uld ever forget him, and to allow no one to give money to George's
wife, for whom George himself had provided, and should still provide.
And at an earlier stage--after George left her, and before he died--she
could see herself, as she looked back, keeping Sir William firmly at a
distance, resenting those friendly caressing ways, which others
accepted--which she too now accepted, so meekly, so abominably! She
thought of his weekly comings and goings, as they were now; how, in
greeting and good-bye, he would hold her hands, both of them, in his;
how once or twice he had raised them to his lips. And it had begun to
seem quite natural to her, wretch that she was; because he pitied her,
because he was so good to her--and so much older, nearly twenty years.
He was her brother and dear friend, and she the little sister whom he
cherished, who sympathised with all he did, and would listen as long as
he pleased, while he talked of everything that filled his mind--the war
news, his work, his books, his companions; or would sit by, watching
breathlessly while his skilful hand put down some broad 'note' of colour
or light, generally on a page of her own sketch-book.

Ah, but it must end--it must end! And she must tell him to-night.

Then she fell to thinking of how it was she had been so blind for so
long; and was now in this tumult of change. One moment, and she was
still the Nelly of yesterday, cheerful, patient, comforted by the love
of her friends; and the next, she had become this poor, helpless thing,
struggling with her conscience, her guilty conscience, and her sorrow.
How had it happened? There was something uncanny, miraculous in it. But
anyway, there, in a flash it stood revealed--her treason to George--her
unkindness to Willy.

For she would never marry him--never! She simply felt herself an
unfaithful wife--a disloyal friend.

* * * * *

The November day passed on, cloudless, to its red setting over the
Coniston fells. Wetherlam stood black against the barred scarlet of the
west, and all the valleys lay veiled in a blue and purple mist,
traversed by rays of light, wherever a break in the mountain wall let
the sunset through. The beautiful winter twilight had just begun, when
Nelly heard the step she waited for outside.

She did not run to the window to greet him as she generally did. She sat
still, by the fire, her knitting on her knee. Her black dress was very
black, with the plaine