rf found herself alone in the dim
corridor, in which the lights burned low. She stood quite still, the
shock of the last sentence 'with his lips upon the hurt' still ringing
in her ears. Rallywood! Rallywood with the clear grey eyes and that look
in them which remained persistently in her memory. Her father had taught
her to suspect the whole world. But she had chosen to think differently
of this man, even when she told herself she hated him. Different from
others--exempt from the universal stain of hypocrisy--one to be trusted,
if it were possible to trust any. Then she turned upon herself. After
all had he deceived her, had she not rather deceived herself? He had
spoken openly to her of his despairing secret, of the woman he could
never hope to win. And she had concluded what? Nothing definite, but
there had been a dim thought. Oh, it was unbearable! But why did she
linger to think of this, while Maasau itself was in danger?

She hurried along the passages, moving with a soft swiftness of silken
garments, and as she passed the hidden eyes of the watchers looked out
after the muffled figure. Madame de Sagan was free to come and go.

From the head of the great staircase a narrow corridor branched away to
the Duke's quarters. A very dim light shone from the embrasure at the
end as she hurried along and, before she could stop herself, she ran
right into the arms of a tall man who was coming out towards her.

He put her gently back against the wall and looked at her, but the lace
was drawn close about her face.

'I must pass,' she said.

The man's back was to the light, but she knew the shape of the head and
shoulders.

'No one can pass, Madame.'

The relief of knowing Rallywood was safe jarred in her mind with the
hideous suspicion that Isolde's allurements had after all conquered his
allegiance to the Duke. He clearly recognised the cloak and believed her
to be the Countess. She would have been more than woman not to take
advantage of the mistake. She bent forward a little.

'Come with me,' she whispered.

'I cannot.'

'Do you forget your promise?'

'Under the circumstances'--he glanced back at the Duke's door--'you know
I could make none.'

'But I am in danger--and you promised, surely you promised, with your
lips there!'

Rallywood stared at the shapely hand and firm white wrist thrust out
from the dark sables, with a great leap at his heart. The sight took him
unawares.

'Valerie!' he exclaimed.