n the verge of saying something, but no
words came. There was a faint, half-mocking smile on Daisy's face
as she turned away. But she was silent also. It seemed that they
understood each other.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE SLEEP CALLED DEATH

It was an unspeakable relief to Muriel that, in congratulating her
upon her engagement, Daisy made no reference to Nick. She did not know
that this forbearance had been dictated long before by Nick himself.

The days that followed her engagement had in them a sort of rapture
that she had never known before. She felt as a young wild creature
suddenly escaped from the iron jaws of a trap in which it had long
languished, and she rioted in the sense of liberty that was hers. Her
youth was coming back to her in leaps and bounds with the advancing
spring.

She missed nothing in Blake's courtship. His gentleness had always
attracted her, and the intimacy that had been growing up between them
made their intercourse always easy and pleasant. They never spoke of
Nick. But ever in Muriel's heart there lay the soothing knowledge that
she had nothing more to fear. Her terrible, single-handed contests
against overwhelming odds were over, and she was safe. She was
convinced that, whatever happened, Blake would take care of her. Was
he not the protector she would have chosen from the beginning, could
she but have had her way?

So, placidly and happily, the days drifted by, till March was nearly
gone; and then, sudden and staggering as a shell from a masked
battery, there fell the blow that was destined to end that peaceful
time.

Very late one night there came a nervous knocking at Muriel's door,
and springing up from her bed she came face to face with Daisy's
_ayah_. The woman was grey with fright, and babbling incoherently.
Something about "baba" and the "mem-sahib" Muriel caught and instantly
guessed that the baby had been taken ill. She flung a wrap round her,
and hastened to the nursery.

It was a small room opening out of Daisy's bedroom. The light was
turned on full, and here Daisy herself was walking up and down with
the baby in her arms.

Before Muriel was well in the room, she stopped and spoke. Her face
was ghastly pale, and she could not raise her voice above a whisper,
though she made repeated efforts. "Go to Blake!" she panted. "Go
quickly! Tell him to fetch Jim Ratcliffe. Quick! Quick!"

Muriel flew to do her bidding. In her anxiety she scarcely waited to
knock at Blak