sense of separation from
the Unseen. She struggled for communion; she prostrated herself in
surrender, and was flung back upon herself, an outcast from the spiritual
world. She was alone in that alien place of earth where everything had
been taken from her. She almost rebelled against the cruelty of the
heavenly hand, that, having smitten her, withheld its healing. She had
still faith, but she had no joy nor comfort in her faith. Therefore she
occupied herself incessantly with works; appeasing, putting off the hours
that waited for her as their prey.

It was at night that her desolation found her most helpless. For then she
thought of her dead child and of the husband whom she regarded as worse
than dead.

She had one terrible consolation. She had once doubted the justice of her
attitude to him. Now she was sure. Her justification was complete.

She was sitting at work again early on Monday morning, in the
drawing-room that overlooked the street.

About ten o'clock she heard a cab drive up to the door.

She thought it was Majendie come back again, and she was surprised when
Kate came to her and told her that it was Mr. Hannay, and that he wished
to speak to her at once.

Hannay was downstairs, in the study; standing with his back to the
fireplace. He did not come forward to meet her. His rosy, sensual face
was curiously set. As she approached him, his loose lips moved and closed
again in a firm fold.

He pressed her hand without speaking. His heaviness and immobility
alarmed her.

"What is it?" she asked.

Her heart was like a wild whirlpool that sucked back her voice and
suffocated it.

"I've come with very bad news, Mrs. Majendie."

"Tell me," she whispered.

"Walter is ill--very dangerously ill."

"He is dead."

The words seemed to come from her without grief, without any feeling. She
felt nothing but a dull, dragging pain under her left breast, as if the
doors of her heart were closed and its chambers full to bursting.

"No. He is not dead."

Her heart beat again.

"He's dying, then."

"They don't know."

"Where is he?"

"At Scarby."

"Scarby? How much time have I?"

"There's a train at ten-twenty. Can you be ready in five--seven minutes?"

"Yes."

She rang the bell.

"Tell Kate where to send my things," she said as she left the room. Her
mind took possession of her, so that she did not waste a word of her
lips, or a single motion of her feet. She came back in five minutes,
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