s. I knew, of course, that you were my friend. But I doubted
whether in your heart you were not more than that to him. To-night,
however, I could tell you without fear."

Now at all events he expected an answer. Mrs. Adair, still standing by
the window, heard him move in the shadows.

"Ethne!" he said, with some surprise in his voice; and since again no
answer came, he rose, and walked towards the chair in which Ethne had
sat. Mrs. Adair could see him now. His hands felt for and grasped the
back of the chair. He bent over it, as though he thought Ethne was
leaning forward with her hands upon her knees.

"Ethne," he said again, and there was in this iteration of her name more
trouble and doubt than surprise. It seemed to Mrs. Adair that he dreaded
to find her silently weeping. He was beginning to speculate whether
after all he had been right in his inference from Ethne's recapture of
her youth to-night, whether the shadow of Feversham did not after all
fall between them. He leaned farther forward, feeling with his hand, and
suddenly a string of Ethne's violin twanged loud. She had left it lying
on the chair, and his fingers had touched it.

Durrance drew himself up straight and stood quite motionless and silent,
like a man who had suffered a shock and is bewildered. He passed his
hand across his forehead once or twice, and then, without calling upon
Ethne again, he advanced to the open window.

Mrs. Adair did not move, and she held her breath. There was just the
width of the sill between them. The moonlight struck full upon Durrance,
and she saw a comprehension gradually dawn in his face that some one was
standing close to him.

"Ethne," he said a third time, and now he appealed.

He stretched out a hand timidly and touched her dress.

"It is not Ethne," he said with a start.

"No, it is not Ethne," Mrs. Adair answered quickly. Durrance drew back a
step from the window, and for a little while was silent.

"Where has she gone?" he asked at length.

"Into the garden. She ran across the terrace and down the steps very
quickly and silently. I saw her from my chair. Then I heard you speaking
alone."

"Can you see her now in the garden?"

"No; she went across the lawn towards the trees and their great shadows.
There is only the moonlight in the garden now."

Durrance stepped across the window sill and stood by the side of Mrs.
Adair. The last slip which Ethne had made betrayed her inevitably to the
man who had