r; and I must leave early to-morrow."

So farewells were said in the big square hall. Mrs. Clinton and Cicely
were at a side-table upon which were rows of silver bedroom
candlesticks, Mrs. Clinton in a black evening dress, her white, plump
neck and arms bare, Cicely, slim and graceful, in white. The men stood
between them and the table in the middle of the hall, from which Dick
was dispensing whisky and soda water; the Squire, big and florid, with a
great expanse of white shirt front, Jim and Mackenzie in light overcoats
with caps in their hands. Servants carried bags across from behind the
staircase to the open door, outside of which Jim's horse was scraping
the gravel, the bright lamps of the cart shining on his smooth flanks.

The Squire and Dick stood on the stone steps as the cart drove off, and
then came back into the hall. Mrs. Clinton and Cicely, their candles
lighted, were at the foot of the staircase.

"Well, that's an interesting fellow," said the Squire as the butler shut
and bolted the hall door behind him. "We'll get him down to shoot if
he's in England next month."

"And see what he can do," added Dick.

Cicely went upstairs after her mother. The Squire and Dick went into the
library, where a servant relieved them of their evening coats and handed
them smoking-jackets, and the Squire a pair of worked velvet slippers.

CHAPTER XIV

THE PLUNGE

When Cicely had allowed the maid who was waiting for her to unfasten her
bodice, she sent her away and locked the door after her. During the
evening she had sketched in her mind a portrait of herself sitting by
the open window and thinking things over calmly. It seemed to be the
thing to do in the circumstances.

But she could not think calmly. She could not even command herself
sufficiently to go on with her undressing. The evening had been one long
strain on her nerves, and now she could only throw herself on her bed
and burst into tears. She had an impulse to go in to her mother and tell
her everything, and perhaps only the fact that for the moment her
physical strength would not allow her to move held her back.

After a time she became quieter, but did not regain the mastery of her
brain. She seemed to be swayed by feeling entirely. The picture of her
mother, calm and self-contained, kneeling at her long nightly devotions,
faded, and in its place arose the image of the man who had suddenly
shouldered his way into her life and with rude hands to