you?'"]

"Do not!" she cried passionately, that southern dramatic part of her
nature coming out, here in her abandon of self-control. "Is it not
enough for me to know that it is you and thoughts of you which have
caused me to forget him!--Go! I must be alone!"--and like a fawn she
fled down one of the paths, and beyond a great yew hedge, and so
disappeared from view.

And Tristram sat on the stone bench, too stunned to move.

This was a confession from her, then--he realized, when his power came
back to him. It was no longer surmise and suspicion--there was some one
else. Some one to whom she owed--love. And he had caused her to forget
him! And this thought made him stop his chain of reasoning abruptly. For
what did that mean? Had he then, after all, somehow made her feel--made
her think of him? Was this the secret in her strange mysterious face
that drew him and puzzled him always? Was there some war going on in her
heart?

But the comforting idea which he had momentarily obtained from that
inference of her words went from him as he pondered, for nothing proved
that her thoughts of him had been of love.

So, alternately trying to reason the thing out, and growing wild with
passion and suspicion and pain, he at last went back to the house
expecting he would have to go through the ordeal of luncheon alone; but
as the silver gong sounded she came slowly down the stairs.

And except that she was very pale and blue circles surrounded her heavy