down quietly in her lap and turned away.

He bent over her again in a few minutes with a cup of steaming milk.
She took it from him, tasted it, and shuddered.

"There is brandy in it."

"Yes," said Caryl.

She turned her head away.

"I don't want it. I hate brandy."

He put his hand on her shoulder.

"You had better drink it all the same," he said.

She glanced at him, caught her breath sharply, then dumbly gave way. He
kept his hand upon her while she drank, and only removed it to take the
empty cup.

After that, standing gravely before her, he spoke again.

"I am going on into the town now with the motor, and I shall put up
there. My old nurse will take care of you. I shall come back in the
morning."

CHAPTER VIII

THE SURRENDER OF THE CITADEL

Old Mrs. Maynard, sweeping her brick floor with wide-open door through
which the April sunlight streamed gloriously, nodded to herself a good
many times over the doings of the night. A very discreet creature was
Mrs. Maynard, faithful to the very heart of her, but she would not have
been mortal had she not been intensely curious to know what were the
circumstances that had led Vivian Caryl to bring to her door that
shrinking, exhausted girl who still lay sleeping in the room above.

When Doris awoke in response to her deferential knock, only the
reticence of the trained servant greeted her. The motherliness of the
night before had completely vanished.

Doris was glad of it. She had to steel herself for the coming interview
with Caryl; she had to face the result of her headlong actions with as
firm a front as she could assume. She needed all her strength, and she
could not have borne sympathy just then.

She thanked Mrs. Maynard for her attentions and saw her withdraw with
relief. Then, having nibbled very half-heartedly at the breakfast
provided, she arose with a great sigh, and began to prepare for whatever
might lie before her.

Dressed at length, she sat down by the open window to wait--and wonder.

The click of the garden gate fell suddenly across her meditations, and
she drew back sharply out of sight. He was entering.

She heard his leisurely footfall on the tiles and then his quiet voice
below. Her heart began to thump with thick, uncertain beats. She was
horribly afraid.

Yet when she heard the old woman ascending the stairs, she had the
courage to go to the door and open it.

Mr. Caryl was in the parlour, she was told. He would be gl