passion so hardly suppressed. It was odd to think
of them as creatures of the same species. Odder still to think that
there should be this link between them.

I walked with Paul to the door, holding to his arm, and talking,
half-gaily, half-reproachfully, all the way. We stood on the
step together while his horse was being brought round, and in the
half-lights he stooped down and kissed me. But his manner had changed.
Even his lips were cold, and his eyes were no longer bright. There was
a far-away look in them, and his face was white and set. There were
tears in my eyes as I watched him ride away on his great brown horse,
and listened to the distant thunder of hoofs across the moor. His face
had told its own story. He was nerving himself to face some expected
danger. From whose hands? Surely from Father Adrian's.

The thought worked within me. I stood for a moment, trying to quiet
my passion. As I turned away I heard the stable-yard doors open, and a
carriage, laden with luggage, drove slowly out, and, without coming
to the front at all, turned down the avenue. I ran out, heedless of my
slippers, and called to it to stop. The man obeyed me, and I caught it
up, breathless. The blinds were closely drawn, but I opened the door.
As I expected, it was she who sat inside, closely veiled and weeping.

"You were going, then, without a single word of farewell!" I cried
reproachfully. "Is that kind? Have I deserved it from you?"

She threw up her veil. Her eyes were red and swollen with weeping. She
looked at me pleadingly.

"Do not blame me more than you can help!" she said. "It was a great
shock to me to see you--with the son of Martin de Vaux. It was more
than a shock; it was a horror to me! He is like his father! He is very
like his father!"

I knew that she had passed through a fiery sea of suffering, and I
kept back the anger which threatened me. I pointed upwards.

"We cannot keep the dark clouds from gathering in the sky, nor can we
make love come and go at our bidding. We are but creatures; it is fate
which ordains!"

She bowed her head. "Fate, or the unknown God! I am not your judge,
child! I do not leave you in anger!"

"Why do you go, then, and leave me here alone? It is not kind! It is
not what I should expect from you!"

The tears started again into her eyes, but she shook them away. "I
cannot explain as yet," she said. "You will think me ungrateful, I
fear! I cannot help it! I must go. Farewell, Adrea