'Will you come down?' she remarked distantly.

'One moment, Sheila,' Lawford began miserably. 'Before we take
this irrevocable step, a step I implore you to postpone awhile--
for what comes, I suppose, may go--what precisely have you told
the vicar? I must in fairness know that.'

'In fairness,' she began ironically, and suddenly broke off. Her
husband had turned the flame of the lamp low down in the vacant
room behind them; the corridor was lit obscurely by the
chandelier far down in the hall below. A faint, inexplicable
dread fell softly and coldly on her heart. 'Have you no trust in
me?' she murmured a little bitterly. 'I have simply told him the
truth.'

They softly descended the stairs; she first, the dark figure
following close behind her.



CHAPTER THREE

Mr Bethany sat awaiting them in the dining-room, a large,
heavily-furnished room with a great benign looking-glass on the
mantelpiece, a marble clock, and with rich old damask curtains.
Fleecy silver hair was all that was visible of their visitor when
they entered. But Mr Bethany rose out of his chair when he heard
them, and with a little jerk, turned sharply round. Thus it was
that the gold-spectacled vicar and Lawford first confronted each
other, the one brightly illuminated, the other framed in the