much--Crystal said obstinately to herself--as she
had wished him to do. And yet, at sight of him now, Crystal felt a
strong, unconquerable pity for him: the womanly instinct no doubt to
heal rather than to hurt.

But this pity she was not prepared to show him: she wanted to pass right
out of his life, to forget once and for all that sense of warmth of the
soul, of comfort and of peace which she had felt in his presence on that
memorable evening at Brestalou. Above all, she never wanted to touch his
hand again, the hand which seemed to have such power to protect and to
shield her, when on that same evening she had placed her own in it.

Therefore, now she took her father's arm once more: she turned
resolutely to go. One more curt nod of the head, one last look of
undying enmity, and then she would pass finally out of his life for
ever.

V

How Clyffurde got back to his lodgings that night he never knew.
Crystal, after his final admission, had turned without another word from
him, and he had stood there in the lonely, silent street watching her
retreating form--on her father's arm--until the mist and gloom swallowed
her up as in an elvish grave. Then mechanically he hunted for his hat
and he, too, walked away.

That was the end of his life's romance, of course. The woman whom he
loved with his very soul, who held his heart, his mind, his imagination
captive, whose every look on him was joy, whose every smile was a
delight, had gone out of his life for ever! She had turned away from him
as she would from a venomous snake! she hated him so cruelly that she
would gladly hurt him--do him some grievous wrong if she could. And
Clyffurde was left in utter loneliness with only a vague, foolish
longing in his heart--the longing that one day she might have her wish,
and might have the power to wound him to death--bodily just as she had
wounded him to the depth of his soul to-night.

For the rest there was nothing more for him to do in France. King Louis
was not like to remain at Lille very long: within twenty-four hours
probably he would continue his journey--his flight--to Ghent--where once
more he would hold his court in exile, with all the fugitive royalists
rallied around his tottering throne.

Clyffurde had already received orders from his chief at the Intelligence
Department to report himself first at Lille, then--if the King and court
had already left--at Ghent. If, however, there were plenty of men to do
the work