ing, how
bright I will make your life, as it never was before."

"You are right," says Eleanor slowly. "I have never known true
happiness. I was very fond of Philip when I married him--the lukewarm
affection that grows cold instantly in the chill air of disagreement or
mistrust. The love which you have kindled in me is something I did not
know or dream of. It is worth all else!"

Carol takes her wedding finger, holds it to his lips a moment, then
places an embossed gold ring below the knuckle, with "Kismet" engraved
upon it.

Eleanor gazes on the ring wistfully. The words are full of meaning to
her just now.

"'Kismet,'" she murmurs. "Only a true Mahommedan should use that
expression."

She draws a cat's eye stone, that Philip gave her, from her hand, and
offers it to Carol.

This is the last, the supreme act of surrender--that, more than all else,
renounces for ever and ever Philip, honour, wifehood, and lays her low in
the dust.

They walk through the green fields hand in hand; they talk of things to
be. The children coming home from school stare at Eleanor, and think how
beautiful she is, wondering at the handsome stranger who gazes in her
eyes, and whispers so low they cannot catch the words.

Yes, she looks just the same, as the evening tints fall with a rosy glow
on her rich hair and simple sun-bonnet. How innocent she appears in the
plain, homely attire, and that strange but glorious smile parting her
lips. There are daisies under her feet, and blue sky over her head; love
is in her heart, but hell is in her eyes.

Her eyes droop. The children cannot see--Hell!

CHAPTER XIV.

IN CLOUDS OF SILENCE FOLDED OUT OF SIGHT.

While Eleanor is at Copthorne, Philip is staying in Trebovir Road with
Mr. and Mrs. Lane.

"I cannot think why I have not heard from Eleanor," he says one morning
to Erminie. "For three days not a word--no answer to my letters or the
telegram."

"Really; it was a pity you were prevented from running down that
afternoon. I expect she was disappointed."

"I am not so sure about that," thinks Philip.

"It is just possible she may have written to Lyndhurst. Did she know
you were staying on with us?"

"I told her so, but perhaps she forgot, or did not take it in. I shall
go there to-morrow and see."

Philip is uneasy about Eleanor. Her silence hurts him, for he still
loves her passionately, in spite of their quarrels and her deceptions.
All that day he think