Buenos Ayres."

Concealment was no longer possible. Justine handed the message to the
surgeon.

"Ah--and there would be no chance of finding his address among Mrs.
Amherst's papers?"

"I think not--no."

"Well--we must keep her alive, Wyant."

"Yes, sir."

* * * * *

At dusk, Justine sat in the library, waiting for Cicely to be brought to
her. A lull had descended on the house--a new order developed out of the
morning's chaos. With soundless steps, with lowered voices, the
machinery of life was carried on. And Justine, caught in one of the
pauses of inaction which she had fought off since morning, was reliving,
for the hundredth time, her few moments at Bessy's bedside....

She had been summoned in the course of the afternoon, and stealing into
the darkened room, had bent over the bed while the nurses noiselessly
withdrew. There lay the white face which had been burnt into her inward
vision--the motionless body, and the head stirring ceaselessly, as
though to release the agitation of the imprisoned limbs. Bessy's eyes
turned to her, drawing her down.

"Am I going to die, Justine?"

"No."

"The pain is...so awful...."

"It will pass...you will sleep...."

"Cicely----"

"She has gone for a walk. You'll see her presently."

The eyes faded, releasing Justine. She stole away, and the nurses came
back.

Bessy had spoken of Cicely--but not a word of her husband! Perhaps her
poor dazed mind groped for him, or perhaps it shrank from his name....
Justine was thankful for her silence. For the moment her heart was
bitter against Amherst. Why, so soon after her appeal and his answer,
had he been false to the spirit of their agreement? This unannounced,
unexplained departure was nothing less than a breach of his tacit
pledge--the pledge not to break definitely with Lynbrook. And why had he
gone to South America? She drew her aching brows together, trying to
retrace a vague memory of some allusion to the cotton-growing
capabilities of the region.... Yes, he had spoken of it once in talking
of the world's area of cotton production. But what impulse had sent him
off on such an exploration? Mere unrest, perhaps--the intolerable burden
of his useless life? The questions spun round and round in her head,
weary, profitless, yet persistent....

It was a relief when Cicely came--a relief to measure out the cambric
tea, to make the terrier beg for ginger-bread, even to take up the
thread