er from that foul shop as a tramp!

This is what I have lost! his soul cried to him.

He had not as yet recognized Lucy. But now she saw him, and with a
little inarticulate cry like that of a bird, she flew down the steps.
"Ah! It is you!" she said. "I thought you would come to welcome me
some time!"

Her voice was like a soft breath; her airy draperies blew against him.
It was as if a wonderful, beautiful dream were folding him in--and in.

He drew back. "I am not fit, Miss Dunbar. I did not know you were
here. Why--look at me!"

"Oh! You are ill! You have had an accident!" she cried. She had laid
her little white fingers on his hand and now, feeling it burn and
tremble at her touch, she caught it in both of her own and drew him
into the house.

"Mr. Waldeaux," she said to a servant who appeared, "has had a fall.
Bring him water and towels. Take care of him, Stephen." She spoke
quietly, but her voice trembled with fright.

The man led George to an inner room.

"Were you thrown, sir?" he asked sympathetically.

George hesitated. "Yes, I was thrown," he said grimly.

He made himself clean in angry haste, taking the whisk from the man and
brushing off the dry mud with a vicious fury.

Lucy came to meet him, with a pale, anxious smile. "You must not go
without a cup of hot coffee," she said, leading him to a lounge in the
hall. It was very sweet to be treated like a sick man!

"And God knows I am sick, body and soul!" he thought, sinking down.

Beside the lounge was a little table with one cover. He noted with
keen pleasure the delicate napery, the silver candlesticks, the bowl of
roses, with which the substantial meal was set out. Lucy waited on him
with the quick intelligence of a trained nurse. She scarcely spoke,
yet her every motion, as she served him, seemed a caress. When he had
finished he began to stammer out his thanks.

"No," she said, rising decisively. "You are too weak to talk to me
to-night, Mr. Waldeaux. The coupe is at the door. John will drive you
home. You need sleep now."

As he sank down into the luxurious cushions and drove away through the
twilight, he saw the little white figure in the door, and the grave
wistful face looking after him.

"Did she suspect!" he suddenly cried, starting up.

But George Waldeaux never knew how much Lucy suspected that night.

Meanwhile Mrs. Waldeaux's mare had jogged on leisurely, dragging her
mistress and Miss Vance home th