when he woke and found Sabine had left
him--defied him and gone--after everything. Pure rage had come to his
aid then--but now he had only remorse and longing--and anger with fate.

"It must all depend upon whether or no she loves Henry," he said to
himself at last--"and this I will make her tell me this very afternoon."

But when he got back and went into the garden he happened to witness a
scene.

Sabine--overcome by Lord Fordyce's goodness, had let him hold her arm
while her head was perilously near to his shoulder. It all looked very
intimate and lover-like when seen from afar. The greatest pain Michael
Arranstoun had ever experienced came into his heart, and without waiting
a second he turned on his heel and went back to the house. Here he had a
bath and changed his clothes, while his servant packed, and then, with
the help of Madame Imogen, he looked up a train. Yes, there was a fast
one which went to Paris from their nearest little town--he could just
catch it by ordering Henry's motor--this he promptly did--and leaving
the best excuses he could invent with Madame Imogen, he got in and
departed a few minutes before his hostess and Lord Fordyce came back to
tea at five.

He had written a short note to Sabine--which Nicholas handed to her.

She opened it with trembling fingers; this was all it was:

I understand--and I will get the divorce as soon as the law will
allow, and I will try to arrange that Henry need never know. I
would like you just to have come to Arranstoun once more--perhaps I
can persuade Henry to bring you there in the autumn.

Michael Arranstoun.

It was as well that Lord Fordyce had gone up to his room--for the lady
of Heronac grew white as death for a moment, and then crumpling the note
in her hand she staggered up the old stone stairs to her great
sitting-room.

So he had gone then--and they could have no explanation. But he had
come out of the manger--and was going to let the other animal eat the
hay.

This, however, was very poor comfort and brought no consolation on its
wings. Civilization again won the game.

For she had to listen unconcernedly to Madame Imogen's voluble
description of Michael's leaving--pressing business which he had
mistaken the date about--finally she had to pour out tea and smile
happily at Henry and Pere Anselme.

But when she was at last alone, she flung herself down by the window
seat an