l that, and cease!"

But, withal, she never lost her queer dull compassion for the owner
of that white carved face. It was not her visitor's fault that she had
come! Again Lady Casterley was speaking.

"It is early days. If you do not end it now, at once, it will only come
harder on you presently. You know how determined he is. He will not
change his mind. If you cut him off from his work in life, it will but
recoil on you. I can only expect your hatred, for talking like this, but
believe me, it's for your good, as well as his, in the long run."

A tumultuous heart-beating of ironical rage seized on the listener
to that speech. Her good! The good of a corse that the breath is just
abandoning; the good of a flower beneath a heel; the good of an old
dog whose master leaves it for the last time! Slowly a weight like lead
stopped all that fluttering of her heart. If she did not end it at once!
The words had now been spoken that for so many hours, she knew, had lain
unspoken within her own breast. Yes, if she did not, she could never
know a moment's peace, feeling that she was forcing him to a death in
life, desecrating her own love and pride! And the spur had been given
by another! The thought that someone--this hard old woman of the hard
world--should have shaped in words the hauntings of her love and pride
through all those ages since Miltoun spoke to her of his resolve; that
someone else should have had to tell her what her heart had so long
known it must do--this stabbed her like a knife! This, at all events,
she could not bear!

She stood up, and said:

"Please leave me now! I have a great many things to do, before I go."

With a sort of pleasure she saw a look of bewilderment cover that old
face; with a sort of pleasure she marked the trembling of the hands
raising their owner from the chair; and heard the stammering in the
voice: "You are going? Before-before he comes? You-you won't be seeing
him again?" With a sort of pleasure she marked the hesitation, which did
not know whether to thank, or bless, or just say nothing and creep away.
With a sort of pleasure she watched the flush mount in the faded cheeks,
the faded lips pressed together. Then, at the scarcely whispered words:
"Thank you, my dear!" she turned, unable to bear further sight or sound.
She went to the window and pressed her forehead against the glass,
trying to think of nothing. She heard the sound of wheels-Lady Casterley
had gone. And then, of a