d, and gathering where you had not
strawed.' Always experiment, experiment, experiment!"

"I have only been married three years," she moaned. "Yes, yes, my
darling; but much may happen after three days of married life, and love
may come after twenty years. The human heart is a strange thing."

"I was patient--I gave him every chance. He has been false and
shameless. I will not go on."

The Duchess pressed both hands hard, and made a last effort, looking
into the deep troubled eyes with her own grown almost beautiful with
feeling--the faded world-worn eyes.

"You will go back to-night-at once," she said firmly. "To-morrow you
will stay in bed till noon-at any rate, till I come. I promise you that
you shall not be treated with further indignity. Your friends will stand
by you, the world will be with you, if you do nothing rash, nothing that
forces it to babble and scold. But you must play its game, my dearest.
I'll swear that the worst has not happened. She drove him to his club,
and, after a man has had a triumph, a woman will not drive him to his
club if--my darling, you must trust me! If there must be the great
smash, let it be done in a way that will prevent you being smashed also
in the world's eyes. You can live, and you will live. Is there nothing
for you to do? Is there no one for whom you would do something, who
would be heart-broken if you--if you went mad now?"

Suddenly a great change passed over Hylda. "Is there no one for whom
you would do something?" Just as in the desert a question like this had
lifted a man out of a terrible and destroying apathy, so this searching
appeal roused in Hylda a memory and a pledge. "Is there no one for whom
you would do something?" Was life, then, all over? Was her own great
grief all? Was her bitter shame the end?

She got to her feet tremblingly. "I will go back," she said slowly and
softly.

"Windlehurst will take you home," the Duchess rejoined eagerly. "My
carriage is at the door."

A moment afterwards Lord Windlehurst took Hylda's hands in his and held
them long. His old, querulous eyes were like lamps of safety; his smile
had now none of that cynicism with which he had aroused and chastened
the world. The pitiful understanding of life was there and a consummate
gentleness. He gave her his arm, and they stepped out into the moonlit
night. "So peaceful, so bright!" he said, looking round.

"I will come at noon to-morrow," called the Duchess from the doorway.