He
turned to her now with a manner that was preternaturally quiet.

"Very well!" he said. "I understand! But there is no need for you to
trouble. All our arrangements are made--have been made for months. We
attend the Gathering to-night; and afterwards, when Hellier Crescent is
quiet, we go--as unobtrusively as we came. You see I give you the key to
our plans; you are free to frustrate them, if you think fit. I don't
believe I had any real hope of merciful judgment when I came here--women
are not merciful when they are robbed of their illusions. But I confess
I hoped for justice. I thought that you might hate me--"

"Hate you?" she cried. "Hate you? We only hate what we respect. I don't
hate you. I only despise you with all my heart. I want you to go before
I despise myself as well!" Her own cruel disillusioning--her own
unbearable sense of loss--swept over her afresh; her voice rose again,
and again broke hysterically. With an uncontrolled movement of grief and
mortification she turned away from him and threw herself upon a couch,
burying her face in the pillows.

For several minutes she cried tempestuously; then through the storm of
her angry tears she caught the sound of a closing door. With a start
she sat up and looked about her.

The faint relic of daylight still showed through the curtains of the
window; the firelight still played pleasantly on the untouched tea-table
and the fragile furniture; but the room was empty. The Prophet was
gone.

CHAPTER VIII

When she realized this fact, Enid rose from her seat with a murmur of
dismay. In her sharply feminine sense of loss, she took one involuntary
step towards the door; but almost as the step was taken, her anger, her
shattered faith assailed her anew, and, with a fresh burst of tears she
turned and flung herself back upon the couch.

For a long time she lay with her face among the pillows; then, at last,
as her angry sobs died out and the violence of her grief subsided, she
sat up, wiped her eyes, and glanced at her dripping handkerchief.

[Illustration: "WITH A FRESH BURST OF TEARS, SHE TURNED AND FLUNG
HERSELF UPON THE COUCH"]

At sight of the handkerchief--a mere wisp of wet cambric--her sense of
injury stung her afresh, and once more her lips began to quiver; but
fate had decided against further tears. Before her grief had gathered
force, the bell of the hall-door sounded once more long and loudly; and
hard upon the sound the door of the room