For a little he waited. Then, "That being so," he said very deliberately, "there is no power on earth--I swear--I swear--that shall ultimately come between us!"

"Oh, hush!" she said. "Hush!" She turned towards him, her face white and agitated. "I will not listen to you, Nap. I cannot listen to you!

You must go."

She stretched a hand towards him appealingly, and he caught it, crushing it against his breast. For a moment he seemed about to kneel, and then he altered his purpose and drew her to her feet. Again she was aware of that subtle, mysterious force within him, battling with her, seeking to dominate, to conquer, to overwhelm her. Again there came to her that sense of depth, depth unutterable, appalling. She seemed to totter on the very edge of the pit of destruction.

Very quietly at length his voice came to her. It held just a touch of ridicule. "What! Still doing sacrifice to the great G.o.d Convention? My dear girl, but you are preposterous! Do you seriously believe that I will suffer that drunken maniac to come between us--now?"

He flung his head back with the words. His fiery eyes seemed to scorch her. And overhead the rapturous bird-voice pealed forth a perfect paean of victory.

But Anne stood rigid, unresponsive as an image of stone. "He is my husband," she said.

She felt his hand tighten upon hers, till the pressure was almost more than she could endure. "You never felt a spark of love for him!" he said.

"You married him--curse him!--against your will!"

"Nevertheless, I married him," she said.

He showed his teeth for a moment, and was silent. Then imperiously he swept up his forces for the charge. "These things are provided for in the States," he said. "If you won't come to me without the sanction of the law, I will wait while you get it. I will wait till you are free--till I can make you my lawful wife. That's a fair offer anyway." He began to smile. "See what a slave you have made of me!" he said. "I've never offered any woman marriage before."

But Anne broke in upon him almost fiercely. "Oh, don't you know me better than that?" she said. "Nap, I am not the sort of woman to throw off the yoke like that. It is true that I never loved him, and I do not think that I shall ever live with him again. But still--I married him, and while he lives I shall never be free--never, never!"

"Yet you are mine," he said.

"No--no!"

She sought to free her hand, but he kept it. "Look at me!" he said. "Do you remember that day in March--the day you saw me whipped like a dog?"

Involuntarily she raised her eyes to his. "Oh, don't!" she whispered, shuddering. "Don't!"

But he persisted. "You felt that thrashing far more than I did, though it made a murderer of me. You were furious for my sake. Did you never ask yourself why?" Then in a lower voice, bending towards her, "Do you think I didn't know the moment I saw your face above mine? Do you think I didn't feel the love in your arms, holding me up? Do you think it isn't in your eyes--even now?"

"Oh, hush!" she said again piteously. "Nap, you are hurting me. I cannot bear it. Even if it were so, love--true love--is a sacred thing--not to be turned into sin."

"Sin!" he said. "What is sin? Is it sin to fulfil the very purpose for which you were created?"

But at that she winced so sharply that he knew he had gone too far.

It was characteristic of the man that he made no attempt to recover lost ground.

"I'm a wicked pagan no doubt," he said, with a touch of recklessness.

"Everyone will tell you so. I fancy I've told you so myself more than once. Yet you needn't shrink as if I were unclean. I have done nothing that you would hate me for since I have known you."

He paused and seemed to listen, then very quietly released her hand. A curious expression flickered across his face as he did so, and a little chill went through her. It was like the closing of the furnace door.

"I am going," he said. "But I shall come back--I shall come back." His smile, sudden and magnetic, gleamed for an instant and was gone.

"Do you remember the missing heart?" he said "There are some things that I never forget."

And so, without farewell, he turned and left her, moving swiftly and easily over the gra.s.s. She heard the jingle of his spurs, but no sound of any footfall as he went.

CHAPTER IV

THE FATAL STREAK

"My lady!"

Anne looked up with a start. She had been sitting with closed eyes under the lilac tree.

Dimsdale, discreet and deferential as ever, stood before her.

"Mr. Lucas Errol is here," he told her, "with another gentleman. I knew your ladyship would wish to be at home to him."

"Oh, certainly," she answered, rising. "I am always at home to Mr. Lucas Errol. Please tell him I am coming immediately."

But she did not instantly follow Dimsdale. She stood instead quite motionless, with her face to the sky, breathing deeply.

When she turned at length she had recovered all her customary serenity.

With the quiet dignity peculiar to her, she pa.s.sed up the garden path, leaving the thrush still singing, singing, singing, behind her.

She found her visitors in the drawing-room, which she entered by the open window. Lucas greeted her with his quiet smile and introduced Capper--"a very great friend of mine, and incidentally the finest doctor in the U.S.A."

She shook hands with the great man, feeling the small green eyes running over her, and conscious that she blushed under their scrutiny. She wondered why, with a vague feeling of resentment. She also wondered what had moved Lucas to bring him.

As she sat at the tea-table and dispensed hospitality to her guests it was Lucas who kept the conversation going. She thought he seemed in wonderful spirits despite the heavy droop of his eyelids.

Capper sat in almost unbroken silence, studying his hostess so perpetually that Anne's nerves began to creak at last under the strain.

Quite suddenly at length he set down his cup. "Lady Carfax," he said abruptly, "I'm told you have a herb garden, and I'm just mad on herbs.

Will you take me to see it while Lucas enjoys a much-needed and well-earned rest?"

Anne glanced up in surprise. They were almost the first words he had spoken. Capper was already upon his feet. He stood impatiently cracking his fingers one by one.

She rose. "Of course I will do so with pleasure if Mr. Errol doesn't mind."

"Certainly not, Lady Carfax," smiled Lucas. "I am extremely comfortable.

Pray give him what he wants. It is the only way to pacify him."

Anne smiled and turned to the window. They went out together into the golden spring evening.

The herb garden was some distance from the house. Capper strode along in silence, with bent brows. More than ever Anne wondered what had brought him. She did not try to make conversation for him, realising by instinct that such effort would be vain as well as unwelcome. She merely walked quietly beside him, directing their steps whither he had desired to go.

They were out of sight of the house before he spoke. "Say, madam, I'm told you know the Errol family off by heart without needing to look 'em up."

She glanced at him in surprise. "Of course I know them. Yes, I know them all."

"Well?" he demanded.