health and love of sport and vigorous work, the
agony of desire for Sabine grew into an obsession.

Whatever sins he had committed in his life, indeed his punishment had
come.

Sabine, for her part, found the days not worth living. Nothing in life
or nature stays at a standstill; if stagnation sets in, then death
comes--and so it was that her emotions for Michael did not remain the
same, but grew and augmented more and more as the certainty that they
were parted for ever forced itself upon her brain.

They had not been back in London a day when Mr. Parsons announced to her
that at last all was going well. Mr. Arranstoun had put the matter in
train and soon she would be free. And, shrewd American that he was, he
wondered why she should get so pale. The news did not appear to be such
a very great pleasure to her after all! Her greatest concern seemed to
be that he should arrange that there should be no notice of anything in
the papers.

"I particularly do not wish Lord Fordyce ever to know that my name was
Arranstoun," she said. "I will pay anything if it is necessary to stop
reports--and if such things are possible to do in this country?"

But Mr. Parsons could hold out no really encouraging hopes of this. No
details would probably be known, but that Michael Arranstoun had married
a Sabine Delburg and now divorced her would certainly be announced in
the Scotch journals, where the Arranstouns and their Castle were of such
interest to the public.

"If only I had been called Mary Smith!" Sabine almost moaned. "If Lord
Fordyce sees this he must realize that, although he knows me as Sabine
Howard, I was probably Sabine Delburg."

"I should think you had better inform his lordship yourself at once.
There is no disgrace in the matter. Arranstoun is a very splendid name,"
Mr. Parsons ventured to remind her.

But Sabine shut her firm mouth. Not until it became absolutely necessary
would she do this thing.

Henry's company now had no longer power to soothe her; she found herself
crushing down sudden inclinations to be capricious to him or even
unkind--and then she would feel full of remorse and regret when she saw
the pain in his fond eyes. She was thankful that they were returning to
Paris, and then she meant to go straight to Heronac, telling him he must
see her no more until she was free. It was the month of the greatest
storms there; it would suit her exactly and it was her very own. She
need not act for only Madame