ut me?"

Like a hurried, jangling bell somewhere in the background of her mind
Christina, as she, too, gathered together her impressions and memories,
seemed to hear a reiterated "No lies; above all, no lies." But he had
put the weapon into her hand, and though she felt as if she held it
lifted above some innocent life, it fell relentlessly.

"Did I say that Milly was worried about you? It was hardly that, I
think; though, of course, she was glad to see you out of danger. Of
course she was glad; how could anyone so gentle-hearted as Milly not be?
But if you ask me what she did feel, I must tell you the truth. You want
the truth, don't you? It is much better--for you and for Milly, isn't
it, that there should be no misunderstandings?"--Dick nodded--his eyes
fixed on her. "What Milly said, in the winter, when we had news of your
danger,--was that it was rather dreadful to realize that if you were
killed it would hardly affect her more than the death of any of the men
who had come to tea with us the day before."

The knife had fallen and her victim, after a moment, turned dazed eyes
away from her. "Milly said that? About me?"

"I was shocked," Christina murmured. She heard, as if from a far
distance, the strange, hushed quality of her voice. Her own blood seemed
to have been arrested.

"She wouldn't have minded more than that?"

"She said, when I reproached her, that I could only expect her to be
solemn, not sorry, over the death of a man for whom she had no
affection, a man she had almost hated. Mr. Quentyn, I am so grieved for
you. Of course, she doesn't hate you now; but I am afraid you have
allowed yourself false hopes about Milly."

Dick, now, had risen to his feet and, facing her as she sat, he gazed
over her head at the rhododendrons. "I wonder why she wanted me to come
for a walk this morning. Yes, I did have false hopes. I thought that
meant something. I've thought that all sorts of little things might mean
something."

"Milly is so sweet and kind when she feels no pressure, no alarm. I
thought, for a moment last night, that she meant you to have the walk
alone. But as soon as you were gone she insisted on my coming with you.
I've tried to help you, Mr. Quentyn. I've given you every chance. But
there isn't any chance." It was well to do it thoroughly.

There was bewilderment and humiliation--at last humiliation--on Dick's
face; but of incredulity not a trace. "I know how kind you've been," he
said. "I'v