e possessed at that moment for one second
of Christ's power to touch those blind eyes to sight.

"How can you say such things? I should _not_ have brought it about. I
did not even know of that dreadful drawing of lots till the thing was
done. That was all his own doing."

Rachel sighed. The passionate yearning towards her companion shrank back
upon herself.

"The fault is in me," she said to herself. "If I were purer, humbler,
more loving, I might have been allowed to help her."

Lady Newhaven rose, and held Rachel tightly in her arms.

"I count the days," she said, hoarsely, shaking from head to foot. "It
is two months and three weeks to-day. November the twenty-ninth. You
will promise faithfully to come to me and be with me then? You will not
desert me? Whatever happens you will be sure--to come?"

"I will come. I promise," said Rachel. And she stooped and kissed the
closed eyes. She could at least do that.

CHAPTER XXII

Brother, thy tail hangs down behind.
--_Song of the Bandar-log_.

Rachel arrived after tea at Wilderleigh, and went straight to her room
on a plea of fatigue. It was a momentary cowardice that tempted her to
yield to her fatigue. She felt convinced that she should meet Hugh
Scarlett at Wilderleigh. She had no reason for the conviction beyond the
very inadequate one that she had met him at Sybell's London house.
Nevertheless, she felt sure that he would be among the guests, and she
longed for a little breathing-space after parting with Lady Newhaven
before she met him. Presently Sybell flew in and embraced her with
effusion.

"Oh! what you have missed!" she said, breathlessly. "But you do look
tired. You were quite right to lie down before dinner, only you aren't
lying down. We have had such a conversation down-stairs. The others are
all out boating with Doll but Mr. Harvey, the great Mr. Harvey, you
know."

"I am afraid I don't know."

"Oh yes, you do. The author of _Unashamed_."

"I remember now."

"Well, he is here, resting after his new book, _Rahab_. And he has been
reading us the opening chapters, just to Miss Barker and me. It is quite
wonderful. So painful, you know. He does not spare the reader anything;
he thinks it wrong to leave out anything--but so powerful!"

"Is it the same Miss Barker whom I met at your house in the season, who
denounced _The Idyll?_"

"Yes. How she did cut it up! You see, she knows all about East London,