lies and newspapers."

"He might write a political romance, after the pattern of Disraeli,"
said Anne, who wondered why Lord Hunsdon did not take to romantic
composition himself.

"Oh, not fiction, not by any means. Work that requires the exercise of
the merely intellectual powers, not that fatal creative-spot. But will
you promise, Miss Percy? Will you permit me to make sure that you
understand your solemn responsibility?"

He faced her, his eyes flashing with that fanatical fire that would
have sent him to the stake three centuries since. They seemed to
retreat, become minute, bore through her. Anne, whose mind was in
confusion, and not a little angered, stirred uneasily, but she
replied in a calm decided tone.

"I fully realise my responsibility. Make no doubt of that. I know what
I have done, what I am undertaking, I shall live for him, never for
myself. I promise you that, if you think the promise necessary."

"And you will never let him write another line of poetry?"

"Not if I believed it would do him more hurt than good."

"That is not enough," cried Hunsdon passionately. "You must be
unconditional. One surrender and he is lost. If it were a mere case of
brandy while he was writing--but you have not the least idea what it
leads to. He is transformed, another man--not a man at all. And when
he emerged, did he enter that horror again, he would loathe himself as
he never did before. He would be without one shred of self-respect. I
shudder to think what would be the final result."

"You will admit that as his wife I may find better opportunities to
understand that complicated nature than you have had."

"Will you not make me that promise?"

"I will only promise to be guided by my judgment, not by my feelings.
I hear Byam's voice. After all, it is hardly fair to talk him over
like this."

CHAPTER XX

Hunsdon did not give up the siege, and rode out daily, much to the
complacency of Miss Ogilvy, to whom Anne contrived to turn him over.
Lady Constance, who found Medora amusing, was still further amused by
the subtle currents beneath the surface, blind only to the shrewd
young Colonial's court of herself, and was finally inspired to invite
her to London for the season. Miss Ogilvy, in her own way, was as
happy as Anne. A younger sister was returning from England and could
take over her duties at the Grange; Lady Mary, riding dashingly about
the island with the spirit of eighteen, was caught in a sh