ald and Bess, who had
been lying beside the fire, sprang up and ran to the door barking
loudly. She laid down the pen and opened the door mechanically; the
moonlight was streaming through the window in the hall; the dogs
bounded to the front door still barking vociferously. Still,
mechanically, she let them out, and they rushed across the terrace and
over the lawn to the group of trees beside the footpath. Thinking that
they heard Jessie, whom she had sent to Bryndermere, Ida,
half-unconsciously glad of the interruption, followed them slowly
across the lawn.

Their barking ceased suddenly, and convinced that it was Jessie, she
went on to add something to her message. Then, suddenly, she saw a tall
figure standing in the shadow of the trees. It was a man, and Donald
and Bess were jumping up at him with little whines of pleasure. Smitten
by a sudden fear she stopped; but the man raised his head and saw her,
and, with an exclamation, strode towards her. For an instant she
thought that she was dreaming, that her imagination was playing her
false, for it was Stafford's form and face. They stood and gazed at
each other; her brain felt dizzy, her pale face grew paler; she knew
that she was trembling, that she could scarcely stand; she began to
sway to and fro slightly, and he caught her in his arms.

CHAPTER XLI.

She did not resist, but resigned herself to his embrace, as if he still
had the right to take her in his arms, as if she still belonged to him.
She had been under a great, an indescribable strain for several hours,
and his sudden presence, the look in his eyes, the touch of his hands,
deprived her of the power of thought, of resistance. To her and to him,
at that moment, it was as if they had not been parted, as if the events
of the last few months were only visionary.

With surrender in every fibre of her being she lay in his arms, her
head upon his breast, her eyes closed, her heart throbbing wildly under
the kisses which he pressed passionately upon her lips, her hair; the
while he called upon her name, as if his lips hungered to pronounce it.

"Stafford!" she said, at last. "It is really you! When--" Her voice
died away, as if she were speaking in a dream, and her eyes closed with
a little shudder of perfect joy and rest.

"Yes, it's I!" he responded, in a voice almost as low as hers, a voice
that trembled with the intensity of his passion, his joy in having her
in his arms again. "Last night I cam