e sense of dew
falling upon her soul that she remembered the kindness, the chivalrous
protection that had encompassed her through the long years. He was her
friend, her knight; she would forget, and he, too, would forget that he
had thought himself her lover.

She did not know how tired she was, but her exhaustion must have been
great, for the thoughts faded into a vague sweetness, then were gone,
and, suddenly opening her eyes, she knew that she had fallen asleep,
sitting straightly in her chair, and that Lady Elliston was looking at
her.

She started up, smiling and confused. "How absurd of me:--I have been
sleeping.--Have you just come?"

Lady Elliston did not smile and was silent. She took Amabel's hand and
looked at her; she had to recover herself from something; it may have
been the sleeping face, wasted and innocent, that had touched her too
deeply. And her gravity, as of repressed tears, frightened Amabel. She
had never seen Lady Elliston look so grave. "Is anything the matter?"
she asked. For a moment longer Lady Elliston was silent, as though
reflecting. Then releasing Amabel's hand, she said: "Yes: I think
something is the matter."

"You have come to tell me?"

"I didn't come for that. Sit down, Amabel. You are very tired, more
tired than the other day. I have been looking at you for a long time.--I
didn't come to tell you anything; but now, perhaps, I shall have
something to tell. I must think."

She took a chair beside the table and leaned her head on her hand
shading her eyes. Amabel had obeyed her and sat looking at her guest.

"Tell me," Lady Elliston said abruptly, and Amabel today, more than of
sweetness and softness, was conscious of her strength, "have you been
having a bad time since I saw you? Has anything happened? Has anything
come between you and Augustine? I saw him this morning, and he's been
suffering, too: I guessed it. You must be frank with me, Amabel; you
must trust me: perhaps I am going to be franker with you, to trust you
more, than you can dream."

She inspired the confidence her words laid claim to; for the first time
in their lives Amabel trusted her unreservedly.

"I have had a very bad time," she said: "And Augustine has had a bad
time. Yes; something has come between Augustine and me,--many things."

"He hates Hugh," said Lady Elliston.

"How can you know that?"

"I guessed it. He is a clever boy: he sees you absorbed; he sees your
devotion robbing him; perhaps he