solute as
it had been the day Catherine quitted Coverdale for the Sisterhood of
Penitence.

But the years which had elapsed since then had taken their inevitable
toll. Hugh had continued along the lines he had laid down for himself,
rigidly ascetic and austere, and his mode of life now revealed itself
unmistakably in his thin, emaciated face and eyes ablaze with fanatical
fervour.

Diane, thrust into a compulsory isolation utterly foreign to her
temperament, debarred the fulfilment of her womanhood which her
spontaneous, impetuous nature craved, had drooped and pined, gradually
losing both her buoyant spirit and her health in the loveless atmosphere
to which her husband had condemned her.

She had so counted on the prospect that a better understanding between
herself and Hugh would ensue after Catherine's departure that the
downfall of her hopes had come upon her as a bitter disappointment. Once
she had stifled her pride and begged him to live no longer as a stranger
to her. But he had repulsed her harshly, refusing her pleading with an
inexorable decision there was no combating.

Afterwards she had given herself up to despair, and gradually--almost
imperceptibly at first--her health had declined until finally, at the
urgent representations of Virginie, Hugh had called in Dr. Lancaster.

"There is no specific disease," he had said. "But none the
less"--looking very directly at Hugh--"your wife is dying, Vallincourt."

Diane had been told the first part of the doctor's pronouncement, and
recommended by her husband to "rouse herself" out of her apathetic
state.

"'No specific disease!'" she repeated bitterly, as she sat brooding in
the firelight. "No--only this death in life which I have had to endure.
Well, it will be over soon--and the sooner the better."

The door burst open suddenly and Magda came in to the room, checking
abruptly, with a child's stumbling consciousness of pain, as she caught
sight of her mother curled up in front of the fire, staring mutely into
its glowing heart.

"_Maman_?" she begin timidly. "_Petite maman_?"

Diane turned round.

"Cherie, is it thou?"

She kneeled up on the hearthrug and, taking the child in her arms,
searched her face with dry, bright eyes.

"Baby," she said. "Listen! And when thou art older, remember always what
I have said."

Magda stared at her, listening intently.

"Never, never give your heart to any man," continued Diane. "If you
do, he will only break