knees and moved away from the scene of the crowning triumph of his youth
as mechanically as though the proceedings had no more interest for him
than if they had been taking place a thousand miles away.

All through the afternoon Enid and her father waited for them to come,
but there was no sign from either of them until just before tea-time
Jepson presented himself with two letters, one addressed to Sir Godfrey
and one to Enid. Both were very short. Sir Godfrey's was from Sir
Arthur, and ran as follows:

"MY DEAR RALEIGH,

"I hope that you and your daughter will forgive the apparent
discourtesy of our absence from you this afternoon and evening. I
find it necessary to take Vane to London at once. His letter to
Enid will explain the reason.

"Faithfully yours,
"ARTHUR MAXWELL."

"There is evidently something very serious the matter," said Sir
Godfrey, as he handed the note to Enid. "Maxwell wouldn't write like
that without good reason. That's from Vane, I suppose. What does he
say?"

"Say," exclaimed Enid, with a flash of anger through her fast gathering
tears. "That's what he says. It's too bad, too cruel--and after leaving
me alone for two years--it's miserable!" And with that, she made a swift
escape out of the room and shut the door behind her with an emphatic
bang.

Sir Godfrey picked the note up from the table where she had flung it.
There was no form of address. It simply began:

"I was drunk this morning. Drunk without meaning to be so, after being
two years without touching alcohol and without experiencing the
slightest craving for it. Last night I had finally come to the
conclusion that it would be a sin to ask you to keep your promise to me.
Now I am convinced that it would be absolute infamy to do so. I dare not
even face you to tell you this, so utterly unworthy and contemptible am
I in my own sight. Whatever you hear to the contrary, remember that what
has happened this morning is no fault of anyone but myself. If ever we
meet again I hope I shall find you the wife of a man more worthy of you
than I am now, or, with this accursed taint in my blood, ever could be.
Perhaps in those days we may be friends again; but for the present we
must be strangers.

"Vane."

CHAPTER X.

Yet another twelve months had passed since Vane had taken his degree;
since Enid had seen him vanish like a spectre out of her life, and had
waited vainly for his coming, only to