smash, let it be done in a way that will prevent you being smashed also
in the world's eyes. You can live, and you will live. Is there nothing
for you to do? Is there no one for whom you would do something, who
would be heart-broken if you--if you went mad now?"

Suddenly a great change passed over Hylda. "Is there no one for whom you
would do something?" Just as in the desert a question like this had
lifted a man out of a terrible and destroying apathy, so this searching
appeal roused in Hylda a memory and a pledge. "Is there no one for whom
you would do something?" Was life, then, all over? Was her own great
grief all? Was her bitter shame the end?

She got to her feet tremblingly. "I will go back," she said slowly and
softly.

"Windlehurst will take you home," the Duchess rejoined eagerly. "My
carriage is at the door."

A moment afterwards Lord Windlehurst took Hylda's hands in his and held
them long. His old, querulous eyes were like lamps of safety; his smile
had now none of that cynicism with which he had aroused and chastened the
world. The pitiful understanding of life was there and a consummate
gentleness. He gave her his arm, and they stepped out into the moonlit
night. "So peaceful, so bright!" he said, looking round.

"I will come at noon to-morrow," called the Duchess from the doorway.

A light was still shining in Eglington's study when the carriage drove
up. With a latch-key Hylda admitted herself and her maid.