away and hide.

He was very kind to her, more considerate than she had ever known him.
Perhaps he missed the fairy abandonment which had so delighted him in her
dancing of old; but he found no fault; and when the dance was over he did
not lead her away to some private corner as she had dreaded, but took her
instead to her father and stood with him for some time in talk.

She saw Scott in the distance, but he did not approach her while Eustace
was with them, and when her _fiance_ turned away at length he had
disappeared.

They were left comparatively alone, and Dinah slipped an urgent hand into
her father's. "I want to go home, Daddy. I'm so tired."

He looked at her in surprise, but she managed to muster a smile in reply,
and he was not observant enough to note the distress that lay behind it.

"Had enough of it, eh?" he questioned. "Well, I think you're wise. You'll
be busy to-morrow. By all means, let's go!"

It was not till the very last moment that she saw Scott again. He came
forward just as she was passing through the hall to the front door.

He took the hand she held out to him, looking at her with those straight,
steady eyes of his that there was no evading, but he made no comment of
any sort.

"Mr. Grey is coming by a morning train to-morrow," he said. "May I bring
him to call upon you in the afternoon? I believe he wants to run through
the wedding-service with you beforehand."

He smiled as he said it, but Dinah could not smile in answer. There was
something ominous to her in that last sentence, something that made her
think of the clanking of chains. She was relieved to hear her father
answer for her.

"Come by all means! Nothing like a dress rehearsal to make things go
smoothly. I'll tell my wife to expect you."

Scott's hand relinquished hers, and she felt suddenly cold. She murmured
a barely audible "Good night!" and turned away.

From the portico she glanced back and saw Sir Eustace leading Rose de
Vigne to the ballroom. The light shone full upon them. They made a
splendid couple. And a sudden bizarre thought smote her. This was what
the gods had willed. This had been the weaving of destiny; and
she--she--had dared to intervene, frustrating, tearing the gilded,
smooth-wrought threads apart.

Ah well! It was done now. It was too late to draw back. But the wrath of
the gods remained to be faced. Already it was upon her, and there was no
escape.

As one who hears a voice speaking from a fa