ld hesitate, and then
let him in, as he knew that she would let him in. He shut the heavy
front-door behind them, and there was no talk now of turning locks or
shooting bolts; the house was left at the mercy of any burglars who
might happen to be thereabout.

Anastasia led the way. She did not take him into Mr Sharnall's old
room, partly because she had left half-finished clothes lying there, and
partly from the more romantic reflection that it was in Westray's room
that they had met before. They walked through the hall and up the
stairs, she going first and he following, and she was glad of the
temporary respite which the long flights secured her. They entered the
room, and again he shut the door behind them. There was no fire, and
the window was open, but she felt as if she were in a fiery furnace. He
saw her distress, but made as if he saw nothing, and pitied her for the
agitation which he caused. For the past six months Anastasia had
concealed her feelings so very well that he had read them like a book.
He had watched the development of the plot without pride, or pleasure of
success, without sardonic amusement, without remorse; with some dislike
for a role which force of circumstances imposed on him, but with an
unwavering resolve to walk the way which he had set before him. He knew
the exact point which the action of the play had reached, he knew that
Anastasia would grant whatever he asked of her.

They were standing face to face again. To the girl it all seemed a
dream; she did not know whether she was waking or sleeping; she did not
know whether she was in the body or out of the body. It was all a
dream, but it was a delightful dream; there was no bitterness of
reflection now, no anxiety, no regard for past or future, only utter
absorption in the present moment. She was with the man who had
possessed her thoughts for a month past; he had come back to her. She
had not to consider whether she should ever see him again; he was with
her now. She had not to think whether he was there for good or evil,
she had lost all volition in the will of the man who stood before her;
she was the slave of his ring, rejoicing in her slavery, and ready to do
his bidding as all the other slaves of that ring.

He was sorry for the feelings which he had aroused, sorry for the
affection he had stirred, sorry for the very love of himself that he saw
written in her face. He took her hand in his, and his touch filled her
w