le-walls. And Mr. Barmby, upon
occasions, had set that dimple in Nesta's cheek quivering, though Simeon
Fenellan was not at hand, and there was no telling how it was done,
beyond the evidence that Victor willed it so.

From the day of the announcement of Lakelands, she had been brought
more into contact with his genius of dexterity and foresight than ever
previously: she had bent to the burden of it more; had seen herself and
everybody else outstripped--herself, of course; she did not count in a
struggle with him. But since that red dawn of Lakelands, it was
almost as if he had descended to earth from the skies. She now saw his
mortality in the miraculous things he did. The reason of it was,
that through the perceptible various arts and shifts on her level, an
opposing spirit had plainer view of his aim, to judge it. She thought it
a mean one.

The power it had to hurry her with the strength of a torrent to an end
she dreaded, impressed her physically; so far subduing her mind, in
consequence, as to keep the idea of absolute resistance obscure, though
her bosom heaved with the breath; but what was her own of a mind hung
hovering above him, criticizing; and involuntarily, discomfortingly.
She could have prayed to be led blindly or blindly dashed on: she
could trust him for success; and her critical mind seemed at times a
treachery. Still she was compelled to judge.

When he said to her at night, pressing both her hands: 'This is the
news of the day, my love! It's death at last. We shall soon be thanking
heaven for freedom'; her fingers writhed upon his and gripped them in a
torture of remorse on his behalf. A shattering throb of her heart gave
her sight of herself as well. For so it is with the woman who loves in
subjection, she may be a critic of the man, she is his accomplice.'

'You have a letter, Victor?'

'Confirmation all round: Fenellan, Themison, and now Skepsey.'

He told her the tale of Skepsey and Jarniman, colouring it, as any
interested animated conduit necessarily will. Neither of them smiled.

The effort to think soberly exhausted and rolled her back on credulity.

It might not be to-day or next week or month: but so much testimony
pointed to a day within the horizon, surely!

She bowed her head to heaven for forgiveness. The murderous hope stood
up, stood out in forms and pictures. There was one of a woman at her
ease at last in the reception of guests; contrasting with an ironic
haunting figure