n image.

Sonia tottered to the window and stared down at the road along which
must come the tidings of weal or irremediable woe. She kept passing her
hand over her eyes as if to clear their vision.

Suddenly she started, and bent forward, rigid, all her being
concentrated in the effort to see.

Then she cried: "Mademoiselle Germaine! Look! Look!"

"What is it?" said Germaine, coming to her side.

"A horseman! Look! There!" said Sonia, waving a hand towards the road.

"Yes; and isn't he galloping!" said Germaine.

"It's he! It's the Duke!" cried Sonia.

"Do you think so?" said Germaine doubtfully.

"I'm sure of it--sure!"

"Well, he gets here just in time for tea," said Germaine in a tone of
extreme satisfaction. "He knows that I hate to be kept waiting. He said
to me, 'I shall be back by five at the latest.' And here he is."

"It's impossible," said Sonia. "He has to go all the way round the
park. There's no direct road; the brook is between us."

"All the same, he's coming in a straight line," said Germaine.

It was true. The horseman had left the road and was galloping across
the meadows straight for the brook. In twenty seconds he reached its
treacherous bank, and as he set his horse at it, Sonia covered her eyes.

"He's over!" said Germaine. "My father gave three hundred guineas for
that horse."

CHAPTER III

LUPIN'S WAY

Sonia, in a sudden revulsion of feeling, in a reaction from her fears,
slipped back and sat down at the tea-table, panting quickly, struggling
to keep back the tears of relief. She did not see the Duke gallop up
the slope, dismount, and hand over his horse to the groom who came
running to him. There was still a mist in her eyes to blur his figure
as he came through the window.

"If it's for me, plenty of tea, very little cream, and three lumps of
sugar," he cried in a gay, ringing voice, and pulled out his watch.
"Five to the minute--that's all right." And he bent down, took
Germaine's hand, and kissed it with an air of gallant devotion.

If he had indeed just fought a duel, there were no signs of it in his
bearing. His air, his voice, were entirely careless. He was a man whose
whole thought at the moment was fixed on his tea and his punctuality.

He drew a chair near the tea-table for Germaine; sat down himself; and
Sonia handed him a cup of tea with so shaky a hand that the spoon
clinked in the saucer.

"You've been fighting a duel?" said Germaine.

"What! You