o, David," she said. Her voice was low and she spoke with a
steadiness that alarmed me. "I will go."

Torn with pity, I thought again, but I could see no alternative. And
then, suddenly, she was clinging to me, her courage gone, her breast
shaken with sobs. "Where shall I go?" she cried. "God help me! Are there
no remote places where He will not seek me out? I have tried them all,
David." And quite as suddenly she disengaged herself, and looked at me
strangely. "You are well revenged for Temple Bow," she said.

"Hush," I answered, and held her, fearing I knew not what, "you have not
lacked courage. It is not so bad as you believe. I will devise a plan
and help you. Have you money?"

"Yes," she answered, with a remnant of her former pride; "and I have an
annuity paid now to Mr. Clark."

"Then listen to what I say," I answered. "To-night I will take you to
New Orleans and hide you safely. And I swear to you, whether it be
right or wrong, that I will use every endeavor to change Nick's feelings
towards you. Come," I continued, leading her gently into the path, "let
us go while there is yet time."

"Stop," she said, and I halted fearfully. "David Ritchie, you are a good
man. I can make no amends to you,"--she did not finish.

Feeling for the path in the blackness of the wood, I led her by the
hand, and she followed me as trustfully as a child. At last, after an
age of groping, the heavy scents of shrubs and flowers stole to us on
the night air, and we came out at the hedge into what seemed a blaze of
light that flooded the rows of color. Here we paused, breathless, and
looked. The bench under the great tree was vacant, and the garden was
empty.

It was she who led the way through the hedge, who halted in the garden
path at the sound of voices. She turned, but there was no time to flee,
for the tall figure of a man came through the opposite hedge, followed
by a lady. One was Nicholas Temple, the other, Mademoiselle de St.
Gre. Mrs. Temple's face alone was in the shadow, and as I felt her hand
trembling on my arm I summoned all my resources. It was Nick who spoke
first.

"It is Davy!" he cried. "Oh, the sly rascal! And this is the promenade
of which he left us word, the solitary meditation! Speak up, man; you
are forgiven for deserting us."

He turned, laughing, to Mademoiselle. But she stood with her lips parted
and her hands dropped, staring at my companion. Then she took two steps
forward and stopped with a cry.