room.

"I am going to town, mother," she began, without preamble, "and in a day
or so I shall join Tommy at Margate. Dr. Long says I had better go,
but--I have some things to see to first."

Lady Kingsmead, who was blackening her eyebrows before her glass,
turned, one eye made up, the other very undressed-looking in its natural
condition.

"But--you'll come back, Brigit? You aren't angry any more?"

"I--I don't know, mother. I--am so tired, I can't think."

Lady Kingsmead took up a letter that lay beside her and handed it to her
daughter. "Read this--dear," she said rather humbly. And Brigit read:

"Dear Tony," it ran, in a curious irregular, downward-trending
hand, "I've been awfully bad again, or I should have written before. I
was at the Joyselles' yesterday, and they told me that the danger is
over. I am so glad, poor old girl. How are you? And how is Brigit? I
hope she will believe you when you tell her about that day after I saw
her in Tite Street. I told her that you did not believe me and went for
me, but she wouldn't listen to me, and I don't blame her. I'm pretty
bad. I shan't last long, I think. Heart's getting bad, too. May I come
down and see you some time? Joyselle tells me the wedding is to be next
month----"

Brigit crushed the letter violently in her hand and threw it down, her
face distorted with anger.

"Poor old Gerald," commented her mother absently. After a pause she
turned. "Brigit--I give you my sacred word of honour that I did not
believe him that day. I never doubted you for a second. But he was so
queer--so ill--that I was alarmed, and was trying to comfort him when
you came in.

"Do you believe me?" she added, after a long pause.

Brigit, who stood by the window, nodded without turning.

"Oh, yes, I believe you," she said indifferently.

Then, before her mother could again speak, the girl left the room.

On her own table she found another letter, and to her surprise
recognised Carron's writing in the address. With a sudden foreboding of
evil, she sat down and opened the letter.

It was very long, written in pencil, and began:

"Before God, I swear you wronged your mother in thinking she believed
what I said about you that day in Pont Street. Before God, I give you my
word. Brigit, I am going to die; I cannot live. I don't like to live.
The world is abominable. I hate everybody. I hate you. I hate God. The
only way I can forget is to take morphine, and it is beginning to go