quivered, and her
eyes filled. But it was hard to pity one who was at rest, hard for her
with the world to face afresh that night, without a single friend. The
Carringtons? Well, she would see; and now she had a very definite point
upon which to consult Mr. Carrington. That helped her, and she went,
quietly and unseen as she had come.

There was still a light in the ground-floor windows of the Tite Street
house, strong lights and voices; it was the dining-room, for the
Minchins had dined there once; and the voices did not include a feminine
one that Rachel could perceive. If there were people dining with them,
the ladies must have gone upstairs, and Mrs. Carrington was the woman to
see Rachel for five minutes, and the one woman in England to whom she
could turn. It was an opportunity not to miss--she had not the courage
to let it pass--and yet it required almost as much to ring the bell. And
even as she rang--but not until that moment--did Rachel recognize and
admit to herself the motive which had brought her to that door. It was
not to obtain the advice of a clever man; it was the sympathy of another
woman that she needed that night more than anything else in all the
world.

She was shown at once into the study behind the dining-room, and
immediately the voices in the latter ceased. This was ominous; it was
for Mrs. Carrington that Rachel had asked; and the omen was instantly
fulfilled. It was Mr. Carrington who came into the room, dark, dapper,
and duskily flushed with his own hospitality, but without the genial
front which Rachel had liked best in him. His voice also, when he had
carefully shut the door behind him, was unnaturally stiff.

"I congratulate you," he said, with a bow but nothing more; and Rachel
saw there and then how it was to be; for with her at least this man had
never been stiff before, having indeed offended her with his familiarity
at the time when her husband and he were best friends.

"I owe it very largely to you," faltered Rachel. "How can I thank you?"

Carrington said it was not necessary.

"Then I only hope," said Rachel, on one of her impulses, "that you don't
disagree with the verdict?"

"I didn't read the case," replied Carrington glibly, and with neither
more nor less of the contemptuous superiority with which he would have
referred to any other Old Bailey trial; but the man himself was quick to
see the brutality of such a statement, and quicker yet to tone it down.

"It wasn't