thought. How gladly would she set herself
to make a living when once this burden had been lifted from her!

But she would not relinquish it without his sanction. She would be
faithful to the last, true to that bargain she had struck with him so
long ago. Yet surely he could not refuse it. She was convinced that he
hated her.

Again she felt that strange new life thrilling in her veins. Again she
felt herself almost young. To be free! To be free! To choose her own
friends without fear; to live her own life in peace; to know no further
tumults or petty tyrannies--to be free!

The prospect dazzled her. She lifted her face and gasped for breath.

Then, hearing a sound at her door, she turned.

A white-faced servant stood on the threshold. "If you please, my lady,
your coat is in a dreadful state. I was afraid there must have been an
accident."

Anne stared at the woman for a few seconds with the dazed eyes of one
suddenly awakened.

"Yes," she said slowly at length. "There was--an accident. Mr. Nap Errol
was--hurt while skiing."

The woman looked at her with frank curiosity, but there was that about
her mistress at the moment that did not encourage inquiry or comment.

She stood for a little silent; then, "What had I better do with the coat,
my lady?" she asked diffidently.

Anne made an abrupt gesture. The dazed look in her eyes had given place
to horror. "Take it away!" she said sharply. "Do what you like with it! I
never want to see it again."

"Very good, my lady."

The woman withdrew, and Anne covered her face with her hands once more,
and shuddered from head to foot.

CHAPTER XXI

AT THE MERCY OF A DEMON

Some time later Anne seated herself at her writing-table.

The idea of writing to her husband had come to her as an inspiration; not
because she shirked an interview--she knew that to be inevitable--but
because she realised that the first step taken thus would make the final
decision easier for them both.

She did not find it hard to put her thoughts into words. Her mind was
very clear upon the matter in hand. She knew exactly what she desired to
say. Only upon the subject of her friendship with Nap she could not bring
herself to touch. A day earlier she could have spoken of it, even in the
face of his hateful suspicion, without restraint. But to-night she could
not. It was as if a spell of silence had been laid upon her, a spell
which she dared not attempt to break. She dared not even t