t the first pressure
was over, long letters had been written to David which might never reach
him; and now, when the strain was withdrawn, the gentle mind was lost in
a grey mist of quiet suffering. In Hamley there were but two in whom she
had any real comfort and help--Lady Eglington and the old chair-maker.
Of an afternoon or evening one or the other was to be seen in the long
high-wainscoted room, where a great fire burned, or in the fruitless
garden where the breeze stirred the bare branches.

Almost as deep a quiet brooded in the Cloistered House as in the home
where mourning enjoined movement in a minor key. Hylda had not recovered
wholly from the illness which had stricken her down on that day in
London when she had sought news of David from Eglington, at such cost to
her peace and health and happiness. Then had come her slow convalescence
in Hamley, and long days of loneliness, in which Eglington seemed to
retreat farther and farther from her inner life. Inquiries had poured in
from friends in town, many had asked to come and see her; flowers came
from one or two who loved her benignly, like Lord Windlehurst; and now
and then she had some cheerful friend with her who cared for music or
could sing; and then the old home rang; but she was mostly alone, and
Eglington was kept in town by official business the greater part of each
week. She did not gain strength as quickly as she ought to have done,
and this was what brought the Duchess of Snowdon down on a special
mission one day of early November.

Ever since the night she had announced Luke Claridge's death to
Eglington, had discovered Soolsby with him, had seen the look in her
husband's face and caught the tension of the moment on which she had
broken, she had been haunted by a hovering sense of trouble. What had
Soolsby been doing in the laboratory at that time of night? What was the
cause of this secret meeting? All Hamley knew--she had long known--how
Luke Claridge had held the Cloistered House in abhorrence, and she knew
also that Soolsby worshipped David and Faith, and, whatever the cause
of the family antipathy, championed it. She was conscious of a shadow
somewhere, and behind it all was the name of David's father, James
Fetherdon. That last afternoon when she had talked with him, and he had
told her of his life, she had recalled the name as one she had seen or
heard, and it had floated into her mind at last that she had seen it
among the papers and lette