; but the trustees say it is against the conditions of the
trust."

"So I suppose."

"I wanted you to know about it, that is all," said Henriette. "Also, I
should like to say that though Hubert does not feel that he can ask you
to return to the Red House, after what has happened--he cannot risk your
refusing--yet I take it on myself to tell you, that he would only be too
glad if you would go back."

"Thank you, I understand."

Next morning, Henriette came with a letter in her hand.

"Bad news!" Hadria exclaimed.

The letter announced the failure of the Company. It was the final blow.
Dunaghee would have to be given up. Mrs. Fullerton's settlement was all
that she and her husband would now have to live upon.

Hadria sat gazing at the letter, with a dazed expression. Almost before
the full significance of the calamity had been realized, a telegram
arrived, announcing that Mrs. Fullerton had fallen dangerously ill.

The rest of that day was spent in packing, writing notes, settling
accounts, and preparing for departure.

"When--how are you going?" cried Madame Vauchelet, in dismay.

"By the night boat, by the night boat," Hadria replied hurriedly, as if
the hurry of her speech would quicken her arrival in England.

The great arches of the station which had appealed to her imagination,
at the moment of arrival, swept upward, hard and grey, in the callous
blue light. Hadria breathed deep. Was she the same person who had
arrived that night, with every nerve thrilled with hope and resolve? Ah!
there had been so much to learn, and the time had been so short.
Starting with her present additional experience, she could have managed
so much better. But of what use to think of that? How different the
homeward journey from the intoxicating outward flight, in the heyday of
the spring!

What did that telegram mean? _Ill; dangerously, dangerously._ The words
seemed to be repeated cruelly, insistently, by the jogging of the train
and the rumble of the wheels. The anxiety gnawed on, rising at times
into terror, dulling again to a steady ache. And then remorse began to
fit a long-pointed fang into a sensitive spot in her heart. In vain to
resist. It was securely placed. Let reason hold her peace.

A thousand fears, regrets, self-accusations, revolts, swarmed
insect-like in Hadria's brain, as the train thundered through the
darkness, every tumultuous sound and motion exaggerated to the
consciousness, by the fact that there w