beth or any other person. You were only attacked once, and that
was at night. Look, for instance, at the white woman on the charger.
She was alone. I don't think even a highwayman, though, would tackle
her," with a low laugh. "She'd be a pretty good handful for anybody.
I could imagine her mesmerising a lion with those eyes. I have no
doubt she is a crack shot, too, from the bold way she carried her gun.
She was a regular Amazon."

"You forget I have never seen the white stranger you allude to."

"Of course not. She passed when you were looking for the dog on that
unfortunate day. Well, good-bye for the present, dear. Take care of
yourself, and if you like to come and meet me I shall be delighted."

She leaves the house singing, hoping her bravado will have the effect
of re-assuring Carol.

As she goes he flings his book on the ground, stretching out his arms
like a caged bird beating its wings against the bars.

"It can't last much longer," he hisses between his teeth; "it _won't_
last much longer. Thank goodness I can see the end."

Eleanor's mind is so full of thought that she does not heed the
direction in which her steps turn. She walks like one in a dream, busy
with her own thoughts. A thousand ideas flit through her brain. She
lives over her miserable past. Even the early days at Copthorne return
vividly. She is a merry child swinging on a gate; a lazy girl lolling
on a hayrick; a frivolous wife, sporting her gay attire in the Brussels
Bois; a weary woman sighing at her lot in the house on Richmond
Terrace; and then the realisation of the present rushes over her, and
she starts as if suddenly awaking from sleep.

There are steps at her side; she turns, remembering Carol's warning.

Elizabeth Kachin stands before her, they are face to face.

From sheer force of habit Eleanor stretches out her hand in greeting,
but draws it back sharply, gathering her scattered wits together.
There is a cold look in Elizabeth's eyes. Eleanor shivers though the
sun scorches, for the frosts of sin are very bitter. Mrs. Kachin
averts her head, and passes her without a word. Little Tombo, who is
following in the rear, runs up and raises his face for a kiss, but his
mother calls to him quickly, while Eleanor pushes him away. "Why is
she angry with me?" he asks Elizabeth; "why doesn't she come and see us
now?"

Eleanor hears the words. They cut deeper than an assassin's knife.
Carol was right. Retribution i