And Francis Markrute, as he watched her, felt his whole being wrung with
emotion and pain.

"My God!" he said to himself. "She is a glorious woman, and it will--it
must--come right--even yet."

And then he set his brain to calculate how he could assist them, and
finally his reasoning powers came back to him, and he comforted himself
with the deductions he made.

She was going away alone with this most desirable young man into the
romantic environment of Wrayth. Human physical passion, to say the least
of it, was too strong to keep them apart for ever, so he could safely
leave the adjusting of this puzzle to the discretion of fate.

And Zara, freed at last from eye of friend or maid, collapsed on to the
white bearskin in front of the fire again, and tried to think. So she
had been offered as a chattel and been refused! Here her spirit burnt
with humiliation. Her uncle, she knew, always had used her merely as a
pawn in some game--what game? He was not a snob; the position of uncle
to Tristram would not have tempted him alone; he never did anything
without a motive and a deep one. Could it be that he himself was in love
with Lady Ethelrida? She had been too preoccupied with her own affairs
to be struck with those of others, but now as she looked back, he had
shown an interest which was not in his general attitude towards women.
How her mother had loved him, this wonderful brother! It was her abiding
grief always, his unforgiveness,--and perhaps, although it seemed
impossible to her, Lady Ethelrida was attracted by him, too. Yes, that
must be it. It was to be connected with the family, to make his position