hey were
out of the world.

Grey, too anxious and restless to await her at the pavilion, had come
down the wood and into the end of the path through the shrubbery. It
startled her to come upon him so suddenly. But when they came out of the
shrubbery into the moonlit aisle of the wood, the fearfulness and
anxiety and restlessness had vanished utterly from their faces; both of
them were smiling.

They walked slowly, saying little, touching now and again as they
swayed in their walk along the turf. It seemed wiser not to light the
candles in the pavilion. The moonlight, shining through the high
windows, gave them light enough to see one another's eyes. It was all
they needed. The time passed quickly in the ineffable confidences of
lovers. They had a hundred things to tell one another, a hundred things
to ask one another, in their effort to attain that oneness which is the
aim of all true love. But in their joy in being together, in the joy of
both of them, there was a feverishness, a sense that it was a menaced
joy which must needs be brief. Again they were striving to wring the
most out of the hour which was so swiftly passing. At times the sense of
danger which hung over them was so strong, that they clung to one
another like frightened children in the dark.

Though Mr. Flexen had at the time shown himself somewhat unbelieving in
the matter of Mr. Manley's conclusions about the character and
temperament of Grey and Olivia, the impression they had made on him grew
stronger. He was too good a judge of men not to perceive that the budding
dramatist had the intelligent imagination which makes for real
shrewdness, and he was not disposed to underrate the value of the
imagination in forming judgments of men and women. Probably Colonel Grey
was a man of less intensity of emotion than Mr. Manley had declared, and
Lady Loudwater less subtile and intelligent. But, after making these
reductions, he had here possible actors in a drama of passion; and though
it was his experience that money, not passion, is the most frequent
motive of murder, he must take the probability of Lord Loudwater's murder
being a crime of passion into account, though, of course, the violent
Hutchings, threatened with ruin, would undoubtedly benefit from a
monetary point of view by the murder. At the same time, Hutchings had
just had an interview, which had gone better probably than he had
expected, with an uncommonly pretty girl.

Mr. Carrington arrived