this
crisis of emotion heightened its cruelty.

Piers might come to the Castle this morning. Now and then she glanced
from her window, if perchance she should see him approaching; but all
she saw was a group of holiday-makers, the happily infrequent tourists
who cared to turn from the beaten track up the dale to visit the
Castle. She did not know whether Helen was at home, or had rambled
away. If Piers came, and his call was announced to her, could she go
forth and see him?

Not to do so, would be unjust, both to herself and to him. The
relations between them demanded, of all things, honesty and courage. No
little courage, it was true; for she must speak to him plainly of
things from which she shrank even in communing with herself.

Yet she had done as hard a thing as this. Harder, perhaps, that
interview with Arnold Jacks which set her free. Honesty and
courage--clearness of sight and strength of purpose where all but every
girl would have drifted dumbly the common way--had saved her life from
the worst disaster: saved, too, the man whom her weakness would have
wronged. Had she not learnt the lesson which life sets before all, but
which only a few can grasp and profit by?

Towards midday she left her room, and went in search of Helen; not
finding her within doors, she stepped out on to the sward, and strolled
in the neighbourhood of the Castle. A child whom she knew approached
her.

"Have you seen Mrs. Borisoff?" she asked.

"She's down at the beck, with the gentleman," answered the little girl,
pointing with a smile to the deep, leaf-hidden glen half a mile away.

Irene lingered for a few minutes and went in again.

At luncheon-time Helen had not returned. The meal was delayed for her,
more than a quarter of an hour. When at length she entered, Irene saw
she had been hastening; but Helen's features seemed to betray some
other cause of discomposure than mere unpunctuality. Having glanced at
her once or twice, Irene kept an averted face. Neither spoke as they
sat down to table; only when they had begun the meal did Helen ask
whether her friend felt better. The reply was a brief affirmative. For
the rest of the time they talked a little, absently, about
trivialities; then they parted; without any arrangement for the
afternoon.

Irene's mind was in that state of perilous commotion which invests with
dire significance any event not at once intelligible. Alone in her
chamber, she sat brooding with tragic counte