people went directly to the drawing-room. As Dartmouth closed the door
Weir turned to him, the color springing into her face.

"Tell me," she said, peremptorily; "have you discovered what it
meant?"

He took her hand and led her over to the sofa. She sat down, but stood
up again at once. "I cannot sit quietly," she said, "until I _know_.
The enforced repression of the past week, the having no one to speak
to, and the mystery of that dream have driven me nearly mad. It was
cruel of you to stay away so long--but let that pass. There is only
one thing I can think of now--do you know anything more than when you
left?"

He folded his arms and looked down. "Why should you think I could
have learned anything at Crumford Hall?" he demanded, with apparent
evasion.

"Because of the restraint and sometimes incoherence of your letters.
I knew that something had happened to you; you seemed hardly the same
man. You seemed like--Oh, I do not know. For heaven's sake, tell me
what it is."

"Weir," he said, raising his head and looking at her, "what do you
think it is?"

She put up her hands and covered her face. "I do not know," she said,
uncertainly. "If there is to be any explanation it must come from you.
With me there is only the indefinable but persistent feeling that I
am not Weir Penrhyn but the woman of that dream; that I have no right