he said violently. And
strode out of the room.

During the period of her convalescence Diane, attended by Nurse Maynard,
had occupied rooms situated in a distant wing of the house, where the
invalid was not likely to be disturbed by the coming and going of other
members of the household, and it was with almost the excitement of
a schoolgirl coming home for the holidays that, when she was at last
released from the doctor's supervision, she retook possession of her
own room. She superintended joyously the restoration to their accustomed
place her various little personal possessions, and finally peeped into
her husband's adjoining room, thinking she heard him moving there.

On the threshold she paused irresolutely, conscious of an odd sense of
confusion. The room was vacant. But, beyond that, its whole aspect was
different somehow, unfamiliar. Her eyes wandered to the dressing-table.
Instead of holding its usual array of silver-backed brushes and polished
shaving tackle, winking in the sunshine, it was empty. She stared at
it blankly. Then her glance travelled slowly round the room. It had a
strangely untenanted look. There was no sign of masculine attire left
carelessly about--not a chair or table was a hairbreadth out of its
appointed place.

Her hand, resting lightly on the door-handle, gripped it with a sudden
tensity. The next moment she had crossed the room and torn open the
doors of the great armoire where Hugh kept his clothes. This, too, was
empty--shelves and hanger alike. Impulsively she rang the bell and,
when a maid appeared in response, demanded to know the meaning of the
alteration.

The girl glanced at her with the veiled curiosity of her class.

"It was made by Sir Hugh's orders, my lady."

With an effort, Diane hid the sudden tumult of bewilderment and fear
that filled her. Her dream! Had it been only a dream? Or had it been
an actual happening--that terrible little scene with her husband when,
standing rigid and unbending beside her bed, he had told her that the
birth of their daughter was a just retribution for a union he regarded
as a sin?

Memories of their brief year of marriage came surging over her in a
torrent--Catherine's narrow-minded opposition and disapproval, Hugh's
own moodiness and irritability and, latterly, his not infrequent
censure. There had been times when Diane--rebuked incessantly--had
fancied she must be the Scarlet Woman herself, or at least a very near
relative. And