ne said.

"Always, Lady Carfax." Very quietly, with absolute confidence, came the
reply. "You may put your last dollar on that, and you won't lose it. We
settled that many years ago, once and for all. But I've been asking
myself lately if I need be so anxious, if possibly Rome may be nearer
completion than I imagine. Is it so? Is it so? I sometimes think you know
him better than I do myself."

"I!" Anne said.

"You, Lady Carfax."

With an effort she looked up. His eyes were no longer closely studying
her. He seemed to be looking beyond.

"If you can trust him," he said quietly, "I know that I can. The question
is--Can you?"

He waited very quietly for her answer, still not looking at her. But it
was long in coming.

At last. "I do not feel that I know him as I once did," she said, her
voice very low, "nor is my influence over him what it was. But I think,
if you trust him, he will not disappoint you."

The kindly eyes rested upon her again for a moment, but he made no
comment upon the form in which she had couched her reply.

He merely, after the briefest pause, smiled and thanked her.

CHAPTER VIII

A SUDDEN BLOW

Anne found herself the first to enter the drawing room that night before
dinner. It was still early, barely half-past seven. The theatricals were
to begin at nine.

She had her unopened letters with her, and she sat down to peruse them by
an open window. The evening sun poured full upon her in fiery splendour.
She leaned her head against the woodwork, a little wearied.

She opened the first letter mechanically. Her thoughts were wandering.
Without much interest she withdrew it from the envelope, saw it to be
unimportant, and returned it after the briefest inspection. The next was
of the same order, and received a similar treatment. The third and last
she held for several seconds in her hand, and finally opened with obvious
reluctance. It was from a doctor in the asylum in which her husband had
been placed. Slowly her eyes travelled along the page.

When she turned it at length her hands were shaking, shaking so much
that the paper rattled and quivered like a living thing. The writing
ended on the further page, but before her eyes reached the signature the
letter had fallen from her grasp. Anne, the calm, the self-contained, the
stately, sat huddled in her chair--a trembling, stricken woman, with her
hands pressed tightly over her eyes, as if to shut out some dread vision.

In the