d this recollection still further
enhanced that eerie feeling of terror which had assailed her since that
fateful moment in the vestry.

But she tried to be natural and even gay with him, though at the first
words of tender reproach with which she gently chided him for his
prolonged absence, he broke into one of those passionate accesses of
fury which had always frightened her, but now left her strangely cold
and unresponsive.

Was the subtle change in him as well as in her? She could not say.
Certain it is that, though his hands had sought hers in the darkness,
and pressed them vehemently, when first they met he had not attempted to
kiss her.

For this she was immeasurably grateful.

He was obviously constrained, and so was she, and when she opposed a
cold silence to his outburst of passion, he immediately, and seemingly
without any effort, changed his tone and talked more reasonably, even
glibly of his work, which he said was awaiting him now in France.

Everything was ready there, he explained, for the great political
propaganda which he had planned and which could be commenced
immediately.

All that was needed now was the money. In what manner it would be needed
and for what definite purpose he did not condescend to explain, nor did
she care to ask. But she told him that she would be sole mistress of her
fortune on the 2d of November, the date of her twenty-first birthday.

After that he spoke no more of money, but promised to meet her at
regular intervals during the six weeks which would intervene until the
great day when she would be free to proclaim her marriage and place
herself unreservedly in the hands of her husband.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ABSENT FRIEND

The prince kept his word, and she was fairly free to see him at least
once a week, somewhere within the leafy thicknesses of the park or in
the woods, usually at the hour when dusk finally yields to the
overwhelming embrace of night.

Sir Marmaduke was away. In London or Canterbury, she could not say, but
she had scarcely seen him since that terrible time, when he came back
from town having left Richard Lambert languishing in disgrace and in
prison.

Oh! how she missed the silent and thoughtful friend who in those days of
pride and of joy had angered her so, because he seemed to stand for
conscience and for prudence, when she only thought of happiness and of
love.

There was an almost humiliating isolation about her now. Nobody seemed