g from
him his life too.

"It was an even chance," she groaned. "Hugh is not responsible for his
death. Oh, my God! At least he is not responsible for that. It might
have been he who had to die instead of Lord Newhaven. But if it _is_ he,
surely he could not leave me without a word. If it _is_ he, he would
have come to bid me good-bye. He cannot go down into silence without a
word. If it _is_ he, he will come yet."

She endured through the two remaining days, turning faint with terror
each time the door-bell rang, lest it might be Hugh.

But Hugh did not come.

Then, after repeated frantic telegrams from Lady Newhaven, she left
London precipitately to go to her, as she had promised, on the
twenty-eighth of November, the evening of the last day of the five
months.

CHAPTER XXXIII

"And he went out immediately, and it was night."

It was nearly dark when Rachel reached Westhope Abbey. A great peace
seemed to pervade the long, dim lines of the gardens, and to be gathered
into the solemn arches of the ruins against the darkening sky. Through
the low door-way a faint light of welcome peered. As she drove up she
was aware of two tall figures pacing amicably together in the dusk. As
she passed them she heard Lord Newhaven's low laugh at something his
companion said.

A sense of unreality seized her. It was not the world which was out of
joint, which was rushing to its destruction. It must be she who was
mad--stark mad--to have believed these chimeras.

As she got out of the carriage a step came lightly along the gravel, and
Lord Newhaven emerged into the little ring of light by the archway.

"It is very good of you to come," he said, cordially, with extended
hand. "My poor wife is very unwell, and expecting you anxiously. She
told me she had sent for you."

All was unreal--the familiar rooms and passages, the flickering light of
the wood fire in the drawing-room, the darkened room, into which Rachel
stole softly and knelt down beside a trembling white figure, which held
her with a drowning clutch.

"I will be in the drawing-room after dinner," Lady Newhaven whispered,
hoarsely. "I won't dine down. I can't bear to see him."

It was all unreal, except the jealousy which suddenly took Rachel by the
throat and nearly choked her.

"I have undertaken what is beyond my strength," she said to herself, as
she hastily dressed for dinner. "How shall I bear it when she speaks of
him? How shall I go through