and bathe her brow.

She sat back languidly, her head lolling sideways against one of the
wings of the great chair, and languidly assured them she would be better
soon if she were but allowed to rest awhile. Ruth drew up a stool to
sit beside her, for all that her soul fretted at this delay. What if
in consequence she should reach Zoyland Chase too late--to find that
Mr. Wilding had gone forth already? But even as she was about to sit, it
seemed that the same thought had of a sudden come to Diana. The girl
leaned forward, thrusting--as if by an effort--some of her faintness
from her.

"Do not wait for me, Ruth," she begged.

"I must, child."

"You must not;" the other insisted. "Think what it may mean--Richard's
life, perhaps. No, no, Ruth, dear. Go on; go on to Zoyland. I'll follow
you in a few minutes."

"I'll wait for you," said Ruth with firmness.

At that Diana rose, and in rising staggered. "Then we'll push on at
once," she gasped, as if speech itself were an excruciating effort.

"But you are in no case to stand!" said Ruth. "Sit, Diana, sit."

"Either you go on alone or I go with you, but go at once you must. At
any moment Mr. Wilding may go forth, and your chance is lost. I'll not
have Richard's blood upon my head."

Ruth wrung her hands in her dismay, confronted by a parlous choice.
Consent to Diana's accompanying her in this condition she could not;
ride on alone to Mr. Wilding's house was hardly to be thought of, and
yet if she delayed she was endangering Richard's life. By the very
strength of her nature she was caught in the mesh of Diana's scheme.
She saw that her hesitation was unworthy. This was no ordinary cause, no
ordinary occasion. It was a time for heroic measures. She must ride on,
nor could she consent to take Diana.

And so in the end she went, having seen her cousin settled again in the
high chair, and took with her Diana's feeble assurances that she would
follow her in a few moments, as soon as her faintness passed.

CHAPTER IV. TERMS OF SURRENDER

"MR. WILDING rode at dawn with Mr. Trenchard, madam," announced old
Walters, the butler at Zoyland Chase. Old and familiar servant though he
was, he kept from his countenance all manifestation of the deep surprise
occasioned him by the advent of Mistress Westmacott, unescorted.

"He rode... at dawn?" faltered Ruth, and for a moment she stood
irresolute, afraid and pondering in the shade of the great pillared
porch. Then she to