dismay sent the blood to her heart. Aunt
Philippa was going to speak to him upon this subject, was going to
suggest unspeakable things, was going to talk over her conduct with him
and make him furious in earnest. And then it would all come out about her
having met Bertrand all those years ago. Trevor would mention that in the
natural course of things, and then Aunt Philippa would tell him--would
tell him--

"Chris, dear, what is the matter? You are as white as a ghost."

It was Hilda's voice gently recalling her. She came to herself with a
start, and the hot blood rose to her cheeks with a rush.

"Are you very tired after yesterday?" her cousin asked. "I am afraid you
got up too early."

"Oh, no!" said Chris. "I wasn't early at all. I didn't ride this morning.
Jack has promised to come for me this evening instead."

She diverted Hilda's attention desperately. She could not make
confidences in the presence of the dressmaker. Moreover, she was not sure
that she wanted to talk even to Hilda about her pal from Valpre. It was
true Hilda understood most things, but Aunt Philippa had somehow managed
to inspire her with a sense of guilt. She knew she could not speak of
Bertrand with ease to anyone now.

Besides, there was no time. The moment she was free she must manage
somehow to communicate with Trevor. She must warn him of Aunt Philippa's
intentions. She must explain to him.

She did not want him to know about that night in the Magic Cave.
Everyone who heard of it was shocked, everyone except Max, and he made
a speciality of never being shocked at anything. Why, it was even
possible--here a new thought leaped up and struck her an unexpected
blow--was it not more than possible that it was this self-same event that
had given rise to the insult that had led to the duel? Of course that
must be it! That was why Bertrand so persistently refused to enlighten
her. How was it she had never before thought of it? It was the truth of
course! How had she failed to see anything so glaringly apparent?

Yes, it was the truth. She had blundered upon it unawares, and now she
surveyed it horror-stricken, remembering Bertrand's warning that the
knowledge of evil was a poisonous thing. So must Eve have felt when first
her eyes were opened to the wisdom of the gods.

She was free at last, and sped up to her room. The scribbled message that
reached her _fiance_ an hour later was only just legible, but it spoke
more eloquently of the sta