have been very grateful to him but that something--some secret
thought--checked the words she tried to say.

"I must go home then," he said, rising and trying to smile. "I shall
have to make things straight with Aunt Neta, and set a great many
arrangements in train. Now, you will _try_ to think of something else?
Let me leave you with a book that I can imagine you will read."

She let herself be tended and thought for. At the last, just as he was
going, he said:

"Have you seen Mr. Wharton at all since this happened?"

His manner was just as usual. She felt that her eye was guilty, but the
darkness of the firelit room shielded her.

"I have not seen him since we met him in the drive. I saw the solicitor
who is working up the case for him yesterday. He came over to see Mrs.
Hurd and me. I had not thought of asking him, but we agreed that, if he
would undertake it, it would be the best chance."

"It _is_ probably the best chance," said Aldous, thoughtfully. "I
believe Wharton has not done much at the Bar since he was called, but
that, no doubt, is because he has had so much on his hands in the way of
journalism and politics. His ability is enough for anything, and he will
throw himself into this. I do not think Hurd could do better."

She did not answer. She felt that he was magnanimous, but felt it
coldly, without emotion.

He came and stooped over her.

"Good-night--good-night--tired child--dear heart! When I saw you in that
cottage this morning I thought of the words, 'Give, and it shall be
given unto you.' All that my life can do to pour good measure, pressed
down, running over, into yours, I vowed you then!"

When the door closed upon him, Marcella, stretched in the darkness, shed
the bitterest tears that had ever yet been hers--tears which transformed
her youth--which baptised her, as it were, into the fulness of our
tragic life.

She was still weeping when she heard the door softly opened. She sprang
up and dried her eyes, but the little figure that glided in was not one
to shrink from. Mary Harden came and sat down beside her.

"I knew you would be miserable. Let me come and cry too. I have been my
round--have seen them all--and I came to bring you news."

"How has she taken--the verdict?" asked Marcella, struggling with her
sobs, and succeeding at last in composing herself.

"She was prepared for it. Charlie told her when he saw her after you
left this afternoon that she must expect it."

There