ther in this world or the
next except the love that was denied her.

Her thoughts went back to the day when she and Peter had first met and
driven together through the twilit countryside to Abbencombe. She
remembered the sudden sadness which had fallen upon him and how she had
tried to cheer him by repeating the verses of a little song. It all
seemed very long ago:

"But sometimes God on His great white Throne
Looks down from the Heaven above,
And lays in the hands that are empty
The tremulous Star of Love."

The words seemed to speak themselves in her brain just as she herself
had spoken them that day, with the car slipping swiftly through the
winter dusk. She could feel again the throb of the engine--see Peter's
whimsical grey-blue eyes darken suddenly to a stern and tragic gravity.

For him and for her there could be no star. To the end of life they
two must go empty-handed.

CHAPTER XXIV

FLIGHT!

The big limousine was already at the door when Lady Gertrude and
Isobel, clothed from head to foot in sombre black, descended from their
respective rooms. Roger, also clad in the same funereal hue and
wearing a black tie--and looking as though his garments afforded him
the acme of mental discomfort--stood waiting for them, together with
Nan, in the hall.

Lady Gertrude bestowed one of her chilly kisses upon her son's fiancee
and stepped into the car, Isobel followed, and Roger, with a muttered:
"Confound Great-aunt Rachel's fortune!" brought up the rear. A minute
later the car and its black-garbed occupants disappeared down the drive.

Nan turned back into the house. There was a curiously lightened
feeling in the atmosphere, she thought--as though someone had lifted
the roof of a dungeon and let in the sunlight and fresh air. She
stretched her arms luxuriously above her head and exhaled a long sigh
of relief. Then, running like a child let out of school, she fled down
the long hall to the telephone stand. Lifting the receiver, her
fingers fairly danced upon the forked clip which had held it.

Her imperative summons was answered with a most unusual promptness by
the exchange--it was going to be a lucky day altogether, she told
herself. Demanding, "Trunks, please!" she gave the number of the
Edenhall flat and prepared to possess her soul in patience till her
call came through.

At lunch she was almost too excited to eat, and when finally Morton,
entering quietly, announced: "Y