nry could not refrain from caressing with his other hand the little
cold one lying on his arm as they walked along--while he whispered with
passionate devotion:

"My darling, darling girl!"

"Hush!" she answered nervously. "Your friend will hear!"

"And if he does! what matter, dearest--he knows that I love you, and
that as soon as you are free you are going to be my wife."

There must have been a slight roughness in the carpet which slid upon
the slippery floor, for the Dame d'Heronac stumbled a little and then
gasped:

"He--knows that----!"

And by the time they all reached the salon, her rosy cheeks were pale,
while the pupils of her violet eyes were so large as to make them appear
to be black as night.

The gay sprite of the dinner-table seemed to have taken her departure
and a dignified and serious hostess filled her place. A hostess who
discoursed of gardens, and architecture, and such subjects--and at ten
o'clock when the Pere Anselme gave his blessing and wished the company
good-night, also gave a white hand to her guests, saying that Madame
Imogen would show them the small salon where they could smoke and have
their drinks before retiring to their rooms, then she bowed to them and
walked off slowly to her part of the house.

When she had gone, Michael said a little hoarsely to Henry:

"I have got the fiend of a headache, old man. I think I won't smoke, but
turn in at once."

An hour or two later, when the whole chateau was wrapped in
darkness--the mistress of it crept from her bed-room to the great
sitting-room, and turning on the light, she unlocked a blue despatch-box
which stood beside her writing-table. From this she took a letter,
marked a little with former perusals--and she read it over once more
from beginning to end.

It had

Arranstoun Castle,
Scotland,

stamped upon it in red and it bore a date in June, 1907. It had no
beginning and thus it ran:

Since after everything I wake to find you have chosen to leave me
you can abide by your decision. I will not follow you or ever seek
to bring you back. It is useless to ask you if you meant that you
forgave me--because your going proves that you really have not--so
make what you please of your life as I shall make what I please of
mine.

Michael Arranstoun.

When she put the paper back again, glittering tears gathered and rolled
in shining drops down h