y
ambiguous, would have been significant to Monica. On her recovery,
which took place in a few moments, she at once started up, and with
hurried thanks to those about her, listening to nothing that was said
and answering no inquiry, went out on to the platform. There was just
time to catch the train now departing for Herne Hill.

She explained her fainting fit by the hours of agitation through which
she had passed. There was no room for surprise. She had suffered
indescribably, and still suffered. Her wish was to get back into the
quietness of home, to rest and to lose herself in sleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

On entering, she saw nothing of her husband. His hat hung on the
hall-tree, and he was perhaps sitting in the library; the more genial
temper would account for his not coming forth at once to meet her, as
had been his custom when she returned from an absence alone.

She changed her dress, and disguised as far as was possible the traces
of suffering on her features. Weakness and tremor urged her to lie
down, but she could not venture to do this until she had spoken to her
husband. Supporting herself by the banisters, she slowly descended, and
opened the library door. Widdowson was reading a newspaper. He did not
look round, but said carelessly,--

'So you are back?'

'Yes. I hope you didn't expect me sooner.'

'Oh, it's all right.' He threw a rapid glance at her over his shoulder.
'Had a long talk with Virginia, I suppose?'

'Yes. I couldn't get away before.'

Widdowson seemed to be much interested in some paragraph. He put his
face closer to the paper, and was silent for two or three seconds. Then
he again looked round, this time observing his wife steadily, but with
a face that gave no intimation of unusual thoughts.

'Does she consent to go?'

Monica replied that it was still uncertain; she thought, however, that
Virginia's objections would be overcome.

'You look very tired,' remarked the other.

'I am, very.'

And thereupon she withdrew, unable to command her countenance, scarce
able to remain standing for another moment.

CHAPTER XXIV

TRACKED

When Widdowson went up to the bedroom that night, Monica was already
asleep. He discovered this on turning up the gas. The light fell upon
her face, and he was drawn to the bedside to look at her. The features
signified nothing but repose; her lips were just apart, her eyelids lay
softly with their black fringe of exquisite pencilling, and