-room. I sent her out to call the
driver of the pony-chaise into the house.

The man came in--the rough man whom I had noticed when we were
approaching the garden gate. Benjamin opened the library door in stern
silence. It was perhaps unworthy of me, but I could _not_ resist the
temptation to look in.

Miserrimus Dexter had sunk down in the chair. The rough man lifted his
master with a gentleness that surprised me. "Hide my face," I heard
Dexter say to him, in broken tones. He opened his coarse pilot-jacket,
and hid his master's head under it, and so went silently out--with the
deformed creature held to his bosom, like a woman sheltering her child.

CHAPTER XXXVI. ARIEL.

I PASSED a sleepless night.

The outrage that had been offered to me was bad enough in itself.
But consequences were associated with it which might affect me more
seriously still. In so far as the attainment of the one object of my
life might yet depend on my personal association with Miserrimus Dexter,
an insurmountable obstacle appeared to be now placed in my way. Even in
my husband's interests, ought I to permit a man who had grossly insulted
me to approach me again? Although I was no prude, I recoiled from the
thought of it.

I arose late, and sat down at my desk, trying to summon energy enough to
write to Mr. Playmore--and trying in vain.

Toward noon (while Benjamin happened to be out for a little while) the
housekeeper announced the arrival of another strange visitor at the gate
of the villa.

"It's a woman this time, ma'am--or something like one," said this worthy
person, confidentially. "A great, stout, awkward, stupid creature, with
a man's hat on and a man's stick in her hand. She says she has got a
note for you, and she won't give it to anybody _but_ you. I'd better not
let her in--had I?"

Recognizing the original of the picture, I astonished the housekeeper by
consenting to receive the messenger immediately.

Ariel entered the room--in stolid silence, as usual. But I noticed a
change in her which puzzled me. Her dull eyes were red and bloodshot.
Traces of tears (as I fancied) were visible on her fat, shapeless
cheeks. She crossed the room, on her way to my chair, with a less
determined tread than was customary with her. Could Ariel (I asked
myself) be woman enough to cry? Was it within the limits of possibility
that Ariel should approach me in sorrow and in fear?

"I hear you have brought something for me?" I said. "Won'