he house of life was barred for ever against
her return to it.

For a few years her experiences had been strangely interwoven with
those of the Treshams. To what purpose? Why had they been so? As far
as this existence was concerned, it seemed a relationship that might
well have been omitted. But who can tell what circumstances went
before it or what were to follow? For all human beings leave behind
them as they go through life a train of events which are due either to
impulses originating in a previous existence or are the seeds of
events which are to be perfected in a future one; what we sow, that we
shall surely reap.

Leaving London, such thoughts of something final, at least as far as
this probation was concerned, greatly depressed Denas. "Never more,
never more," was the monotonous refrain that sprang from her soul to
her lips. But it is a wise provision of the Merciful One that the
past, in a healthy mind, very soon loses its charm, and the things
that are present take the first place.

"I cannot bring anything back. I do not think I would bring anything
back if I could. I have been very unhappy and restless in the past.
Every pleasure I had was tithed by sorrow. Roland loved me, but I
brought him only disappointment. I loved Roland, and yet all my
efforts to make him happy were failures. Roland has been taken from
me. Our child has been taken away from me. Elizabeth I have put
away--death could not sever us more effectually. I am going back to my
own people and my own life, and I pray God to give me a contented
heart in it."

These were the colour of her reflections as the train bore her swiftly
to the fortune of her future years. She had no enthusiasm about them.
She thought she knew all the possibilities they kept. She looked for
no extraordinary thing, for no special favour to brighten their
uniform occupations and simple pleasures. She had taken the first
train she could, without considering the time of its arrival in St.
Penfer. She told herself that there would be a certain amount of
gossip about her return, and that it could not be avoided by either a
public or private arrival. Still, she was glad when the sun set and
the shadows of the night were stretched out--glad that the moon was
too young to give much light, and that it was quite nine o'clock when
the St. Penfer station was reached.

A few people were on the platform, but none of them were thinking of
Mrs. Tresham, and the woman so simply dres