steps--someone else had discovered the
Eden of the winter-garden, and Michael released her abruptly.

Behind the chimneystacks the grey fingers of dawn were creeping up in
the sky as Magda drove home. In the wan light her face looked unusually
pale, and beneath the soft lace at her breast her heart throbbed
unevenly.

Five minutes ago Michael had held her in his arms and she had felt
herself stirred to a sudden passionate surrender and response that
frightened her.

Was this love--the love against which Diane had warned her? It had all
happened so suddenly--that last, unpremeditated dance, those tense,
vibrant moments in the winter-garden, then the jarring interruption
of other couples seeking its fragrant coolness. And she and Michael
suddenly apart.

Afterwards, only the barest conventionalities had passed between them.
Nothing else had seemed possible. Their solitude had been ruthlessly
destroyed; the outside world had thrust itself upon them without
warning, jerking them back to the self-consciousness of suddenly
arrested emotion.

"I must be going." The stilted, banal little phrase had fallen awkwardly
from Magda's lips, and Quarrington had assented without comment.

She felt confused and bewildered. What had he meant? Had he meant
anything at all? Was it possible that he believed in her now--trusted
her? It had been in answer to that low, imploring cry of hers--"_Saint
Michel, can't you believe in me?_"--that he had taken her in his arms.

Looking out through the mist-blurred window at the pale streamers of
dawnlight penciling the sky, Magda's eyes grew wistful--wonderingly
questioning the future. Was she, too, only waiting for the revelation of
dawn--the dawn of that mysterious thing called love which can transmute
this everyday old world of ours into heaven or hell?

Gillian was at the door to welcome her when at length the car pulled up
at Friars' Holm. She looked rather white and there were purple shadows
under her eyes, but her lips smiled happily.

"Coppertop? How is he?" asked Magda quickly.

"Sleeping, thank God! He's safe now! But--oh, Magda! It's been awful!"

And quite suddenly Gillian, who had faced Death and fought him with a
dogged courage and determination that had won the grave-eyed doctor's
rare approval, broke down and burst into tears.

Magda petted and soothed her, until at last her sobs ceased and she
smiled through her tears.

"I _am_ a fool!" she said, dabbing at her