you run and ask Maitresse
Aimable to come here to me soon?" Her voice had the steadiness of
despair--that steadiness coming to those upon whose nerves has fallen a
great numbness, upon whose sensibilities has settled a cloud that stills
them as the thick mist stills the ripples on the waters of a fen.

All the glamour of Guida's youth had dropped away. She had deemed life
good, and behold, it was not good; she had thought her dayspring was on
high, and happiness had burnt into darkness like quick-consuming flax.
But all was strangely quiet in her heart and mind. Nothing more that
she feared could happen to her; the worst had fallen, and now there came
down on her the impermeable calm of the doomed.

Carterette was awed by her face, and saying that she would go at once to
Maitresse Aimable, she started towards the door, but as quickly stopped
and came back to Guida. With none of the impulse that usually marked her
actions, she put her arms round Guida's neck and kissed her, saying with
a subdued intensity:

"I'd go through fire and water for you. I want to help you every way I
can--me."

Guida did not say a word, but she kissed the hot cheek of the
smuggler-pirate's daughter, as in dying one might kiss the face of a
friend seen with filmy eyes.

When she had gone Guida drew herself up with a shiver. She was conscious
that new senses and instincts were born in her, or were now first
awakened to life. They were not yet under control, but she felt them,
and in so far as she had power to think, she used them.

Leaving the house and stepping into the Place du Vier Prison, she walked
quietly and steadily up the Rue d'Driere. She did not notice that people
she met glanced at her curiously, and turned to look after her as she
hurried on.

CHAPTER XXVI

It had been a hot, oppressive day, but when, a half-hour later, Guida
hastened back from a fruitless visit to the house of the Dean, who was
absent in England, a vast black cloud had drawn up from the south-east,
dropping a curtain of darkness upon the town. As she neared the doorway
of the cottage, a few heavy drops began to fall, and, in spite of
her bitter trouble, she quickened her footsteps, fearing that her
grandfather had come back, to find the house empty and no light or
supper ready.

M. de Mauprat had preceded her by not more than five minutes. His
footsteps across the Place du Vier Prison had been unsteady, his head
bowed, though more than once he rai