eathing fast like a wounded thing,
eyes bright with the insanity of her fear. She lay flat in the leaves,
not stirring.

The last red sunbeams slanted through the woods, painting tree trunks
crimson and running in fiery furrows through, the dead leaves; the sky
faded to rose-colour, to mauve; faintly a star shone.

For a long time now nothing had stirred in the woodland silence. And, as
the star glimmered brighter through the branches, she shivered, moved,
lay listening, then crawled a little way. Every sound that she made was
a terror to her, every heart beat seemed to burst the silence.

It was dusk when she crept out at last into a stony road, dragging her
limbs; a fine mist had settled over the fields; the air grew keener.
Somewhere in the darkness cow-bells tinkled; overhead, through the damp
sheet of fog, the veiled stars were still shining.

Her senses were not perfectly clear; she remembered falling once or
twice--remembered seeing the granite posts and iron gates of a drive,
and that lighted windows were shining dimly somewhere beyond. And she
crept toward them, still stupid with exhaustion and fright. Then she was
aware of people, dim shapes in the darkness--of a dog barking--of
voices, a quick movement in the dusk--of a woman's startled exclamation.

Suddenly she heard Neville's voice--and a door opened, flooding her with
yellow light where she stood swaying, dazed, deathly pale.

"Louis!" she said.

He sprang to her, caught her in his arms

"Good God! What is the matter?"

She rested against him, her eyes listlessly watching the people swiftly
gathering in the dazzling light.

"Where in the world--how did you get here!--where have you been--" His
stammered words made him incoherent as he caught sight of the mud and
dust on her torn waist and skirt.

Her eyes had closed a moment; they opened now with an effort. Once more
she looked blindly at the people clustering around her--recognised his
sister and Stephanie--divined that it was his mother who stood gazing at
her in pallid consternation--summoned every atom of her courage to spare
him the insult which a man's world had offered to her--found strength to
ignore it so that no shadow of the outrage should fall through her upon
him or upon those nearest to him.

"I lost my way," she said. Her white lips tried to smile; she strove to
stand upright, alone; caught mechanically at his arm, the fixed smile
still stamped on her lips. "I am sorry to--dis