,
her sacred love for him was there, his love for her was a nightmare to
her now. She had lost herself, and it was as though she lost him, while
he pleaded thus. And again and again she answered, resolute and
tormented:--"No: no: never--never. Do not speak so to me.--Do not--I beg
of you."

Suddenly he released her. He straightened himself, and moved away from
her a little. Someone had entered.

Amabel dropped her hands and raised her eyes at last. Augustine stood
before them.

Augustine had on still his long travelling coat; his cap, beaded with
raindrops, was in his hand; his yellow hair was ruffled. He had entered
hastily. He stood there looking at them, transfixed, yet not astonished.
He was very pale.

For some moments no one of them spoke. Sir Hugh did not move further
from his wife's side: he was neither anxious nor confused; but his face
wore an involuntary scowl.

The deep confusion was Amabel's. But her husband had released her; no
longer pleaded; and with the lifting of that dire oppression the
realities of her life flooded her almost with relief. It was impossible,
this gay, this facile, this unseemly love, but, as she rejected and put
it from her, the old love was the stronger, cherished the more closely,
in atonement and solicitude, the man shrunk from and repulsed. And in
all the deep confusion, before her son,--that he should find her so,
almost in her husband's arms,--a flash of clarity went through her mind
as she saw them thus confronted. Deeper than ever between her and
Augustine was the challenge of her love and his hatred; but it was that
sacred love that now needed safeguards; she could not feel it when her
husband was near and pleading; Augustine was her refuge from oppression.

She rose and went to him and timidly clasped his arm. "Dear Augustine, I
am so glad you have come back. I have missed you so."

He stood still, not responding to her touch: but, as she held him, he
looked across the room at Sir Hugh. "You wrote you missed me. That's why
I came."

Sir Hugh now strolled to the fire and stood before it, turning to face
Augustine's gaze; unperturbed; quite at ease.

"How wet you are dear," said Amabel. "Take off this coat."

Augustine stripped it off and flung it on a chair. She could hear his
quick breathing: he did not look at her. And still it seemed to her that
it was his anger rather than his love that protected her.

"He will want to change, dearest," said Sir Hugh from be