By Berwen Banks

Fortunately the pink tints of the lamp-shade hid her face, and equally

it befriended Cardo, for, on seeing before him Valmai in all the beauty

with which his imagination and his memory had endowed her, he had felt

his heart stand still and his face blanch to the lips. How he gained

sufficient self-control to make a casual remark to his neighbour he

never could understand, but he did; and while he was recalling the

scene in "The Velvet Walk," and his promise to Valmai "that should he

ever meet her again she need fear no sign of recognition from him,"

Gwen chattered on with volubility. All he heard was: "Oh, you positively must fish, you know, for there is nothing else to

be done here. One day you must fish, next day you ride or drive, next

day you fish again; and that's all, except tennis. Winnie and I do

nothing else. In the evening Beauty sings to us, and there's

beautifully she sings. You'll be charmed with her voice--sweet, old

Welsh airs, you know--"

"Hush, Gwen; stop that chatter. I want to ask Mr. Wynne something

about Dr. Belton."

"Oh, papa! all the way from the station, and you didn't ask him about

Dr. Belton!"

Cardo was thankful to have to talk to Colonel Meredith, for it enabled

him to turn his head aside, though still he was conscious of that white

figure opposite him, with the golden head and the deep blue eyes.

She had regained her composure, and was talking calmly to the curate,

who was laying before her his plans for a Sunday school treat. It is

one of the bitter trials of humanity that it has to converse about

trifles while the heart is breaking. If only the tortured one could

rush away to some lonely moor, there to weep and wail to his heart's

content, the pain would not be so insufferable; but in life that cannot

be, and Valmai smiled and talked platitudes with a martyr's patience.

In the drawing-room, after dinner, she buried herself in the old, red

arm-chair, setting herself to endure her misery to the bitter end.

When Cardo entered with Colonel Meredith, Cecil, and the curate, she

had passed from agonised suffering to the cold insensibility of a

stone. She knew she would wake again when the evening was over, and

she was alone with her sorrow; but now she had but to bear and wait.

It would be impossible to describe Cardo's feelings; indeed, he felt,

as he entered the room, and saw that white figure in the crimson chair,

that he had already passed through the bitterness of death.

"Nothing more can hurt me," he thought; "after this I can defy every

evil power to do me harm!" And he stood in his old attitude with his

elbow leaning on the mantelpiece, while he answered Gwen's frivolous,

and Winifred's sentimental, questions.