and and quietly left the room. She knew that he was better
alone. She went down-stairs, let herself out of the house, and met
Cynthia on the steps. The girl was just returning after a hurried walk
round and round the square.

"Go to him," said Enid softly. "He wants help and comfort, and he wants
your love. You will be very happy by-and-by."

And Cynthia went.

CHAPTER XLVII.

Cynthia came softly into the room. She looked timidly towards Hubert's
chair, then rushed forward and rang the bell violently. She had had some
fear of the result of Enid's visit, and her fear was certainly
justified.

Hubert had fainted away when his visitor had left the room.

It was not until some time afterwards that Cynthia allowed him to talk
again. She had medicaments of various kinds to apply, and insisted upon
his being perfectly quiet. She had wanted him to go to bed again; but he
had resisted this proposition; and, in consequence, he was still in the
sitting-room, though lying upon the sofa, at the hour of half-past eight
that evening, when the light was fading, and Cynthia was at his side.

"You feel better now, do you not?" she said to him.

"Yes, thank you." The tone was curiously dispirited.

"I must call Jenkins, and you must go to bed."

He caught her hand.

"Not yet, Cynthia--I want to say something."

"To-morrow," she suggested.

"No, not to-morrow--to-night. I am quite well able to talk. Cynthia,
where is your father?"

The question was utterly unexpected.

"My father?" she echoed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I have an impression that he is in England, and that you have
seen him lately."

"If I had," said Cynthia tremulously, "I should be bound not to tell any
one."

"Ah, that is true! And you would not trust even me," he remarked, with a
great sigh. "Well, I suppose that you are right!"

"I trust you perfectly," she said.

"You have no reason to do so. Cynthia, do you know why Enid Vane came
to-day?"

"Yes,--she told me."

"She is engaged to Mr. Evandale. She has set me free."

There was a silence. Cynthia did not move; and at last Hubert said, in a
stifled voice--

"I love one woman, and one only. What can I say to her?"

"Nothing but that," said Cynthia softly; and then she turned and kissed
him.

"I dare not say even that," he muttered.

"Why not? You told me once of an obstacle--Enid Vane was the obstacle,
was she not?"

"One obstacle. But there was another."

"Anot