cannot get to Sherton alone. Oh, if you will only accompany me a
little way! Don't condemn me, Giles, and be offended! I was obliged to
come to you because--I have no other help here. Three months ago you
were my lover; now you are only my friend. The law has stepped in, and
forbidden what we thought of. It must not be. But we can act
honestly, and yet you can be my friend for one little hour? I have no
other--"

She could get no further. Covering her eyes with one hand, by an
effort of repression she wept a silent trickle, without a sigh or sob.
Winterborne took her other hand. "What has happened?" he said.

"He has come."

There was a stillness as of death, till Winterborne asked, "You mean
this, Grace--that I am to help you to get away?"

"Yes," said she. "Appearance is no matter, when the reality is right.
I have said to myself I can trust you."

Giles knew from this that she did not suspect his treachery--if it
could be called such--earlier in the summer, when they met for the last
time as lovers; and in the intensity of his contrition for that tender
wrong, he determined to deserve her faith now at least, and so wipe out
that reproach from his conscience. "I'll come at once," he said.
"I'll light a lantern."

He unhooked a dark-lantern from a nail under the eaves and she did not
notice how his hand shook with the slight strain, or dream that in
making this offer he was taxing a convalescence which could ill afford
such self-sacrifice. The lantern was lit, and they started.

CHAPTER XLI.

The first hundred yards of their course lay under motionless trees,
whose upper foliage began to hiss with falling drops of rain. By the
time that they emerged upon a glade it rained heavily.

"This is awkward," said Grace, with an effort to hide her concern.

Winterborne stopped. "Grace," he said, preserving a strictly business
manner which belied him, "you cannot go to Sherton to-night."

"But I must!"

"Why? It is nine miles from here. It is almost an impossibility in
this rain."

"True--WHY?" she replied, mournfully, at the end of a silence. "What is
reputation to me?"

"Now hearken," said Giles. "You won't--go back to your--"

"No, no, no! Don't make me!" she cried, piteously.

"Then let us turn." They slowly retraced their steps, and again stood
before his door. "Now, this house from this moment is yours, and not
mine," he said, deliberately. "I have a place near by where I can sta