most profound conviction. She told me that your husband
has fallen very low."

"Fallen----?" Rosamund said, in a dim voice.

"Just before she left Constantinople she saw him in Stamboul by chance.
She said that he had the dreadful appearance that men have when they are
entirely dominated by physical things."

"Dion!" she said.

And there was sheer amazement in her voice now.

After an instant she added:

"I don't believe it. It wasn't Dion."

"I must tell you something more," said Father Robertson painfully. "Lady
Ingleton knows that your husband has been unfaithful to you; she
knows the woman with whom he has been unfaithful. That unfaithfulness
continues. So she affirms. And in spite of that, she asks me whether you
can know how much your husband loves you."

While he had been speaking he had been looking down. Now he heard a
movement, a rustling. He looked up quickly. Rosamund was going towards
the door.

"Please--don't--don't!" she whispered, turning her face away.

And she went out.

Father Robertson did not follow her.

Early in the following morning he received this note:

"ST. MARY'S SISTERHOOD, LIVERPOOL, Thursday

"DEAR FATHER ROBERTSON,--I don't think I can see Lady Ingleton. I am
almost sure I can't. Perhaps she has gone already. If not, how long does
she intend to stay here?

"R. L."

The Father communicated with Lady Ingleton, and that evening let
Rosamund know that Lady Ingleton would be in Liverpool for a few more
days.

When Rosamund read his letter she wished, or believed that she wished,
that Lady Ingleton had gone. Then this matter which tormented her would
be settled, finished with. There would be nothing to be done, and
she could take up her monotonous life again and forget this strange
intrusion from the outside world, forget this voice from the near East
which had told such ugly tidings. Till now she had not even known where
Dion was. She knew he had given up his business in London and had left
England; but that was all. She had refused to have any news of him. She
had made it plainly understood long ago, when the wound was fresh in her
soul, that Dion's name was never to be mentioned in letters to her. She
had tried by every means to blot his memory out of her mind as she had
blotted his presence out of her life. In this effort she had totally
failed. Dion had never left her since he had killed Robin. In the flesh
he had pursued her in the walled garden at Welsley on t