And Theodora, while she was every now and then convulsed with fear for
him, had moments of passionate admiration.

The Crow remained at her side in the tent. He knew Hector would not be
jealous of him, and the instinct of the brink of calamity was strong
upon him, from the look in Theodora's eyes.

He used great tact--he turned the conversation to Anne and the children,
and then to Lady Bracondale and Hector's home, all in a casual, abstract
way, and he told her of Lady Bracondale's great love for her son, and of
her hopes that he would marry soon, and how that Hector would be the
last of his race--for Evermond Le Mesurier did not count--and many
little tales about Bracondale and its people.

It was all done so wisely and well; not in the least as a note of
warning. And all he said sank deep into Theodora's heart. She had never
even dreamed of the plan which was now matured in Hector's brain--of
going away with him. He, as really a lover, was not for her, that was a
foregone conclusion. It was the fear of she knew not what which troubled
her. She was too unsophisticated and innocent to really know--only that
to be with him now was a continual danger; soon she knew she would not
be able to control herself, she must be clasped in his arms.

And then--and then--there was the picture in front of her of Josiah and
the "second honeymoon."

Thus while she sat there gazing at the man she passionately loved
playing polo, she was silently suffering all the anguish of which a
woman's heart is capable.

The only possible way was to part from Hector forever--to say the last
good-bye before she should go, like a sheep, to the slaughter.

When she was once more the wife of Josiah she could never look upon his
face again.

And if Hector had known the prospect that awaited her at Bessington
Hall, it would have driven him--already mad--to frenzy.

The day wore on, and still Theodora's fears kept her from allowing a
tete-a-tete when he dismounted and joined them for tea.

But fate had determined otherwise. And as the soft evening came several
of the party walked down by the river--which ran on the western side
below the rose-gardens and the wood of firs--to see Barbara's many
breeds of ducks and water-fowl.

Then Hector's determination to be alone with her conquered for the time.
Theodora found herself strolling with him in a path of meeting willows,
with a summer-house at the end, by the water's bank.

They were quite sep