and had not, and her remorse warned her very
clearly that it was the way which she ought to have taken. But she could
rise to the heights. She did not seek to justify herself in her own
eyes, nor would she allow Willoughby to continue in his misconception.
She recognised that here she had failed in charity and justice, and she
was glad that she had failed, since her failure had been the opportunity
of greatness to Harry Feversham.

"Will you repeat what you said?" she asked in a low voice; "and ever so
slowly, please."

"You gave the feathers back into Feversham's hand--"

"He told you that himself?"

"Yes;" and Willoughby resumed, "in order that he might by his
subsequent bravery compel the men who sent them to take them back, and
so redeem his honour."

"He did not tell you that?"

"No. I guessed it. You see, Feversham's disgrace was, on the face of it,
impossible to retrieve. The opportunity might never have occurred--it
was not likely to occur. As things happened, Feversham still waited for
three years in the bazaar at Suakin before it did. No, Miss Eustace, it
needed a woman's faith to conceive that plan--a woman's encouragement to
keep the man who undertook it to his work."

Ethne laughed and turned back to him. Her face was tender with pride,
and more than tender. Pride seemed in some strange way to hallow her, to
give an unimagined benignance to her eyes, an unearthly brightness to
the smile upon her lips and the colour upon her cheeks. So that
Willoughby, looking at her, was carried out of himself.

"Yes," he cried, "you were the woman to plan this redemption."

Ethne laughed again, and very happily.

"Did he tell you of a fourth white feather?" she asked.

"No."

"I shall tell you the truth," she said, as she resumed her seat. "The
plan was of his devising from first to last. Nor did I encourage him to
its execution. For until to-day I never heard a word of it. Since the
night of that dance in Donegal I have had no message from Mr. Feversham,
and no news of him. I told him to take up those three feathers because
they were his, and I wished to show him that I agreed with the
accusations of which they were the symbols. That seems cruel? But I did
more. I snapped a fourth white feather from my fan and gave him that to
carry away too. It is only fair that you should know. I wanted to make
an end for ever and ever, not only of my acquaintanceship with him, but
of every kindly thought he might keep of