urrender herself
body and soul to this man whom she hardly knew, whom she had never
really seen; she felt neither joy nor remorse, only a strange sense of
agitation, an unnatural and morbid impatience to see the end of the next
few days of suspense.

For the first time since she had come to Acol, and encountered the
kindly sympathy of Richard Lambert, she felt bitterly angered against
him when, having parted from the prince at the door of the pavilion, she
turned, to walk back towards the house and came face to face with the
young man.

A narrow path led through the trees, from the ha-ha to the gate, and
Richard Lambert was apparently walking along aimlessly, in the direction
of the pavilion.

"I came hoping to meet your ladyship and to escort you home. The night
seems very dark," he explained simply in answer to a sudden, haughty
stiffening of her young figure, which he could not help but notice.

"I was taking a stroll in the park," she rejoined coldly, "the evening
is sweet and balmy but ... I have no need of escort, Master Lambert ...
I thank you.... It is late and I would wish to go indoors alone."

"It is indeed late, gracious lady," he said gently, "and the park is
lonely at night ... will you not allow me to walk beside you as far as
the house?"

But somehow his insistence, his very gentleness struck a jarring note,
for which she herself could not have accounted. Was it the contrast
between two men, which unaccountably sent a thrill of disappointment,
almost of apprehension, through her heart?

She was angry with Lambert, bitterly angry because he was kind and
gentle and long-suffering, whilst the other was violent, even brutal at
times.

"I must repeat, master, that I have no need of your escort," she said
haughtily, "I have no fear of marauders, nor yet of prowling beasts. And
for the future I should be grateful to you," she added, conscious of her
own cruelty, determined nevertheless to be remorselessly cruel, "if you
were to cease that system which you have adopted of late--that of
spying on my movements."

"Spying?"

The word had struck him in the face like a blow. And she, womanlike,
with that strange, impulsive temperament of hers, was not at all sorry
that she had hurt him. Yet surely he had done her no wrong, save by
being so different from the other man, and by seeming to belittle that
other in her sight, against her will and his own.

"I am grieved, believe me," she said coldly, "if I s