en?"

"I do--not know," Sabine whispered hardly aloud.

"It will be necessary to be quite sure, my daughter, before you again
make vows."

And then he turned the conversation abruptly, which was his way when he
intended what he had said to sink deeply into the heart of his listener.

But just as he was leaving after tea he drew the heavy curtains back
from one of the great windows. All was inky darkness, and the roaring of
the sea with its breakers foaming beneath them, came up like the
menacing voices of an angry crowd.

"The good God can calm even this rough water," he said. "It would be
well that you ask for guidance, my child, and when it has come to you,
hesitate no more."

Then, making his sign of blessing, he rapidly strode to the door,
leaving the Dame d'Heronac crouched upon the velvet window-seat, peering
out upon the waves.

And Michael, numb with misery and regret, was deciding to go to Paris
for Christmas. The memories at Arranstoun he could not endure.

The great suffering that he was going through was having some effect
upon his mind, refining him in all ways, forcing him to think and to
reason out all problems of life. The great dreams which used to come to
him sometimes when in Kashmire during solitary hours of watching for
sport returned. He would surely do something vast with his life--when
this awful pain should be past. What, he could not decide--but something
which would take him out of himself. He did not think he could stay in
England just at first after Sabine should have married Henry--the
chances of running across her would be too great, since they both knew
the same people.

Henry would read about the divorce and the name "Sabine Delburg" in the
paper, too, and would then know everything, even if Sabine had not
already informed him. But he almost thought she must have done so,
because he had had no word lately from his old friend. Thus the time
went on for all of them, and none but the priest felt any premonition
that Christmas would certainly bring a climax in all of their fates.

Lord Fordyce had hardly ever spent this season away from his mother, who
was a very old lady now, and deeply devoted to him; but the imperative
desire to be near his adored overcame any other feeling, and he, with
the Princess and her son and father, was due to arrive at Heronac on the
day before Christmas Eve.

He ran across Michael at the Ritz the night before he left Paris. They
were both dining wi