e is the curse, the foul fiend, the
shadow, the shame. I met him in the City only yesterday. He tried to
bow, but I looked him in the face and cut him dead. He paled and
shrank away."

"Then, perhaps," suggests Erminie hopefully, "Eleanor has broken with
him?"

"Not so long as she is in Giddy Mounteagle's clutches. For a while I
let my business alone, I stayed at home day after day to guard and
watch her. She divined the reason, and chafed against her cage, like a
bird bereft of song, whose wings are cut. Things went badly for me on
the Stock Exchange; I found I was losing hundreds, thousands, through
my absence. Finally I returned, and Eleanor's face grew brighter--_she
had seen him again!_"

"How do you know?"

"Don't ask me."

Philip turns away and wipes his brow. Erminie's true heart bleeds for
him as she thinks of the perfect sympathy and confidence reigning
between herself and Nelson.

"Your cloud may lift in time," she says, somewhat lamely seeking to
console him.

"It may deepen," he answers lugubriously.

"Supposing you were able to persuade Eleanor to go home for a visit; it
would be pleasant at Copthorne now the spring has come. Her parents
are good, honest people, the country life a healthy one. It might
strengthen her in body and mind, awaking memories of youth and
innocence, your courtship, her marriage! There is no tonic for a
diseased mind like fresh air and green fields. She said she longed to
see the dear old farm again only yesterday. It would put her beyond
the reach of Giddy Mounteagle, and you might run up and down several
times in the week."

"I will suggest it," says Philip.

* * * * *

The idea delights Mrs. Roche beyond measure when later on her husband
mentions it. She has frequently met Carol Quinton of late, and the
ardour of his passion and her own overpowering love have frightened her
at last.

The thought of escaping to the country to seek forgetfulness and avoid
temptation appeals to her.

She puts her arms softly and half timidly round Philip's neck, resting
her cheek against his, as she has not done for weeks.

He snatches her to his heart with a cry, smothering her face in kisses.
"Eleanor, can't we be better friends?" he whispers.

The tears course down her cheeks, the guilty love she is trying to
crush rises before her--jeering, taunting.

"I will try, Philip," she falters. "Only let me go home for a while,
and see the