mes might be perpetrated in that secrecy as
they rode through the green lanes of the larch plantations? Never was
a better solitude made for lovers. Her imaginings left her tantalised
and thwarted, for she was sure now, more than ever, that there was a
secret to be surprised.

She lay there sleepless in the dark till the stable clock slowly struck
twelve. Then she sighed to herself and decided that she must try to
sleep.

XVIII

Lying thus, upon the verge of slumber, Mrs. Payne became aware of a
sound of light steps in the corridor outside her room. She opened her
eyes and lay with tense muscles listening. The sound was unmistakable,
and the steps came from the direction of Arthur's room, the only one on
that side of hers that was occupied. The steps came nearer. Passing
her bedroom door they became tiptoe and cautious, as though the walker,
whoever he might be, was anxious not to arouse her attention. The
sound passed and grew fainter down the length of the corridor, and she
knew then that the very worst had happened, for Gabrielle's room lay at
the end of the passage. Many things she had dreaded, but not this last
enormity.

She crept out of bed, neglecting in her anxiety to put on a
dressing-gown, and went softly to the door. She wondered how she could
open it without making a noise, and if, when she had opened it, she
could hear at such a distance.

Very carefully with her hot hand she turned the door handle and opened
a small chink that fortunately allowed her to look along the passage
towards Gabrielle's room. Through a window halfway down the corridor
moonlight cut across it, throwing on the floor the distorted shadow of
an Etruscan vase. She remembered that Arthur's father had bought it in
Italy on their honeymoon, yet, while this thought went through her
mind, her ears were strained to listen. She could do no more, for the
further end of the passage was plunged by this insulating flood of
moonlight into inscrutable darkness.

It was so quiet that she felt that she had missed him; he had already
entered her room; but while she considered the awful indignity of
surprising him there, the sound of a light tapping on the door's panel
relieved her. She thanked God that she was still in time.

The knock was repeated and evidently answered, for now she heard him
speak in a whisper. He called her Mrs. Considine--it was ridiculous!
"Are you awake?" she heard. "The nightingale--yes, the nigh