the creature who was figuring there was in
every stationer's shop in the Strand. And that which galled her was not
that the theatre should be so taken and so used, but that the stage
heroine of the hour should be a woman who could act no more than any
baboon in the Zoological Gardens.

CHAPTER XXV.

IN SUSSEX.

But as for him, there was no moderation at all in the vehemence of his
joy. In the surprise and bewilderment of it, the world around him
underwent transfiguration; London in November was glorified into an
earthly paradise. The very people in the streets seemed to have kindly
faces; Bury Street, St. James's--which is usually a somewhat misty
thoroughfare--was more beautiful than the rose-garden of an Eastern
king. And on this Saturday afternoon the blue skies did, indeed,
continue to shine over the great city; and the air seemed sweet and
clear enough, as it generally does to any one whose every heart-beat is
only another throb of conscious gladness.

In this first intoxication of wonder, and pride, and gratitude, he had
forgotten all about these ingenious theories which, in former days, he
had constructed to promise to himself that Gertrude White should give up
her present way of life. Was it true, then, that he had rescued the
white slave? Was it once and forever that Nature, encountering the
subtle demon of Art, had closed and wrestled with the insidious thing,
had seized it by the throat, and choked it, and flung it aside from the
fair roadway of life? He had forgotten about these things now. All that
he was conscious of was this eager joy, with now and again a wild wonder
that he should indeed have acquired so priceless a possession. Was it
possible that she would really withdraw herself from the eyes of all the
world and give herself to him alone?--that some day, in the beautiful
and laughing future, the glory of her presence would light up the dull
halls of Castle Dare?

Of course he poured all his pent-up confidence into the ear of the
astonished major, and again and again expressed his gratitude to his
companion for having given him the opportunity of securing this
transcendent happiness. The major was somewhat frightened. He did not
know in what measure he might be regarded as an accomplice by the
silver-haired lady of Castle Dare. And in any case he was alarmed by the
vehemence of the young man.

"My dear Macleod," said he, with an oracular air, "you never have any
hold on yourself. You