not let out all, after meeting you like
this and finding how guileless you are." She thereupon whispered a few
words in the girl's ear, and burst into a violent fit of sobbing.

Grace started roughly away from the shelter of the fur, and sprang to
her feet.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, thunderstruck at a revelation transcending
her utmost suspicion. "Can it be--can it be!"

She turned as if to hasten away. But Felice Charmond's sobs came to
her ear: deep darkness circled her about, the funereal trees rocked and
chanted their diriges and placebos around her, and she did not know
which way to go. After a moment of energy she felt mild again, and
turned to the motionless woman at her feet.

"Are you rested?" she asked, in what seemed something like her own
voice grown ten years older.

Without an answer Mrs. Charmond slowly rose.

"You mean to betray me!" she said from the bitterest depths of her
soul. "Oh fool, fool I!"

"No," said Grace, shortly. "I mean no such thing. But let us be quick
now. We have a serious undertaking before us. Think of nothing but
going straight on."

They walked on in profound silence, pulling back boughs now growing
wet, and treading down woodbine, but still keeping a pretty straight
course. Grace began to be thoroughly worn out, and her companion too,
when, on a sudden, they broke into the deserted highway at the hill-top
on which the Sherton man had waited for Mrs. Dollery's van. Grace
recognized the spot as soon as she looked around her.

"How we have got here I cannot tell," she said, with cold civility.
"We have made a complete circuit of Little Hintock. The hazel copse is
quite on the other side. Now we have only to follow the road."

They dragged themselves onward, turned into the lane, passed the track
to Little Hintock, and so reached the park.

"Here I turn back," said Grace, in the same passionless voice. "You are
quite near home."

Mrs. Charmond stood inert, seeming appalled by her late admission.

"I have told you something in a moment of irresistible desire to
unburden my soul which all but a fool would have kept silent as the
grave," she said. "I cannot help it now. Is it to be a secret--or do
you mean war?"

"A secret, certainly," said Grace, mournfully. "How can you expect war
from such a helpless, wretched being as I!"

"And I'll do my best not to see him. I am his slave; but I'll try."

Grace was naturally kind; but she could not help using