marriage from the end of the autumn (as originally
contemplated) to the first fortnight of the ensuing month. As dates
then stood, the change led (so far as free scope for the development of
accident was concerned) to this serious result. It abridged a lapse of
three months into an interval of three weeks.

The next morning came; and Blanche marked it as a memorable morning,
by committing an act of imprudence, which struck away one more of
the chances of discovery that had existed, before the arrival of the
Edinburgh telegram on the previous day.

She had passed a sleepless night; fevered in mind and body; thinking,
hour after hour, of nothing but Anne. At sunrise she could endure it no
longer. Her power to control herself was completely exhausted; her own
impulses led her as they pleased. She got up, determined not to let
Geoffrey leave the house without risking an effort to make him reveal
what he knew about Anne. It was nothing less than downright treason to
Sir Patrick to act on her own responsibility in this way. She knew it
was wrong; she was heartily ashamed of herself for doing it. But the
demon that possesses women with a recklessness all their own, at the
critical moments of their lives, had got her--and she did it.

Geoffrey had arranged overnight, to breakfast early, by himself, and to
walk the ten miles to his brother's house; sending a servant to fetch
his luggage later in the day.

He had got on his hat; he was standing in the hall, searching his pocket
for his second self, the pipe--when Blanche suddenly appeared from the
morning-room, and placed herself between him and the house door.

"Up early--eh?" said Geoffrey. "I'm off to my brother's."

She made no reply. He looked at her closer. The girl's eyes were trying
to read his face, with an utter carelessness of concealment, which
forbade (even to his mind) all unworthy interpretation of her motive for
stopping him on his way out.

"Any commands for me?" he inquired

This time she answered him. "I have something to ask you," she said.

He smiled graciously, and opened his tobacco-pouch. He was fresh and
strong after his night's sleep--healthy and handsome and good-humored.
The house-maids had had a peep at him that morning, and had wished--like
Desdemona, with a difference--that "Heaven had made all three of them
such a man."

"Well," he said, "what is it?"

She put her question, without a single word of preface--purposely to
surprise h