t on lips and eyes. He would suffer; of a certainty
he would suffer. So surely as he was made in man's image, the day would
dawn when his joy would be changed into despair. A wild longing seized
Vanna to give her lover happiness while she might; to give him such a
summer of joy and content that when the winter came he should look back
and feel the price well paid.

Her fingers tightened on his arm, her eyes sought his in feverish
entreaty.

"Piers! if I do give in--I have no strength to oppose you--if I give in,
swear to me that if the time comes when you regret--when you feel bound,
because there is some one"--she gulped painfully--"some one else whom
you could take for a wife--swear that you will be honest with me; that
you will not let me spoil your life! Swear that you will tell me the
truth."

He smiled into her troubled face, taking possession of her hands in a
close, comforting grasp.

"What would you think if I asked the same promise of you? Can't you
give me credit for as much consistency as yourself? Is it possible that
I could grow tired of _you_?"

But at that moment Vanna had no ears for the sweet protestations of
love. Her grasp grew but the tighter, her gaze the more distressed.

"Swear to me! Swear!"

Piers gave a short, half-impatient laugh.

"I swear it. Now are you content?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A FALSE POSITION.

Vanna begged a month's grace before the announcement of her engagement
was made public, and before half that time had passed, had said good-bye
to the seaside cottage in which she had known such peaceful, happy days,
and, in response to an urgent invitation, had gone to pay a long visit
to Jean.

"You said the time would come when I should need you," wrote Jean, in a
long pencilled scrawl, "and it has arrived! I need you badly, dear; I
crave for you. At this moment I feel I must either have a kind,
understanding woman near me, or die! I am so ill, Vanna, and so weak,
and so frightened! It has been such a long, long time, and I never knew
before what it was like to be ill. One does not grow used to it--it
grows harder and harder, and the days are so eternally long. I don't
apologise for asking you to exchange one invalid for another; another
person might think it hard, but not you, you dear angel--it will be an
inducement to you. And you'll stay until it is over, won't you, and
keep house, and look after Robert, when I'm upstairs? Oh, the joy, and
the eas