ould not frame them.
He pushed his chair away from the table, and moved out behind it; then
with his hands grasping the back of it, he bowed to Lady Chaloner
without speaking, turned and went away by the little opening in the wood
from which he and Wentworth had come. Wentworth, ready and light-hearted
as he generally was, was for one moment also absolutely paralysed with
amazement and concern, then saying hurriedly, "Forgive me, Lady
Chaloner, I must go and see what has happened," he quickly followed.
Lord Stamfordham drew up his chair to the table and sat down. His
urbane, genial manner had returned, and he spoke as though nothing had
happened; the rest instantly took their cue from him.

"What delightful quarters you have found for us, Lady Chaloner," he
said. "I don't think I made acquaintance with this place when I was at
Schleppenheim last year."

"Charmin', isn't it?" said Lady Chaloner. And quite imperturbably, at
first with an effort, which became easier as the meal went on, the whole
party went on talking and laughing as usual, with, perhaps, if the truth
were known, an added zest of excitement, certainly on the part of some
of its members, at "something" having happened. The two extra places
that had been put were taken away again, and the rank closed up
indifferently and gaily round the table, as ranks do close up when
comrades disappear by the way.

In the meantime Rendel was madly hurrying away through the wood, going
straight in front of him, not knowing what he was doing, what he
proposed to do--his one idea being to get away, away, away from those
smiling, distinguished indifferent people, hitherto his own associates,
who now all knew the horrible fate that had overtaken him, who would
from henceforth turn their backs upon him too. The thought of that
moment when he had been face to face with Stamfordham, of those
distinct, inexorable tones, of the words which judged and for ever
condemned him, burnt like a physical, horrible flame from which he could
not escape. He flung himself down at last, and buried his face in his
hands, trying to shut out everything, as a frightened child pulls the
clothes over its head in the darkness. Then, to his terror, he heard
footsteps in the wood. Who was it? Was this some one else who knew?
Would he have to go through it all over again? And he lifted his head in
anguish as the steps drew nearer. The sight of the newcomer brought him
no relief. It was Wentworth, who, a