impelled her to final rebellion. In the moment that intervened between
his question and her reply her decision was made.

"You shall have my answer to-night," she said.

He turned from her without a word, and a little wonder quivered through
her as to the meaning of his silence. She was glad when they reached
Rivermead and she could take refuge in her own room.

Here once more she read Brandon's message; read it with a thumping
heart, but no thought of drawing back. It was the only way out for her.

She dressed for dinner, and then made a few hasty preparations for her
flight. She laid no elaborate plans for effecting it, for she
anticipated no difficulty. The night would be dark, and she could rely
upon her ingenuity for the rest. Failure was unthinkable.

When they rose from the table she waited for Vera and slipped a hand
into her arm.

"Do make an excuse for me," she whispered. "I have had a dreadful day,
and I can't stand any more. I am going upstairs."

"My dear!" murmured back Vera, by way of protest.

Nevertheless she made the excuse almost as soon as they entered the
drawing-room, and Doris fled upstairs on winged feet. At the head she
met Caryl about to descend; almost collided with him. He had evidently
been up to his room to fetch something.

He stood aside for her at once.

"You are not retiring yet?" he asked.

She scarcely glanced at him. She would not give herself time to be
disconcerted.

"I am coming down again," she said, and ran on.

Barely a quarter of an hour after the encounter with Caryl, dressed in a
long dark motoring coat and closely veiled, she slipped down the back
stairs that led to the servants' quarters, stood listening against a
baize door that led into the front hall, then whisked it open and fled
across to open the conservatory door, noiseless as a shadow.

The conservatory was in semi-darkness. She expected to see no one;
looked for no one. A moment she paused by the door that led into the
garden, and in that pause she heard a slight sound. It might have been
anything. It probably was a creak from one of the wicker chairs that
stood in a corner. Whatever its origin, it startled her to greater
haste. She fumbled at the door and pulled it open.

A gust of wind and rain blew in upon her, but she was scarcely aware of
it. In another moment she had softly closed the door again and was
scudding across the terrace to the steps that led towards the river
path.

As she re