l. He had entered her kingdom by subtlety; but she would drive him
forth in the strength of a righteous indignation. To suffer him to remain
was unthinkable. It would be to share his guilt.

Her thoughts tried to wander into the future, but she called them
resolutely back. The future would provide for itself. Her immediate duty
was all she now needed to face. When that dreaded interview was over,
when she had shut him out finally and completely then it would be time
enough to consider that. Probably some arrangement would have to be made
by which they would meet occasionally, but as husband and wife--never,
never more.

It was growing late. The dinner-gong had sounded, but she would not go
down. She rang for Victor, and told him to bring her something on a tray.
It did not matter what.

He looked at her with keen little eyes of solicitude, and swiftly obeyed
her desire. He then asked her if the dinner were to be kept for _Monsieur
Pierre_, who had not yet returned. She did not know what to say, but lest
he should wonder at her ignorance of Piers' doings, she answered in the
negative, and Victor withdrew.

Then, again lest comment should be made, she forced herself to eat and
drink, though the food nauseated her. A feeling of sick suspense was
growing upon her, a strange, foreboding fear that hung leaden about her
heart. What was Piers doing all this time? What effect had that message,
delivered by Tudor, had upon him? Why had he not returned?

Time passed. The evening waned and became night. A full moon rose red and
wonderful out of a bank of inky cloud, lighting the darkness with an
oddly tropical effect. The night was tropical, breathless, terribly
still. It seemed as if a storm must be upon its way.

She began to undress at last there in the moonlight. The heat was too
intense to veil the windows, and she would not light the candles lest
bats or moths should be attracted. At another time the eerieness of the
shadowy room would have played upon her nerves, but to-night she was not
even aware of it. The shadows within were too dark, too sinister.

A great weariness had come upon her. She ached for rest. Her body felt
leaden, and her brain like a burnt-out furnace. The very capacity for
thought seemed to have left her. Only the horror of the day loomed
gigantic whichever way she turned, blotting out all beside. Prayer was an
impossibility to her. She felt lost in a wilderness of doubt, forsaken
and wandering, and