w
you would feel for me." And with this, the sad little comedy between
them ended, for Halcyone got up to leave.

"Thank you, Cheiron," was all she said.

Mr. Carlyon took her down to the door and put her in the waiting hansom
which she had forgotten to dismiss, and he paid the man and reluctantly
let her go back alone.

She was too stunned and wretched to take in anything. The streets seemed
a howling pandemonium upon this June morning at the season's full
height, and all the gayly dressed people just beginning to be on their
way to the park for their morning stroll appeared a mockery as she
passed down Piccadilly.

Whether she had been missed or no, she cared not, and getting out, rang
the bell with numbed unconcern, never, even noticing the surprised face
of the footman as she passed him and ran up the long flights of stairs
to her room, fortunately meeting no one on the way. Here Priscilla
awaited her, having successfully hidden her absence. It was half past
ten o'clock.

Halcyone went to the window and looked out upon the trees in the
triangular piece of green. They were not her trees, but they were still
Nature, of a stunted kind, and they would understand and comfort her or,
at all events, enable her to regain some calm.

She took in deep breaths, and gradually a peace fell upon her. Her
friend God would never desert her, she felt.

And Priscilla said to herself:

"She's prayin' to them Immortals, I expect. Well, whoever she prays to,
she is a precious saint."

CHAPTER XXIII

Meanwhile, John Derringham lay betwixt life and death and was watched
over by the kind eye of Arabella Clinker. She had gathered quite a
number of facts in the night, while she had listened to his feverish
ravings--he was light-headed for several hours before the nurses
came--then the fever had decreased and though extremely weak he was
silent.

Arabella knew now that he loved Halcyone--that wood nymph they had seen
during their Easter Sunday walk--and that he had been going to meet her
when the accident had happened. The rest was a jumble of incoherent
phrases all giving the impression of intense desire and anxiety for some
special event. It was:

"Then we shall be happy, my sweet," or "Halcyone, you will not think me
a brute, then, will you, my darling," and there were more just detached
words about an oak tree, and a goddess and such like vaporings.

But Arabella felt that, no doubt the moment he would be fully c