aimed, "Zara--you have been ill!"

"Yes," she faltered.

"Why did they not tell me?" he said hurriedly, and then recollected
himself. How could they? No one, not even his servant, knew where he had
been.

She dropped back unsteadily on the sofa.

"Uncle Francis did telegraph to you, to Wrayth, but you were not there,"
she said.

He bit his lips--he was so very moved. How was he to tell her all the
things he had come to say so coldly, with her looking so pitiful, so
gentle? His one longing was to take her to his heart and comfort her,
and make her forget all pain.

And she was so afraid of her own weakness, she felt she could not bear
to hear her death-knell, yet. If she could only gain a little time! It
was characteristic of her that she never dreamed of defending herself.
She still had not the slightest idea that he suspected Mimo of being her
lover. Tristram's anger with her was just because he was an
Englishman--very straight and simple--who could brook no deception! that
is what she thought.

If she had not been so lately and so seriously ill--if all her fine
faculties had been in their full vigor--perhaps some idea might have
come to her; but her soul was so completely pure it did not naturally
grasp such things, so even that is doubtful.

"Tristram--" she said, and there was the most piteous appeal in her
tones, which almost brought the tears to his eyes. "Please--I know you
are angry with me for not telling you about Mirko and Mimo, but I had
promised not to, and the poor, little one is dead. I will tell you
everything presently, if you wish, but don't ask me to now. Oh! if you
must go from me soon--you know best--I will not keep you, but--but
please won't you take me with you to-day--back to Wrayth--just until I
get quite well? My uncle is away, and I am so lonely, and I have not any
one else on earth."

Her eyes had a pleading, frightened look, like a child's who is afraid
to be left alone in the dark.

He could not resist her. And, after all, her sin was of long ago--she
could have done nothing since she had been his wife--why should she not
come to Wrayth? She could stay there if she wished, for a while after he
had gone. Only one thing he must know.

"Where is Count Sykypri?" he asked hoarsely.

"Mimo has gone away, back to his own country," she said simply,
wondering at his tone. "Alas! I shall perhaps never see him again."

A petrifying sensation of astonishment crept over Tristram. With a