be strong--and merciful and affectionate
afterwards.

"Wait, Hylda," he said. "We must talk this out."

She freed her arm. "There is nothing to talk out," she answered. "So far
as our relations are concerned, all reason for talk is gone." She drew
the fatal letter from the sash at her waist. "You will think so too when
you read this letter again." She laid it on the table beside him, and,
as he opened and glanced at it, she left the room.

He stood with the letter in his hand, dumfounded. "Good God!" he said,
and sank into a chair.

CHAPTER XXXIX. FAITH JOURNEYS TO LONDON

Faith withdrew her eyes from Hylda's face, and they wandered helplessly
over the room. They saw, yet did not see; and even in her trouble
there was some subconscious sense softly commenting on the exquisite
refinement and gentle beauty which seemed to fill the room; but the
only definite objects which the eyes registered at the moment were the
flowers filling every corner. Hylda had been lightly adjusting a clump
of roses when she entered; and she had vaguely noticed how pale was the
face that bent over the flowers, how pale and yet how composed--as she
had seen a Quaker face, after some sorrow had passed over it, and left
it like a quiet sea in the sun, when wreck and ruin were done. It was
only a swift impression, for she could think of but one thing, David and
his safety. She had come to Hylda, she said, because of Lord Eglington's
position, and she could not believe that the Government would see
David's work undone and David killed by the slave-dealers of Africa.

Hylda's reply had given her no hope that Eglington would keep the
promise he had made that evening long ago when her father had come upon
them by the old mill, and because of which promise she had forgiven
Eglington so much that was hard to forgive. Hylda had spoken with
sorrowful decision, and then this pause had come, in which Faith tried
to gain composure and strength. There was something strangely still in
the two women. From the far past, through Quaker ancestors, there had
come to Hylda now this grey mist of endurance and self-control and
austere reserve. Yet behind it all, beneath it all, a wild heart was
beating.

Presently, as they looked into each other's eyes, and Faith dimly
apprehended something of Hylda's distress and its cause, Hylda leaned
over and spasmodically pressed her hand.

"It is so, Faith," she said. "They will do nothing. International
influences