now, such a coil of trouble for me that death
had been an easy way out of it.

I crept into bed and thought miserably of what Anthony Cardew would
think of me when he should hear of my disgrace. Of course he would not
know why I had married Richard Dawson. He had yielded me up to poor
Theobald as he thought, and instead of Theobald, whom I might have loved
if I had never seen Anthony Cardew--handsome, generous, of honourable
lineage, he would know that I had married Richard Dawson, with his bad
traditions behind him, and himself a wild, careless liver, with many
sins to his account. He would never know how I loathed it. Perhaps he
would even think that I married for money. Even if I were dead, and I
felt I must die of marrying Richard Dawson, he could never think of me
except with contempt and loathing.

The next morning Maureen came with my tea.

"Why are you looking like alabaster on your pillow?" she asked, with
some indignation. "There's good news coming, I tell you. There's good
news coming. See how fine the morning is! I never slept a sweeter sleep,
and it was in my sleep I had word."

I shrank even from Maureen's half-mad eyes. What would she say when she
knew that I was to marry Richard Dawson? She had always loved Theobald
and had looked forward to our marriage. I was afraid of Maureen's eyes.

"I'll toss the cup for you," she said when I had drunk my tea. "There's
a beautiful fortune in it for you, Miss Bawn. I see a wedding-coach and
four horses----"

"Are there plumes on the coach, Maureen?" I asked.

"I'm surprised at you, Miss Bawn." Maureen looked startled and angry.
"Why should there be plumes on the wedding-coach that'll bring yourself
and the fine husband home? I won't be asking who _he'll_ be. And
by-and-by there'll be babies in the nurseries again, and old Maureen'll
be as young as ever she was."

The afternoon of that day I was called down to Richard Dawson, and when
I went to the drawing-room I found him alone.

He took me in his arms and kissed me, and when I shivered under his kiss
it only seemed to make him more ardent. It was a terrible thing to
accept his kisses feeling that cold repulsion; and my whole heart and
soul another man's. If he had been less ardent it might have been more
tolerable. As it was I let him have his will of kissing me till he
suddenly put me away from him.

"You do not return my kisses," he said. "Are you afraid of me, Bawn?"

"I am not used to lovers," I s