."

"I do not, however. All this will blow over, and--come Cyril, face it!
Are you really prepared to deliberately break the last link that holds
you to her?"

"There is no link. She has cut herself adrift long since. She will be
glad to be rid of me."

"And you--will you be glad to be rid of her?"

"It will be better," says he, shortly.

"And--the boy!"

"Don't let us go into it," says he, a little wildly.

"Oh! but we must--we must," says she. "The boy--you will----?"

"I shall leave him to her. It is all she has. I am nothing to her. I
cannot leave her desolate."

"How you consider her!" says she, in a choking voice. She could have
burst into tears! "What a heart! and that woman to treat him
so--whilst--oh! it is hard--hard!"

"I tell you," says she presently, "that you have not gone into this
thing. To-morrow you will regret all that you have now said."

"If you refuse me--yes. It lies in your hands now. Are you going to
refuse me?"

"Give me a moment," says she faintly. She has risen to her feet, and is
so standing that he cannot watch her. Her whole soul is convulsed. Shall
she? Shall she not? The scales are trembling.

That woman's face! How it rises before her now, pale, cold,
contemptuous. With what an insolent air she had almost ordered her from
her sight. And yet--and yet----

She can remember that disdainful face, kind and tender and loving! A
face she had once delighted to dwell upon! And Isabel had been very good
to her once--when others had not been kind, and when Swansdown, her
natural protector, had been scandalously untrue to his trust. Isabel had
loved her then; and now, how was she about to requite her? Was she to
let her know her to be false--not only in thought but in reality! Could
she live and see that pale face in imagination filled with scorn for the
desecrated friendship that once had been a real bond between them?

Oh! A groan that is almost a sob breaks from her. The scale has gone
down to one side. It is all over, hope and love and joy. Isabel has won.

She has been leaning against the arm of the lounge, now she once more
sinks back upon the seat as though standing is impossible to her.

"Well?" says Baltimore, laying his hand gently upon hers. His touch
seems to burn her, she flings his hand from her and shrinks back.

"You have decided," says he quickly. "You will not come with me?"

"Oh! no, no, no!" cries she. "It is impossible!" A little curious laugh
breaks fro