d sought by
many others.

Suddenly life presented to Lady Holme its seamy side; Fate attacking
her in her woman's vanity, her egoism, even in her love. The vision
startled. The blow stung. She was conscious of confusion, of cloud, then
of a terrible orderliness, of a clear light. In the confusion she seemed
to hear voices never heard before, voices that dared to jeer at her; in
the cloud to see phantoms of gigantic size menacing her, impending over
her. The orderliness, the clear light were more frightful to her. They
left less to her imagination; had, as it were, no ragged edges. In
them she faced a definite catastrophe, saw it whole, as one sees a near
object in the magical atmosphere of the East, outlined with burning
blue, quivering with relentless gold. She saw herself in the dust,
pelted, mocked at.

That seemed at first to be incredible. But she saw it so plainly that
she could not even pretend to herself that she was deceived by some
unusual play of light or combination of shadows. What she saw--was:

Her husband had thrown off his allegiance to her and transferred his
admiration, perhaps his affection, to the woman who had most deftly and
delicately insulted her in the face of all her world. And he had done
this with the most abominable publicity. That was what she saw in a
clear light like the light of the East. That was what sent a lash across
her temperament, scarring it perhaps, but waking it into all it could
ever have of life. In each woman there is hidden a second woman, more
fierce and tender, more evil and good, more strong and fervent than the
woman who hides her in the ordinary hours of life; a woman who weeps
blood where the other woman weeps tears, who strikes with a flaming
sword where the other woman strikes with a willow wand.

This woman now rose up in Lady Holme, rose up to do battle.

The laughing, frivolous world was all unconscious of her. Lord Holme was
unconscious of her. But she was at last fully conscious of herself.

This woman remembered Robin Pierce's odd belief and the light words
with which she had chastised it. He had persistently kept faith in, and
sought for, a far-away being. But she was a being of light and glory.
His kernel of the husk was still a siren, but a siren with a heart, with
an exquisite imagination, with a fragrance of dreams about her, a lilt
of eternal music in her voice, the beaming, wonder of things unearthly
in her eyes. Poor Robin! Lady Holme found it i