her vindicating ardour had passed from
her. With the question the hunted, haunted present flooded in. Happy?
Yesterday she might have answered "yes," so far away had the past
seemed, so forgotten the fear in which she had learned to breathe. Today
the past was with her and the fear pressed heavily upon her heart. She
answered in a sombre voice: "With my past what woman could be happy. It
blights everything."

"Oh--but Amabel--" Lady Elliston breathed forth. She leaned forward,
then moved back, withdrawing the hand impulsively put out.--"Why?--Why?--"
she gently urged. "It is all over: all passed: all forgotten. Don't--ah
don't let it blight anything."

"Oh no," said Amabel, shaking her head. "It isn't over; it isn't
forgotten; it never will be. Hugh cannot forget--though he has
forgiven. And someday, I feel it, Augustine will know. Then I shall
drink the cup of shame to the last drop."

"Oh!--" said Lady Elliston, as if with impatience. She checked herself.
"What can I say?--if you will think of yourself in this preposterous
way.--As for Augustine, he does not know and how should he ever know?
How could he, when no one in the world knows but you and I and Hugh."

She paused at that, looking at Amabel's downcast face. "You notice what
I say, Amabel?"

"Yes; that isn't it. He will guess."

"You are morbid, my poor child.--But do you notice nothing when I say
that only we three know?"

Amabel looked up. Lady Elliston met her eyes. "I came today to tell you,
Amabel. I felt sure you did not know. There is no reason at all, now,
why you should dread coming out into the world--with Augustine. You need
fear no meetings. You did not know that he was dead."

"He?"

"Yes. He. Paul Quentin."

Amabel, gazing at her, said nothing.

"He died in Italy, last week. He was married, you know, quite happily;
an ordinary sort of person; she had money; he rather let his work go.
But they were happy; a large family; a villa on a hill somewhere;
pictures, bric-a-brac and bohemian intellectualism. You knew of his
marriage?"

"Yes; I knew."

The tears had risen to Lady Elliston's eyes before that stricken, ashen
face; she looked away, murmuring: "I wanted to tell you, when we were
alone. It might have come as such an ugly shock, if you were unprepared.
But, now, there is no danger anymore. And you will come out, Amabel?"

"No;--never.--It was never that."

"But what was it then?"

Amabel had risen and was looking around her