows stood facing the open window, and asher eyes became accustomed to the twilight Chris discerned the outline ofa figure that reclined in it. At the same moment there came to her thesound of a voice, husky and difficult, yet how strangely familiar. 

"Ah, but the tide--the tide!" it said. "Can we not hold it back my dearMax--a little longer? It rushes up so fast--so fast. Soon all will begone. Only a picture in the sand, you say? But no, it is more than that. See, it is greater than all the things in the world--greater thanthe Sphinx, _ma petite_--greater than your Cleopatra's Needle. Ah, youlaugh, because you have no need of it. But yet it is your own, and sowill it always be. Do you hear the tide among the rocks, _mignonne_? Itis there that my heart is buried. Come with me, and I will show you theplace--if the tide permit. "

There came a gasp, and silence. 

Some one guided Chris gently forward till she stood behind the greatchair at the window, looking down upon the black head that restedagainst the pillow. Her fear had passed, but yet she drew no nearer. Instinctively she stood and waited. 

Suddenly, and more clearly, the voice spoke again. 

"We must climb, _chérie_, we must climb. We dare not stay upon theserocks. It is steep for your little feet, but to remain here is to die. _Alors_, we will say our prayers and go. _Le bon Dieu_ will keep us safe. And we have been--pals--since so long. "

A softer note in the last sentence made her aware that he was smiling. She bent a little above him. But still she waited. 

"_Comment_?" he said. "You are afraid? But why, my bird of Paradise? Isit life that you fear--this little life of shadows? Or Death--which isthe gateway to our great Reality? Listen, _mignonne_! I am a prisonerwhile I live, but the gate opens to me. Soon I shall be free. No, no!I cannot take you with me. I would not, _chérie_, if I could. Your placeis here. But remember--always--that I love you still. And my love isstronger than death. It stretches into eternity. "

He paused, and made a slight gesture of refusal. "Ah, no!" he said. "I donot want a priest. My sins are all known--and pardoned. I only want--onething now. "

"What is it, old chap?" It was Max Wyndham's voice, but pitched so lowthat Chris scarcely recognized it. 

The head on the pillow moved, turning towards the speaker. "So, _monami_, you are still there?"

"What is it you are wanting?" Max said. 

Bertrand drew a breath that was cut short and ended in a gasp. "_Monami_, I only want--to hold her little hand in mine--and to hear hersay--that she is--happy. "

And then it was that Chris moved forward, as if impelled by a volitionnot her own, and knelt down by Bertrand's side. 

"Do you want me, Bertie?" she said. "I've come, dear! I've come!"

He put out his hand to her at once, but slowly, as though feeling hisway. "Christine!" he said. 

She took the groping hand, and held it fast pressed between her own. "Yes, dear?" she murmured. 

"You are really here?" he said. "It is not--a dream?"

"No, Bertie, no! It is I myself, here with you at Valpré. "

She felt his hand close within her own. "You are come--to say good-bye tome?" he said. "And Mr. Mordaunt--is he here also?"

"He brought me, " whispered Chris. 

"Ah!" She heard the relief in his voice. "Then--Christine, all is rightbetween you?"

But she was silent, for she could not answer him. 

He stirred. He leaned slowly forward. "Tell me, " he said, very earnestly, "tell me that all is well between you. "

But Chris said no word. She only bowed her head over the hand she held. 

There was a brief silence. Bertrand was bending over her. He seemed to betrying to see her face. He moved at last, passed his free arm around her, and spoke. "Mr. Mordaunt--is he here?"

"Yes, I am here. " Very steadily came Mordaunt's answer. Mordaunt himselftook Max's place beside him. 

Bertrand looked up at him. "Monsieur--" he said, and hesitated. 

"Ask him what he wants, " muttered Max, gripping his brother-in-law'selbow with tense insistence. 

"Do you want anything?" He uttered the question at once, quite clearly, without emotion. 

"Monsieur, " Bertrand said again, and there was entreaty in his voice, "out of your great goodness of heart you have brought _la petite_ tosay adieu to me. Will you not--extend that goodness--a little farther?Will you not--now that you understand--now that you understand"--herepeated the phrase insistently--"remove the estrangement of which I havebeen--the so unhappy cause?"

"Bertie, no--no!" There was sharp pain in Chris's voice. She raisedherself quickly. "You don't understand, dear, and I--can't explain. Butyou are not to ask that of him. I can't bear it. "

There was a quiver of passion in the last words. It was as though theywere uttered in spite of her. 

Mordaunt stood motionless, in utter silence. His face was in shadow. 

Bertrand turned to the kneeling girl. "Will you, then, plead foryourself, _chérie_?" he said. "He will not refuse you. He knows all. "

"No, no; he doesn't, " said Chris. 

"But you will tell him, " urged Bertrand gently. "See, I cannot leaveyou--my two good friends--thus. Since I have caused so much troublebetween you, I must do my possible to redress the evil. _Chérie_, promiseme--that you will go back to him. Not otherwise shall I die happy. "

"I can't!" whispered Chris. "I can't!"

"But why not?" he said. "You love him, yes?"

But Chris was silent. She was trembling from head to foot. 

"I know that you love him, " Bertrand said, with confidence. "And forthat--you will go back to him. You cannot live your life apart from him. You belong to him, Christine, and he--he belongs to you. Mr. Mordaunt--mydear friend--is it not so?"

But before he could answer, feverishly Chris again broke in. "Bertie, hush--hush! It isn't right! It isn't fair! Oh, forgive me for saying it!But can't you see that it isn't? He has forgiven me, and we are friends. But you mustn't ask any more than that, because--because it's no use. " Asudden sob rose in her throat. She swallowed it with an immense effort. "He has been kind to me--for your sake, " she said, "not my own. I havedone nothing to deserve his kindness. I have never been worthy of him, and he knows it. I married him, loving you. Oh no, I didn't know it, butI ought to have known. And when I did know, I would have left him andgone with you. Nothing can ever alter that. And do you suppose he willever forget it? Because I know--I know--that he never can!"

She ceased abruptly, and turned aside to battle with her agitation. Bertrand's hand stroked hers very tenderly, but his eyes were raised tothe man who stood like a statue by his side. 

He spoke after a moment very softly, almost as if to himself. "Neither will he forget, " he said, "that our love was a summeridyll that came to us unawares in the days when we were young, andthat though the idyll will come to an end, our love is a giftimmortal--imperishable--indestructible--a flame that burns upwards andalways upwards--reaching the Divine. And because he remembers this, he will understand, and think no evil. Christine, " he turned to her againvery persuasively, "you love him. You have need of him. I know it well. You are sad. You are lonely. Your heart cries out for him. LittleChristine, will you not listen to it? Will you not go back to him?"

The man's whole soul was in the words. They quivered with the intensityof his appeal. Yet they went into silence. Chris was turned away fromhim. Only by the convulsive holding of her hand did he know that they hadreached her heart. 

The silence lengthened, became oppressive, became a burden too heavy tobe borne. 

"Christine!" He was becoming exhausted. His voice was no more than awhisper, but it throbbed with earnest entreaty. 

Yet Chris remained silent still, for she could not speak in answer. 

Several seconds passed. It seemed that the appeal would go unanswered. But at length the man who stood on Bertrand's other side made a quietmovement, bending down a little. 

"You need not distress yourself, Bertrand, " he said, very steadily, andas he spoke his hand was on the Frenchman's shoulder. "Chris will neverleave me again. "

"Ah!" Eagerly Bertrand looked up at him. He had begun to gasp again, and his words were hurried and difficult of utterance. "And you, monsieur--you will not--leave her?"

Mordaunt made no verbal answer, but their eyes must have met in thedimness and some message have passed between them, for there was a tremorof sheer relief in his voice when Bertrand spoke again. 

"Oh, my friend!" he said. "My dear friend!" And, yielding to the handthat gently pressed him back, he reclined upon his pillows and becamepassive. 

Mordaunt remained beside him for several seconds longer, but he did notspeak again. When he straightened himself at length, he glanced round forMax, and motioned him away. 

They went together into the adjoining room and softly closed the door. 

And so Chris and her _preux chevalier_ were left alone by the open windowto end their summer idyll to the music of the rising tide that croonedand murmured among the rocks of Valpré that had seen its beginning. 

CHAPTER XI

THE END OF THE VOYAGE

How the sun was shining on the water! What a glorious morning for abathe! Chris laughed to herself--a happy little, inconsequent laugh. 

But she must be quick or Mademoiselle Gautier would catch her and forbidher to go! Poor old Mademoiselle, who had been brought up in a conventand thought all nice things were improper!

Would Bertie be there with his boat, a white-clad, supple figure, withhis handsome olive face, and his dark eyes with their friendly laugh?Surely it was the flash of his oars in the sunlight that dazzled her so!She would swim to him through the crystal water, and he would stretch outhis hands to her, and she would go up to him like a bird from the sea, and perch upon the stern. He would scold her a little for swimming out sofar, but what of that? She liked being scolded by Bertie!

How warmly the sun shone down upon them! And how she loved to watch theslim activity of him as he bent to his work! She wished they did not movequite so fast, even though the speed was so delicious, for they werenearing the rocks. Oh no, she was not afraid! Who could be afraid withBertie in the boat? But when they reached the rocks, it would be the endof the voyage, and she did not want it to end. 

Ah! now she could catch the sparkle of the sand, and there away in thedistance a powdery whirl which was all she could see of Cinders. He wasevidently digging for dear life, and again Chris laughed. 

And now she stood with her back to the glittering sea, and her face tothe mysterious granite of the ages. Where had he gone--her _preuxchevalier_? Was he hidden in the dark recesses of the Magic Cave? Shewould go in search of him. He would not hide long from her, for shepossessed the secret of the spell that would draw him forth. 

But the rocks were slippery under her feet, and more than once shestumbled. She found herself confronted by obstacles such as had neverbefore obstructed her path. A little tremor of distress went through her. Why had she quitted that sunny sea? Why had she ever suffered herself tobe beguiled into the boat?

It became increasingly difficult, wellnigh impossible, to go forward. Sheturned aside. Ah! there was Bertie, after all, out on the sand, waitingfor her. He held a naked sword in his hand. Evidently he was drawingpictures. She knew what they would be before she reached him: St. Georgeand the Dragon, that "beast enormous with eyes of fire"; the Sphinx, andCleopatra's Needle. She saw them all; and soon the great tide would raceup with a mighty roaring and wash them all away. Was it not the destinyof all things--save one?

Stay! Was it the sand on which he was expending his skill thus? Why, then, did his sword move so swiftly, like lightning-flashes, where thesun caught it? Ah, now she saw more clearly. It was a duel. He wasfighting with every inch of him, steadfast, unflinching, in her cause. How splendidly he controlled himself! The clear grace of his everymovement held her spellbound. 

For a while she watched him, not heeding his adversary, watched the glintof the crossed swords, the pass, the thrust, and the return. And then, bysome mysterious influence, her eyes were drawn upward to the face of hisopponent, and it was as if one of those flashing blades had found herheart. For Bertrand de Montville was fighting the grey-eyed, level-browedEnglishman who was her husband!

With a cry she sprang forward to intervene. She flung herself betweenthem in an agony. One of them--Trevor--caught her in his arms. The otherstaggered backwards and fell upon the sand. She saw his dead face as helay.... 

"Oh, Trevor!" she cried in anguish. "Trevor! Trevor!"

He held her closely to him. She felt his hand laid in soothing on herhead. Gasping, she opened her eyes upon his face. 

"That's better, " he said gently. "You've had a bad dream. "

"Was it a dream?" she asked him wildly. "Was it a dream?"

And then she remembered that Bertrand had fallen asleep in the very earlyhours of the morning, and that they had led her away to another room torest. Worn out in mind and body, she had yielded. She marvelled now thatshe had been so easily persuaded. 

She turned within the circle of her husband's arm. "Trevor, you promisedyou would call me if he waked. "

His hand was still upon her head; its touch was sustaining, subtlycomforting. "He did not wake, dear, " he said. 

The words were few, but in a flash she knew the truth. Her eyes grew wideand dark. Her clinging hands tightened upon his arm. She made no sound ofany sort. She even ceased to breathe. 

He drew her head down upon his shoulder, and held her fast pressedagainst his breast. "Don't be afraid, " he said. 

But she remained tense in his arms, till her rigidity and silence alarmedhim. He began to rub her cold cheek. 

"Chris, speak to me!"

She turned her face into his breast, and with relief he heard her beginto breathe again. But she did not speak. She only lay there dumbly incrushed stillness. 

For a while he waited, but at last, as she made no movement, he spokeagain. "Chris, would you like me to leave you?"

That reached her. She turned her face quickly upwards. "No, Trevor. "

The wide, strained look was still in her eyes, but they did not flinchfrom his. 

"I knew he was dead, " she said, speaking very quickly, "when I woke upjust now. I thought--I thought--" She broke off, as if she could notcontinue. "And afterwards--directly I saw you by my side--I knew it wastrue. Trevor"--the piteous note sounded again in her voice--"why are younot afraid of death?"

"Because I don't believe in it, " he said. 

"But yet--but yet--" Her words faltered away into silence. 

He laid his hand again upon her head. "My dear, death is purely physical. You know it in your heart as well as I do. Death is the passing of thespirit--no more than that. "

She uttered a deep sigh. "Oh, Trevor, I wish I wasn't so wicked. "

His hand began to caress her hair. "I don't think you know whatwickedness is, dear, " he said. 

"But I do--I do!" she protested. "I--I am almost terrified sometimes whenI realize it. And I feel as if--as if--Bertie wouldn't have been takenaway--if I hadn't loved him so. " Her voice sank, she hid her face alittle lower. 

"But you make a mistake, " he said gently. "There is no sin in love--solong as it is love and nothing else. A good many sins masquerade in theform of love, but love itself--what you and I call love--is sinless. Andit is that--and that alone--that can never die. " He paused a moment, andhis hand ceased to stroke her bright hair and became still. "It is badenough, " he said, his voice sunk very low, "that I could evermisunderstand you; but, my dear, don't make things harder bymisunderstanding yourself. "

She moved at that as though it touched her very nearly, and suddenly sheslipped from his arms, and knelt beside him. "Trevor, " she said, withquivering lips, "don't be too kind to me! I can't bear it. "

He looked down at her very sadly. "It would be a new experience for you, my Chris, if I were, " he said. 

"No--no. " She bent her face quickly, and laid it against his hand. "I'vedeceived you a hundred times--yes, and lied to you. You bore with me overand over again, even when you knew I wasn't being straight. You did yourvery utmost to keep me true. You trusted me even when you knew I wascheating. Oh, I don't wonder that I killed your love at last. The wonderwas that it lived so long. "

She stopped, for his hand had clenched upon itself at her words. But hesaid nothing. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue. She went onquickly--

"I know you feel you must be kind to me now because"--she caught herbreath--"Bertie is gone, and he wished it so. But--but--I shan'texpect--a great deal. I--I shall be quite grateful--if I may have--alittle friendship. I don't want you to think that--that--"

"That you want my love?" he said. 

"Oh, I didn't mean that!" She looked up at him in distress, but she couldnot see his face with any distinctness. 

His elbow was on the arm of his chair, and his hand shaded it. 

"I know I forfeited all that, " she said. "And I want you to feel thatI--understand, and shall never expect to have it again. That is what Imean when I say, don't be too kind to me. You have been that, and muchmore than that, already. But I won't trade on your generosity. I am not achild any longer to need support and protection. I am old enough to standalone. "

"And what of my promise to Bertrand?"

He asked the question quite quietly, as though it were of no specialmoment to him, but she flinched before it, and turned her face aside. 

"Oh, I don't think he would want you to be kind to me for his sake--if heknew how much it hurt?"

Mordaunt was silent for a moment, then: "And you have no use for mylove?" he said. 

She made a movement almost convulsive. "Trevor, don't--torture me!"

"My child, " he said, "I only ask because I need to know. "

She laid a trembling hand on his. "If I thought--you loved me--" Shestopped, battling desperately for self-control, and after a few secondsbegan again. "If I thought--you wanted me--"

"I do want you, Chris, " he said. 

She cast a startled look into his face. "Oh, but you only say thatbecause--because--"

"Because it is the truth, " he said. 

"But is it the truth?" she asked, a little wildly. "Is it? Is it? Oh, Trevor, if you knew--if you knew--" Her voice failed. She began to sob. "I can't bear it, " she whispered. "I can't! I can't!" And with that shebroke down utterly, bowing her head upon his knee in a passion of weepingmore violent than he had ever before witnessed. 

"Chris! Chris!" he said. 

He would have lifted her, but she sank lower, as one crushed to the earthby a burden too heavy to be borne. 

For a while her weeping was the only sound in the room, but at length hespoke again over her bowed head. 

"Chris--my darling--do you know--I can't bear it either if you cry likethis?"

His voice was low and not very steady. It appealed to her even in thedepth of her distress. She stretched up a trembling hand, and claspedhis. 

Gradually her sobbing grew less violent, and at length it ceased; but sheremained crouched against his knee with her face hidden for many minutes. 

Trevor said no more. Only at last he bent and laid his lips upon herhair. 

She moved then sharply, and for a single instant she saw his face. It wasenough, more than enough for her quick heart. In a moment the barrierbetween them was down. She raised herself and threw her arms around hisneck. 

"My dear! My dear!" she said. 

"It's all right, " he whispered back. 

Her arms tightened. She clung to him passionately. "Trevor--darling, Ididn't know! I didn't understand!"

"It's all right, " he said again. 

She pressed her face to his. "Trevor, don't fret, dear! I'm not worth it. And I--I'm coming back to you--if you will have me. "

"I want you, " he answered simply. 

"Not just for his sake?" she pleaded. "Or even for mine?"

"For my own, " he said. 

She was silent for a little. Then impulsively, with something of her old, quick charm of movement, she turned her lips to his. "Trevor, I believe Ishould die without you. "

"Poor child!" he said gently. 

"No--no! Don't pity me! Love me--love me!"

He pressed her closer. "My Chris, no one ever loved you more. "

"Yes, " she whispered. "I know that now. And I shall never forget it. Trevor, I love you, too. You believe that?"

"I know it, dear, " he said. 

"And because I love you, " she said, "I'm not afraid of you any more. Trevor, let us promise each other that nothing shall ever come between usagain. "

"Nothing ever shall, " he said steadily. 

"Nothing ever shall, " she repeated softly. "And--and--Trevor--" Shesuddenly hid her face against his shoulder and became silent again. 

"But you are not afraid of me?" he said. 

"No, dear, no; not afraid. " Her voice quivered notwithstanding. "Onlyfoolish, you know, and--and--a little doubtful lest--lest--when I've toldyou--something--you shouldn't be quite--pleased. "

"I am--quite pleased, dear, " he said. 

She raised her head. "Trevor! You know?"

He took her face between his hands. "My darling, yes. "

She opened her eyes wide, searching his face. "But that--that wasn't yourreason for--wanting me back?"

He looked straight down into her eyes, still holding her. "I wonder if Ineed answer that question, " he said slowly. 

She was silent for a moment, then stretched her hands to him with agesture of complete confidence. "No, dear, you needn't. Just forgive mefor asking--that's all. "

He stooped at once without speaking, and the kiss that passed betweenthem was the seal of a perfect understanding. 

Not till some time later did the request he was expecting her to makefind utterance. He had been giving her a few details of Bertrand'sillness and death. 

"He simply went in his sleep, " he said, "scarcely an hour after you lefthim. Max and I were both with him, but he went so easily that we neitherof us knew when it was. There was no suffering or distress of any sort. He just passed. "

He spoke with great gentleness. He was keenly anxious to remove her fearof death. But he knew by the way her arm tightened about his neck thatsomething of the awe of it was upon her even while he spoke. 

"Trevor, " she said, in a very low voice, "I almost think I would like tosee him. "

"Yes, dear. "

"But--I can't go alone, " she said. "Will you come too?"

"Of course, " he said. 

She rose to her feet. "Let's go now. "

He rose also with her hand in his. "There is some stuff here Max gave mefor you, " he said. "Drink that first. "

"Where is Max?" she asked. 

"I sent him to bed, and Noel too. "

"And you have been sitting up with me ever since?"

"It was only three hours, " he said. 

He gave her Max's draught with the words, as if to check all comment onhis action, and Chris submissively said no more. But she held his handvery tightly as they went out together. 

The dawn was just spreading golden over the sea when they entered theroom where Bertrand lay asleep. The light of it poured in at the openwindow like a benediction. Outside, the two sentries still stood onguard. But within was no earthly presence, only the scent and sound ofthe sea, only the growing splendour of the day, only the quiet deadwaiting for the Resurrection.... 

Chris's hand trembled within her husband's as she drew near. But later, when she looked upon the dear, familiar face, the awe went out of herown. 

For Bertrand's sleep was very easy, serenely natural. It seemed to Christhat the man's vanished youth had come back to beautify his rest. For allthe weariness she had grown accustomed to see had passed away. She eventhought he smiled. 

Back on a rush of memory came his words: "I know that all Love iseternal, and Death is only an incident in eternity. "

Till that moment they had never recurred to her. From that moment shecarried them perpetually in her heart. 

She drew a little nearer. She bent above him. And it was to her as if thedead lips spoke: "Though I shall not be with you, you will know that I amloving you still. It will be as an Altar Flame that burns for ever. Believe me, Christine, Death is a very small thing compared with Love. "

"I know it, I know it, " whispered Chris. 

When she stood up again, though her eyes were shining through tears, shewas smiling also. 

"Your friend and mine, Trevor, " she murmured. "May I--may I kiss him justonce? I never have before. "

"Of course you may, " he said. 

She bent again, bent till her lips just touched the dead man's brow. 

"I won't disturb you, _preux chevalier_, " she whispered. "Onlygood-night, dear! Good-night!"

For a little while she stood looking down upon the dead man's rest; butat length she turned away, drawing her husband with her, and went to theopen window. 

Hand in hand they looked out upon a world in which "all things were madenew. " They spoke no word. They thought the same thoughts together, and nowords were needed. 

Only when they turned at length from the shimmering sunlight back intothe quiet room, their eyes met. And in the silence Trevor Mordaunt bentwith reverence and kissed the living, as she had kissed the dead. 

CHAPTER XII

THE PROCESSION UNDER THE WINDOWS

Tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp! The procession was passing under the windows. 

Bertrand de Montville, the vindicated hero, was being borne to hissoldier's grave on the hill by the fortress. Soldiers preceded him. Soldiers followed him. A mixed crowd of journalists--men from all partsof Europe--came after. And from the window above, his little pal lookeddown. 

Max Wyndham stood beside her, the corners of his mouth drawn down and avery peculiar expression in his green eyes. He had amazed his Frenchfriend by refusing to follow the _cortège_. Even Chris did not know why, for he had clothed himself in an impenetrable cloak of reserve sinceBertrand's death, and he was not apparently minded to lift it even forher benefit. 

Yet she was glad to have him with her, for Noel had elected to go withMordaunt; and though she was quite willing to be left alone, she foundMax's presence a help. She had seen but little of him until the momentthat they stood together looking down upon the passing procession. 

It was a grey day. Down on the shore the long waves rolled in to break inwide lines of surf up the rock-strewn beach. The thunder of theirbreaking mingled with the roll of muffled drums. The full honours of asoldier's funeral were to be accorded to the man who had died beforeFrance could make amends. 

Slowly the procession wound along the _plage_, and back upon Chris'smemory flashed the day when she and Cinders had waited at the garden gateto see the soldiers pass. She saw again the handsome face of the youngofficer marching behind his men, the sudden animation leaping into it atsight of her, the eagerness with which he turned to greet her, hismomentary hesitation at her request, his smiling surrender. What wouldhave happened, she asked herself, if he had managed to resist her thatday? Had that been the beginning of his downfall? Might he otherwisehave passed on unscathed?

A sudden sense of coldness assailed her. The street below was empty. Shestood alone. She leaned her head against the window-frame. How grey itwas!

"Sit down!" said Max practically. 

She started. "Oh, Max!" she said weakly. 

"Here you are, " he said, and guided her down into a chair. "That's theway. Now lean back and shut your eyes. "

She obeyed him, without question, as she always did. A vague sense ofconsolation began to steal through her. His hand, holding hers, dispelledthe loneliness. 

After a while she opened her eyes and found him watching her. "Oh, Max, "she said, "I'm so glad you are here. "

"It seems as well, " he rejoined, rather grimly. "Don't you think it'stime you began to behave rationally?"

"Have I been very silly?" she asked. 

"Very, I should say. " He sat down on the arm of her chair, and drew herhead to lean against him, a very rare demonstration with him. 

She relaxed with a sigh. "I can't help it, " she said wistfully. "I usedto think life was just splendid--it was good to be alive. And now--Isometimes wish I'd never been born. "

"Which is a mistake, " said Max. "There's no time for that sort of thing. Besides, it's futile. Now, don't cry! That's futile, too, when there isanything else to be done. I don't suppose Trevor will be feelingparticularly jolly when he gets back from this show--though there'ssomething rather funny about it to my mind--and you'll have to cheer himup. I suppose you won't be upset if I smoke?"

"What can you see funny in it?" questioned Chris. 

He lighted his cigarette before replying. "My dear girl, " he said then, "I can't endow you with a sense of humour if you don't possess one. Butall this pomp and circumstance has got its funny side, I assure you. Bertrand saw that; he was a philosopher. If he were here now, he wouldsnap his fingers and laugh. "

"He might, " Chris admitted. "At least, he called it a dream in the midstof a great Reality. "

"Which it is, " said Max. "Get outside it all. Get above it if you can. And you will see. Come, you mustn't grizzle. You don't seriously supposeyou've lost anything, do you?" He looked down at her suddenly, with asmile in his shrewd eyes. "I say, you must get rid of that idea, " hesaid. "Even I know better than that. I believe in my own way I was almostas fond of him as you were. But I knew he was going long ago, and thatnothing on earth could stop him. He knew it too. Between ourselves, Idon't think he much wanted to stop. But there was nothing unwholesomeabout him. He wasn't a shirker. He played the game. And now you're goingto play it, eh? You're going to buck up. You're going to give Trevor asample of what the Wyndhams can do. I know we're a rotten tribe, butwe've got our points. In Heaven's name, let's make the most of 'em!"

He bent abruptly and kissed her. 

"Life's all right, " he said. "And so's the world. But you've got to getused to the idea that it's not a place to stay in. It's no good sittingdown by the wayside to cry. You've got to look on ahead and keep moving. It's the only possible way. If you don't, you get buried in everysand-storm. "

Chris reached up her arms and clasped him very tightly. "Max, tell meLove doesn't die!"

"It doesn't, " said Max stoutly. 

"You are sure? You are sure?"

"Yes, I am sure. "

"How do you know? Tell me--tell me!"

Chris's voice was piteous. Yet for a moment he was silent. Then, "Iknow, " he said, "by the way that chap faced death. "

"Because he wasn't afraid?" she whispered. "Because he died so easily?"

"Because he didn't die, " said Max. 

 * * * * *

Late that night the clouds passed, and a new moon rose behind thefortress and threw a golden shimmer over the sea. The waves were washingover the rocks with a deep, mysterious murmuring. To Chris, kneeling ather window, it was as if they were trying to tell her a secret. She hadknelt down to pray, but her thoughts had wandered, and somehow she couldnot call them back. Almost in spite of herself, she went in spirit overthe rocks till she came to the Magic Cave. And here she would haveentered, but could not, for the tide was rising and barred her out. 

"Not there, _mignonne_, " said a soft voice at her side. 

She turned her head. Surely he had spoken in the stillness! Surely it wasno dream!

But the action brought her back, back to the shadowy room, and themoonlit sea, and the prayer that was still little more than a vaguelonging in her heart. 

She uttered a brief sigh, and rose. And in that moment she found herselfface to face with her husband. 

"Trevor!" she said, startled. 

He was standing close to her, and suddenly she knew that he had beenthere for some time, waiting for her to rise. 

Her first impulse was one of nervous irresolution, but it possessed herfor a moment only. With scarcely a pause she went straight into his arms. 

"I'm so glad you've come, " she whispered. "Isn't the sea lovely? Haveyou--have you seen the new moon?"

He held her in silence, and she heard the beating of his heart, strongand steady, where she had pillowed her head. She turned her face upwardsafter a little. 

"Trevor, do you remember, long ago, how we saw the new moon together--andyou wished? Have you wished this time?"

"It is always the same wish with me, " he said. 

"What! Hasn't it come true yet?" She leaned her head back to see his facethe better. "Trevor, " she said, "are you sure it hasn't come true?"

She saw his faint smile in the moonlight. "I think I should know if ithad, dear. "

"I'm not so sure, " said Chris. "Men are very silly. They never seeanything that isn't absolutely in black and white, and not always then. Tell me what it was you wished for. "

But he shook his head. "That isn't fair, is it? If the gods hear, it willbe struck off the list at once. "

"Never mind the gods, " said Chris despotically. "I'll get it for yousomehow--even if they do. Now tell me! Whisper!" She drew down his headand waited expectantly. 

"What a ghastly predicament!" he said. 

"Trevor! Don't laugh! I'm not laughing. "

"I'm sorry, " he said. "But really I can't afford to run any risks of thatsort. "

"Then you still think you may get it?" questioned Chris. 

"I think it possible--if the gods are kind. "

"My dear, " she said suddenly, "let's leave off joking. If it's somethingyou're wanting very badly, why don't you--pray for it?"

"I am praying for it, sweetheart, " he said. 

"Oh, Trevor, tell me! And I'll pray, too. "

She wound her arms persuasively about his neck. Her face was very sweetin the moonlight. The deep-sea eyes were very tender. 

He looked into them and yielded. "Chris, I am praying for the love of thewoman I love. "

"Oh, but, Trevor--Trevor--"

"Yes, " he said, and his voice vibrated upon a deeper note--a note thatwas passionate. "I want more than a little, my Chris. But I will bepatient. I will wait all my life long if I must. Only--O God, let me winit at last!"

He stopped. She was looking at him strangely, and there was somethingabout her that he had never seen before--something that compelled. 

"But, Trevor dearest, " she said, "it was yours long--long ago. Oh, don'tyou understand? How shall I make you understand?"

She clasped him closer. The moonlight was shining in her eyes--the eyesof a woman who had come through suffering into peace. 

"My darling, " she said, "before God, I am telling you the truth. If youhadn't come back to me, I should have broken my heart. "

He took her head between his hands. He bent his face to hers, lookingdeep into those shining, unswerving eyes. 

"Won't you believe me?" she pleaded. "Dear, I couldn't lie to you if Itried. Must I put it more plainly still? Then listen! You are more to menow than Bertie ever was. I do not say more than he might have been. Butwe can't put back the clock. I wouldn't if I could. No--no, not even tolive again those old happy days. Trevor, do you understand now, dear? Forif you don't, not even Aunt Philippa could be harder to convince. I amyours. I am yours. The other was a dream that can only come true inParadise. But this is our Reality--yours and mine. And I can't livewithout you. I want you so. I love you so. Trevor--my husband!"

Her lips quivered suddenly, but in that moment his found them andpossessed them. She gave herself to him in complete surrender, as she hadgiven herself on their wedding-night. Yet with a difference. For shethrobbed in his arms; she thrilled to his touch. She opened to him thedoors of her soul, and drew him within... 

"And now you understand?" she whispered to him later. 

"Yes--I understand, " he said. 

She laid her head again upon his breast. "To understand all is to forgiveall, " she said. 

To which he answered softly, "But there is nothing to forgive. "

THE END

By Ethel M. Dell

The Way of an EagleThe Hundredth ChanceThe Knave of DiamondsThe Safety CurtainThe Rocks of ValpréGreatheartThe SwindlerThe Lamp in the DesertThe Keeper of the DoorThe Tidal WaveBars of IronThe Top of the WorldRosa MundiThe Odds and Other StoriesThe Obstacle RaceCharles Rex