e could go to her and tell her that she herself was about
to marry Trenby, then the only obstacle which stood in the way of
Penelope's happiness would be removed. Last night her thoughts had
swung from side to side in a ceaseless ding-dong struggle of
indecision, but this new factor in the matter weighted the scales
heavily in favour of her marrying Trenby.

At last she made up her mind. There were two chances, two avenues
which might lead away from him. Should both of these be closed against
her, she would yield to the current of affairs which now seemed set to
sweep her into his arms.

She would use her utmost persuasions to induce Penelope to marry Ralph
Fenton, irrespective of whether she herself proposed to enter the
matrimonial state or not. That was the first of her two chances. For
if she succeeded in prevailing upon Penelope to retract her refusal of
Ralph, she would feel that she had dealt at least one blow against the
fate which seemed to be driving her onward. The urgency of that last
push towards Roger would be removed! Then if Penelope remained
obdurate, to-morrow she would tell Trenby frankly that she had no love,
but only liking, to give him, and she would insist upon his facing the
fact that there had been someone else in her life who had first claim
upon her heart. That would be her other chance. And should Roger--as
well he might--refuse to take second best, then willy-nilly she would
be once more thrust forth into the troublous sea of longing and desire.
But if he still wanted her--why, then she would have been quite honest
with him and it would seem to be her destiny to be his wife. She would
leave it at that--leave it for chance, or fate, or whatever it is that
shapes our ends, to settle a matter that, swayed as she was by opposing
forces, she was unable to decide for herself.

She heaved a sigh of relief. After those wretched, interminable hours
of irresolution, when love, and fear of that same love, had tortured
her almost beyond bearing, it was an odd kind of comfort to feel that
she had given herself two chances, and, if both failed, to know that
she must abide by the result.

The turmoil of her mind drove her at last almost insensibly towards the
low, wide wall facing the unquiet sea. Here she sat down, still
absorbed in her thoughts, her gaze resting absently on the incoming
tide below. She was conscious of a strange feeling of communion with
the shifting, changeful waters.