ir visit? Why had he reminded her that she was his wife? Surely he
must have heard something--suspected something! But what?

Covertly she watched him during that interminable dinner, watched his
clear-cut face with its clever forehead and intent eyes, his slightly
scornful, wholly unyielding lips. She cast her thoughts backwards over
their honeymoon, trying somehow to trace an adequate reason for the fear
that gripped her. He had been very forbearing with her throughout that
difficult time. He had been gentle; he had been considerate. Though he
had asserted and maintained his mastery over her, though his will had
subdued hers, he had never been unreasonable, never so much as impatient,
in his treatment of her. He had given her no cause for the dread that now
consumed her, unless it were that by his very self-restraint he had
inspired in her a fear of the unknown.

No, she had to look farther back than her honeymoon, back to the days of
Burleigh Wentworth's trial, and the almost superhuman force by which he
had dragged him free. It was that force with which she would have very
soon to reckon, that overwhelming, all-consuming power that had wrestled
so victoriously in Wentworth's defence. How would it be when she found
herself confronted by that? She shivered and dared not think.

The stream of gaiety flowed on around her. Someone--Wentworth she knew
later--proposed a game of hide-and-seek by moonlight in and about the old
ruins on the shores of the loch. She would have preferred to remain
behind, but he made a great point of her going also. She did not know if
Percival went or not, but she did not see him among the rest. The fun was
fast and furious, the excitement great. Almost in spite of herself she
was drawn in.

And then, how it happened she scarcely knew, she found herself hiding
alone with Wentworth in a little dark boat-house on the edge of the
water. He had a key with him, and she heard him turn it on the inside.

"I think we are safe here," he said, and then in the darkness his arms
were round her. He called her by every endearing name that he could think
of.

Why was it his ardour failed to reach her? She had yielded to him only
that afternoon. She had suffered him to kiss away her tears. But now
something in her held her back. She drew herself away.

"Come and sit in the boat!" he said. "We will go on the water as soon as
the hue and cry is over. Hush! Don't speak! They are coming now."

They sat wit