he surface of things as they seemed to be, and solve the riddle
of appearances? It was such an inconceivable situation, such an
altogether unheard of situation, laughable too, if it weren't for the
vague possibility of the--to him--tragedy he now saw involved in it. It
was this, this vague sense of tragedy, that was causing that leaden
sensation at his heart.

He tried to tell himself that he was being morbid, that he ran no
possible risk of coming face to face with the Duchessa, in spite of the
fact that the Manor House Woodleigh lay but two miles distant. But the
assurances he heaped upon his soul, went a remarkably small way towards
cheering it.

And yet, through the leadenness upon his soul, through that vague, almost
indefinable sense of tragedy at hand, ran a curious little note of
exultation. Though he had no smallest desire for her to set eyes on him,
might not he set eyes on her? And yet, if he did, would the joy in the
sight be worth the dull ache, the horrible sense of isolation in the
knowledge that word with her was forbidden.

He realized now, for the first time in its fullest measure, what her
advent into his life meant to him. Bodily separation for a year had been
possible to contemplate. Even should it extend to a lifetime, he would
still have three golden weeks of memory to his comfort. But should mental
separation fall upon him, should it ever be his lot to read anger in her
eyes, he felt that his very soul would die. Even memory would be lost to
him, by reason of the unbearable pain it would hold. And then, with the
characteristics of a man accustomed to face possibilities, to confront
contingencies and emergencies beforehand, he saw himself face to face
with a temptation. Should the emergency he contemplated arise, was there
not a simple solution of it? She was quick-witted, she might quite
conceivably guess at the existence of some riddle. Would not the tiniest
hint suffice for her? The merest possible inflection of his voice?

* * * * *

He had reached his cottage by now. He went in and shut the door.

He sat down on the oak settle, staring at the little casement window
opposite to him, without seeing it. It appeared to him that there were
voices talking within his brain or soul,--he didn't know which,--while he
himself was answering one of them--the loudest.

The loudest voice spoke quite cheerfully, and was full of common sense.
It urged him to ab