s, she swayed a little when she walked, as though with fatigue. She
seemed to bring with her into the cool, quiet garden, with its country
odours and general air of peace, an alien note. One almost heard the deep
undercry from a far-away world of suffering--the great, ever-moving
wheels seemed to have caught her up and thrown her down in this most
incongruous of places. Clara, in her cool white dress, her fresh
complexion, her general air of health and girlish vigour, seemed, as she
rose to her feet, a creature of another sex, almost of another world. The
two girls exchanged for a moment wondering glances. Then Mannering
intervened.

"Hester!" he exclaimed. "Why--is there anything wrong?"

"Nothing--very serious," she answered. "But I had to see you. I thought
that I had better come."

He held out his hands.

"You have had a tiring journey," he said. "You must come into the house
and let them find you something to eat. Clara, this is Hester Phillimore,
the daughter of an old friend of mine. Will you see about a room for her,
and lend her anything she requires?"

"Of course," Clara answered. "Won't you come into the house with me?" she
added pleasantly to the girl. "You must be horribly tired travelling this
hot weather, and this is such an out-of-the-way corner of the world!"

Hester lingered for a moment, glancing nervously at Mannering.

"I must go back to-night," she said. "I only came because I thought that
it would be quicker than writing."

"To-night?" he exclaimed. "But, my dear girl, that is impossible. There
are no trains, and you are tired out already. Go into the house with my
niece, and we will have a talk afterwards."

He walked across the lawn with them, talking pleasantly to Hester,
as though her visit were in no sense of the word unpleasant, or an
extraordinary event. But when he returned to his seat under the cedar
tree his whole expression was changed. The lines about his face had
insensibly deepened. He leaned a little forward, looking with weary,
unseeing eyes into the tangled shrubbery. Had all men, he wondered, this
secret chapter in their lives--the one sore place so impossible to
forget, the cupboard of shadows never wholly closed, shadows which at any
moment might steal out and encompass his darkening life? He sat there
motionless, and his thoughts travelled backwards. There were many things
in his life which he had forgotten, but never this. Every word that had
been spoken, every deta