l had wafted their
scent to him; it was no sheer overpowering rush of passion. Profounder,
more terrible, was this rising up within him of yearning for love--as
if, now defeated, it would nevermore stir, but lie dead on that dark
grass beneath those dark boughs. And if victorious--what then? He stole
back under the tree.

He could see little white moths travelling down that path of lamplight;
he could see the white flowers quite plainly now, a pale watch of
blossoms guarding the dark sleepy ones; and he stood, not reasoning,
hardly any longer feeling; stunned, battered by struggle. His face and
hands were sticky with the honey-dew, slowly, invisibly distilling from
the lime-tree. He bent down and felt the grass. And suddenly there came
over him the certainty of her presence. Yes, she was there--out on the
verandah! He could see her white figure from head to foot; and, not
realizing that she could not see him, he expected her to utter some cry.
But no sound came from her, no gesture; she turned back into the
house. Miltoun ran forward to the railing. But there, once more, he
stopped--unable to think, unable to feel; as it were abandoned by
himself. And he suddenly found his hand up at his mouth, as though there
were blood there to be staunched that had escaped from his heart.

Still holding that hand before his mouth, and smothering the sound of
his feet in the long grass, he crept away.

CHAPTER XXX

In the great glass house at Ravensham, Lady Casterley stood close to
some Japanese lilies, with a letter in her hand. Her face was very
white, for it was the first day she had been allowed down after an
attack of influenza; nor had the hand in which she held the letter its
usual steadiness. She read:

"Monkland Court.

"Just a line, dear, before the post goes, to tell you that Babs has gone
off happily. The child looked beautiful. She sent you her love, and some
absurd message--that you would be glad to hear, she was perfectly safe,
with both feet firmly on the ground."

A grim little smile played on Lady Casterley's pale lips:--Yes, indeed,
and time too! The child had been very near the edge of the cliffs!
Very near committing a piece of romantic folly! That was well over! And
raising the letter again, she read on:

"We were all down for it, of course, and come back tomorrow. Geoffrey
is quite cut up. Things can't be what they were without our Babs. I've
watched Eustace very carefully, and I really believ