any, I assure you. You don't believe me, I see. So
here's something for you to read that will set your mind at rest."

Babbacombe read, with a slowly clearing face. The note he held was in
his agent's handwriting.

"I am leaving you to-day, for I feel, now you are well again, that
you will find it easier in my absence to consider very carefully
your position. Your marriage to me was simply an act of impulse. I
gave way in the matter because you were in no state to be thwarted.
But if, after consideration, you find that that act was a mistake,
dictated by weakness, and heaven knows what besides of generosity
and pity, something may yet be done to remedy it. It has never been
published, and, if you are content to lead a single life, no one
who matters need ever know that it took place. I am returning to my
work at Farringdean for the present. I am aware that you may find
some difficulty in putting your feelings in this matter into words.
If so, I shall understand your silence.

Yours,

"N. V. WEST."

"Isn't he quaint?" said Cynthia, with a little gay grimace. "Now do you
know what I'm going to do, Jack? I'm going to get a certain good friend
of mine to drive me all the way to Farringdean in his motor. It's
Sunday, you know, and all the fates conspire to make the trains
impossible."

"How soon do you wish to start?" asked Babbacombe.

"Right away!" laughed Cynthia. "And if we don't get run in for exceeding
the speed limit, we ought to be there by seven."

It was as a matter of fact barely half-past six when Babbacombe turned
the motor in at the great gates of Farringdean Park. A sound of
church-bells came through the evening twilight. The trees of the avenue
were still bare, but there was a misty suggestion of swelling buds in
the saplings. The wind that softly rustled through them seemed to
whisper a special secret to each.

"I like those bells," murmured Cynthia. "They make one feel almost holy.
Jack, you're not fretting over me?"

"No, dear," said Babbacombe steadily.

She squeezed his arm.

"I'm so glad, for--honest Injun--I'm not worth it. Good-bye, then, dear
Jack! Just drive straight away directly you've put me down. I shall find
my own way in."

He took her at her word as he always did, and, having deposited her at
the gate under the trees that led to his bailiff's abode, he shot
swiftly away into the gathering dusk without a sin