.

Nance stood watching her for a moment longer. Then she slipped softly
to her side, and put one arm about her neck.

"Don't be sad, darling," she murmured--"don't be sad! You shall go to
Ireland to-morrow, if you like; and all the planning--all the
explaining to Walter and to everybody--will be done by me."

And so it came to pass, in the extraordinary way with which events
sometimes precipitate themselves, that at four o'clock on the following
afternoon Clodagh was borne swiftly out of Paddington Station on the
first stage of her journey to Ireland.

The chain of incidents that had been forged by Nance to make this
departure feasible, as well as possible, had been too minute and
complex to make any impression upon Clodagh's mind. Her confession the
night before had been more a confession to herself than a conscious
unburdening of her soul to other ears; and having made it, she was
satisfied to resign herself into any hands that were willing and
capable of guiding her actions.

The first incident of the morning had been a visit from Gore. But it
had been Nance who had interviewed him first; and a quarter of an hour
later, when Clodagh had come into the drawing-room, nervous and guilty,
she had found him full of sympathy and solicitude for what he believed
to be her sudden recall to Ireland. Then had come the Estcoits; and
with their advent, more solicitude and more sympathy. Lunch time had
crept upon them almost unawares; and--again on Nance's initiative--the
whole party had adjourned to the Hyde Park Hotel, and had partaken of a
meal in company.

More than once during the crowded hours of the morning, Clodagh had
striven to draw her sister aside; but Nance, animated by an unusual
excitement, had evaded every possibility of a _tete-a-tete_.

It was only at the door of the railway carriage, when Gore and Estcoit
were superintending the labelling of her luggage, and Mrs. Estcoit and
Daisy were buying books and papers for her amusement, that at last they
had a word in private. Clodagh was standing in the open doorway of the
carriage, and Nance was on the step, when quite suddenly the latter put
up her hand and pressed a letter between her sister's fingers.

"My proper good-bye is in this letter, darling," she said. "I couldn't
say it before everybody. Kiss me, will you?"

Impulsively Clodagh bent forward, and the sisters exchanged a long
kiss.

"You have been an angel, Nance! I will thank you when--when----"