She
put hers in his and said, "We must go home. You'll be worn out."

"Worn out? Not I! But you look worn out. Come along. Ah, Marchmont, this
is a compliment indeed."

They were almost alone in the room now. May took her husband's arm and
they walked thus together.

"Are you pleased?" he whispered.

"Am I pleased!" she said with the laugh he knew and an upward glance of
her eyes. Quisante himself laughed and drew himself to his full height,
carrying his head defiantly. For though he sought and loved to please
all, it was pleasing her that had been foremost in his mind that night.
He had remembered the boast he made on Duty Hill; now it was justified,
and he had once again tasted his sweetest pleasure.

They had to wait in an ante-room while their carriage was sent for. Here
the Dean and Marchmont joined them again. They were there when old Foster
rushed in in great excitement.

"The whole town's in the square," he cried. "There's never been anything
like it in Henstead. You'll say just a word to them from the steps, sir?
Only a word! They're all waiting there for you. You'll say just a word?
I'll be back in an instant." And he bustled out again.

Quisante walked across to a window that opened on to the Market Square.
He looked out, then turned and beckoned to his wife. The whole town
seemed to be in the square, as Foster said, and the people caught sight
of him as he stood in the window with the lighted room behind him. They
broke into loud cheering. Quisante bowed to them. Then a sudden short
shiver seemed to run through him; he put his hand first to his side, then
to his head.

"I feel queer" he said to his wife. "I think I--I won't--I won't speak
any more. I feel so--so queer." Her eyes were fixed on him now, and his
on hers. He smiled and tapped his forehead lightly with his hand. "It's
nothing," he said. "You were pleased, weren't you, to-night?" Again he
put his hands in hers. She found no word to say and they stood like this
for a moment. The cheers ceased, the crowd outside was puzzled. Marchmont
jumped up from his chair and walked forward hastily.

"Anything wrong?" he asked.

Neither heeded him. May's eyes were set in terror on her husband's face;
for now she was holding him up by the power of her hands gripped in his;
without them he would fall. Nay, he would fall now!

He spoke in a low thick voice. "It's come," he said, "it's come." And he
sank back into Weston Marchmont's arms, his wife letti