free her hand, but he kept it. "Look at me!" he said. "Do
you remember that day in March--the day you saw me whipped like a dog?"

Involuntarily she raised her eyes to his. "Oh, don't!" she whispered,
shuddering. "Don't!"

But he persisted. "You felt that thrashing far more than I did, though it
made a murderer of me. You were furious for my sake. Did you never ask
yourself why?" Then in a lower voice, bending towards her, "Do you think
I didn't know the moment I saw your face above mine? Do you think I
didn't feel the love in your arms, holding me up? Do you think it isn't
in your eyes--even now?"

"Oh, hush!" she said again piteously. "Nap, you are hurting me. I cannot
bear it. Even if it were so, love--true love--is a sacred thing--not to
be turned into sin."

"Sin!" he said. "What is sin? Is it sin to fulfil the very purpose for
which you were created?"

But at that she winced so sharply that he knew he had gone too far.
It was characteristic of the man that he made no attempt to recover
lost ground.

"I'm a wicked pagan no doubt," he said, with a touch of recklessness.
"Everyone will tell you so. I fancy I've told you so myself more than
once. Yet you needn't shrink as if I were unclean. I have done nothing
that you would hate me for since I have known you."

He paused and seemed to listen, then very quietly released her hand. A
curious expression flickered across his face as he did so, and a little
chill went through her. It was like the closing of the furnace door.

"I am going," he said. "But I shall come back--I shall come back." His
smile, sudden and magnetic, gleamed for an instant and was gone.

"Do you remember the missing heart?" he said "There are some things that
I never forget."

And so, without farewell, he turned and left her, moving swiftly and
easily over the grass. She heard the jingle of his spurs, but no sound of
any footfall as he went.

CHAPTER IV

THE FATAL STREAK

"My lady!"

Anne looked up with a start. She had been sitting with closed eyes under
the lilac tree.

Dimsdale, discreet and deferential as ever, stood before her.

"Mr. Lucas Errol is here," he told her, "with another gentleman. I knew
your ladyship would wish to be at home to him."

"Oh, certainly," she answered, rising. "I am always at home to Mr. Lucas
Errol. Please tell him I am coming immediately."

But she did not instantly follow Dimsdale. She stood instead quite
motionless, with her face to