nd--though she lived in secret
tremor lest the normal liberty permitted her should suddenly be snatched
away.

"We never talked of Nigel," she said, twisting her hands. "But he made
me begin to live again. He talked to me of Something that watched and
would not leave me--would never leave me. I was learning to believe it.
Sometimes when I walked through the wood to the village, I used to stop
among the trees and look up at the bits of sky between the branches, and
listen to the sound in the leaves--the sound that never stops--and it
seemed as if it was saying something to me. And I would clasp my hands
and whisper, 'Yes, yes,' 'I will,' 'I will.' I used to see Nigel looking
at me at table with a queer smile in his eyes and once he said
to me--'You are growing young and lovely, my dear. Your colour is
improving. The counsels of our friend are of a salutary nature.' It
would have made me nervous, but he said it almost good-naturedly, and I
was silly enough even to wonder if it could be possible that he was
pleased to see me looking less ill. It was true, Betty, that I was
growing stronger. But it did not last long."

"I was afraid not," said Betty.

"An old woman in the lane near Bartyon Wood was ill. Mr. Ffolliott had
asked me to go to see her, and I used to go. She suffered a great deal
and clung to us both. He comforted her, as he comforted me. Sometimes
when he was called away he would send a note to me, asking me to go to
her. One day he wrote hastily, saying that she was dying, and asked if I
would go with him to her cottage at once. I knew it would save time if
I met him in the path which was a short cut. So I wrote a few words and
gave them to the messenger. I said, 'Do not come to the house. I will
meet you in Bartyon Wood.'"

Betty made a slight movement, and in her face there was a dawning of
mingled amazement and incredulity. The thought which had come to her
seemed--as Ughtred's locking of the door had seemed--too wild for modern
days.

Lady Anstruthers saw her expression and understood it. She made a
hopeless gesture with her small, bony hand.

"Yes," she said, "it is just like that. No one would believe it. The
worst cleverness of the things he does, is that when one tells of them,
they sound like lies. I have a bewildered feeling that I should not
believe them myself if I had not seen them. He met the boy in the park
and took the note from him. He came back to the house and up to my room,
where I w