. Ah, the saints preserve us, what's
that?"

A brisk tap at the door had made her jump with violence. She went to
parley with a guilty air.

In a moment or two she shut the door and came back. "It's that flighty
young French hussy, Miss Dinah; her they call Yvonne. She says Sir
Eustace is waiting for ye downstairs."

A great revulsion of feeling went through Dinah. It shook her like an
overwhelming tempest and passed, leaving her deadly cold. She turned
white to the lips.

"I can't go to him, Biddy," she said. "I can't dance to-night. Yvonne
must tell him."

Biddy gave her a searching look. "Ye won't let him find out, Miss Dinah?"
she urged. "Won't he guess now if ye stay up here?"

The earnest entreaty of the old bright eyes moved her. She turned to the
door. "Oh, very well. I'll go myself and tell him."

"Ye won't let him suspect, mavourneen--mavourneen?" pleaded Biddy
desperately.

"No, Biddy, no! Haven't I sworn it a dozen times already?" Dinah had
reached the door; she looked back for a moment and her look was steadfast
notwithstanding the deathly pallor of her face. Then she passed slowly
forth, and heard old Biddy softly turn the key behind her, making
assurance doubly sure.

Slowly she moved along the passage. It was deserted, but the sound of
laughing voices and the tuning of violins floated up from below. Again
that feeling that was akin to physical sickness assailed Dinah. Down
there he was waiting for her, waiting to be intoxicated into headlong,
devouring passion by her dancing. She seemed to feel his arms already
holding her, straining her to him, so that the warmth of him was as a
fiery atmosphere all about her, encompassing her, possessing her. Her
whole body burned at the thought, and then again was cold--cold as though
she had drunk a draught of poison. She stood still, feeling too sick to
go on.

And then, while she waited, she heard a step. Her heart seemed to spring
into her throat, throbbing wildly like a caged bird seeking freedom. She
drew back against the wall, trembling from head to foot.

He came along the passage, magnificent, princely, confident, swinging his
shoulders with that semi-conscious swagger she knew so well. He spied her
where she stood, and she heard his brief, half-mocking laugh as he strode
to her.

"Ah, Daphne! Hiding as usual!" he said.

He took her between his hands, and she felt the mastery of him in that
free hold. She stood as a prisoner in his grasp. He