on
of the world. He had no horror of himself, but only a horror of that
Fate to which mortals have to submit and which had overtaken him in a
shining moment of happiness. The gun accident of which his little son
had been the victim presented itself to his erring mind as a terrific
stroke from above, or from beyond, falling equally upon father and
child. He was not responsible for it. The start of a frightened pony,
its sudden attempt to bolt, the pulling of a rein which had brought the
animal against him just as he was lifting his gun to fire at a rising
bird--what were those things? Only the clumsy machinery used by
implacable Fate to bring about that which had been willed somewhere, far
off in the dark and the distance.

He must tell Rosamund, he must tell Rosamund.

* * * * *

Annie and the nurse came out to the edge of the broad path which ran
along the front of the house and peered into the darkness. Annie was
crying and holding on to the nurse, whose almost fierce determination
faded as she confronted the mystery of the night which hid her master
and mistress.

"H'sh, Annie," she whispered. "Where can they be? Listen, I tell you!"

Annie strove to choke down her sobs.

"I can hear--some one," whispered the nurse, after a moment. "Don't you.
Listen, I tell you! Right over by the wall near the Bishop's!"

The sound of steps indeed came to them through the darkness. Annie broke
away from the nurse.

"I'm frightened! I'm frightened! I don't know what's come to them," she
whispered through her teeth, resisting the impulse to cry out. "Come in,
Nurse, for God's sake!"

She shrank into the house. The nurse stood where she was for a moment,
but when she heard the steps a little nearer to her she, too, was
overcome by fear and followed Annie trembling, shutting the door behind
her.

Exactly at half-past seven Mr. Darlington and Canon Wilton were outside
the door of Little Cloisters and Mr. Darlington pulled the bell. Always
the most discreet of men, he had not mentioned to his host the terrible
cry he had heard in the Leiths' garden, or his short colloquy with
Annie. He was seriously disturbed in mind, but, being a trained man of
the world and one who prided himself upon his powers of self-control, he
had concealed this unpleasant fact from the Canon, and had talked quite
agreeably during their little walk between the two houses. The sound of
that dreadful cry still seemed to shudder through his flesh, but it