e. Hundreds and hundreds of miles away in
England. Left Italy for good."

"My dear boy, she is living at Priesthope, four miles off. I've told you
so over and over again. I go and see her every day."

"Yes, at Priesthope, of course. Four miles. I know the way. You can go
by Wind Farm, or Pilgrim Road. You did tell me. More cheerful as time
passes on."

Wentworth looked with perplexity at Michael's thin profile. The doctor
had most solemnly assured him that his mind was only muffled and
deadened by his physical weakness. But it sometimes seemed to Wentworth
as if his brother's brain were softening.

He felt a sudden return of the blind despairing rage which was wont to
grip him after his visits to Michael in prison. This inert, cold-blooded
shadow; was this all that was left of his brother?

A great tenderness welled up in his heart, the old, old protective
tenderness of many years. He put his strong brown hand on his brother's
emaciated, once beautiful hand, now disfigured by coarse labour, and
scarred and discoloured at the wrist.

"Get well, Michael," he said huskily.

Michael's hand trembled a little, seemed to shrink involuntarily.

Then a servant appeared suddenly, coming towards them across the grass,
and Wentworth took back his hand instantly.

"The Duchess of Colle Alto and Miss Bellairs are in the library."

"Are you quite sure that you _really_ wish to see them--that it will not
tire you?" said Wentworth.

"Quite sure."

"I will bring them out."

"No. Send one at a time. Fay first."

Michael lay back and closed his eyes.

* * * * *

On this May morning as Fay and Magdalen drove together to Barford,
Magdalen looked at her sister's radiant face, not with astonishment, she
had got over that, but with something more like fear.

The happiness of some natures terrifies those who love them by its
appearance of brittleness. To Magdalen Fay's present joy seemed like a
bit of Venetian glass on the extreme edge of a cabinet at a child's
elbow.

It is difficult for those who have imagination to understand the
_insouciance_ which looks so like heartlessness of the unimaginative.
The inevitable meeting with Michael seemed to cast no shadow on Fay's
spirits; Wentworth's ignorance of certain sinister facts did not seem to
disturb her growing love for him.

Their way lay through a pine wood under the shoulder of the down. The
whortleberry with its tiny foliage made a mini