ere's no remedy for
that,' said he. And then seeing him so down I said, 'But we women are
always ruled by our hearts in the long run.' 'Do you think so?' said he.
'I'm sure of it,' said I, 'only we must have somebody to help us,' I
said. 'There's her father,' said he. 'A father is of no use in a case
like this,' I said, 'especially such a one as my lady's is, according to
all reports. No,' said I, 'it must be somebody else--somebody who cares
enough for a woman to risk everything for her, and just take her and
make her do what's best for herself whether she likes it or not. Now if
somebody like that were to come to my lady, and get her out of her
trouble,' I said. . . . 'Somebody will,' said he. 'Make your mind easy
about that. Somebody will,' he said, and then he went on walking to and
fro."

Price told this story as if she thought she was bringing me the gladdest
of glad tidings; but the idea that Martin had come back into my life to
master me, to take possession of me, to claim me as his own (just as he
did when I was a child) and thereby compel me to do what I had promised
his mother and Father Dan not to do--this was terrifying.

But there was a secret joy in it too, and every woman will know what I
mean if I say that my heart was beating high with the fierce delight of
belonging to somebody when I returned to the boudoir where Martin was
waiting to sit down to dinner.

Then came a great surprise.

Martin was standing with his back to the fire-place, and I saw in a
moment that the few hours which had intervened had changed him as much
as they had changed me.

"Helloa! Better, aren't we?" he cried, but he was now cold, almost
distant, and even his hearty voice seemed to have sunk to a kind of
nervous treble.

I could not at first understand this, but after a while I began to see
that we two had reached the point beyond which it was impossible to go
without encountering the most tremendous fact of our lives--my marriage
and all that was involved by it.

During dinner we spoke very little. He seemed intentionally not to look
at me. The warm glances of his sea-blue eyes, which all the afternoon
had been making the colour mount to my cheeks, had gone, and it sent a
cold chill to my heart to look across the table at his clouded face. But
sometimes when he thought my own face was down I was conscious that his
eyes were fixed on me with a questioning, almost an imploring gaze. His
nervousness communicated itself t