give him the last sight of her lovely face, it would have been something: but there was no sign of her.

"You stick to your friend, Miss Jermyn, May," he said. "She's very lonely, and will be glad of a friend.

"Oh, yes," said May. "You can't tell how fond I am of her, Lance!"

"That's all right," he said. "She's worth looking after. If you write to me, I wish you'd tell me anything about her."

"I will," said May. "Oh, Lance, I am so sorry you are going! The place won't seem the same without you. Your going takes all the sunshine out of it. I wish I were a man and going with you. Think of getting rid of Miss Barlow, of seeing the world!"

"It's a poor kind of world," said poor Lance.

He was so confused, so eaten up with his thoughts of Kyra, that he scarcely knew what he was saying.

The train was at the station when they reached it; but the station-master had kept the train for so important a person as Mr. Lance le Breton. May leant over the open window of the carriage, both her hands in Lance's.

"Good-bye, Lance! Come back to us-come back to us soon! Oh, good-bye, Lance, dear Lance!"

The train steamed out of the station and carried Lance away from the woman who was his wife in name only.

He looked out of the window and saw May-little Maystanding with her hands clasped, her bright eyes blurred with tears.

CHAPTER XL

KYRA left the coffee-house and passed down the street quickly, her head bent, her veil drawn over her face. She was naturally somewhat agitated: after all, one does not get married every day, and marriage is an event in the life of any girl. She felt confused and bewildered, and she scarcely raised her eyes as she made her way to the station, which she reached, escaping May by the matter of a moment or two, for May drove down the High street just after Kyra had turned one of the corners.

Kyra had only a few minutes to wait before the train came up, and, when it came, she got into a third-class carriage unnoticed by the other passengers, who were few in number; for the farmers and their wives did not usually return from Benstead until late in the evening. Market-day is the one day in

the week for country folk, and they make the most of it, going in by an early train and coming out by a late one.

When the train reached Holmby, Kyra waited until the few passengers got out, and then went quickly down into the road, and, taking a narrow lane, went by a circuitous line towards the Elms. She walked quickly, but as she approached the house she slackened her pace and sauntered into the garden in a casual way; but her heart was beating fast, and it was as much as she could do to meet the enquiring gaze of Mrs. Froyte, who stood on the terrace as if she had been watching her, as she had.

"Have you missed Stracey, Kyra?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Kyra. "At least, I suppose so. Did he go to the glen?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Froyte, looking at her with timid, shifty eyes. "At least, I suppose so; I told him you were going that way."

It

"Then we have missed each other," said Kyra, with a shrug of her shoulders. "I am sorry. I'll go up to my room. is very hot. Please tell Stracey when he comes in that I am sorry I missed him.”

She drew a long breath of relief when she had reached her room. It was evident that Mrs. Froyte, who was always watching her, did not suspect that she, Kyra, had left the neighbourhood. Stracey was, no doubt, wandering about the Glen and would conclude that he had missed her. All was well.

She took off her things slowly, pausing every now and then and looking vacantly before her, as if she were oppressed by thought. The feeling of confusion and bewilderment was passing away, but in its place a strange sadness was stealing over her. She could scarcely realise that she was married; the whole thing seemed a dream. And yet she was married and Lance le Breton was her husband. It was true that he was only her husband in name, that they had parted, perhaps forever; but he was her husband in the eyes of the law-in the eyes of God, too; for were they not married in a church, by a clergyman? Lance's face and voice haunted her. There had been something in the expression of his eyes, in his voice, which she did not understand. It seemed to her that he wat sorry to part with her, that he was inclined to claim her as wife, as a man claims a wife under an ordinary marriage. H had asked her permission to kiss her. How strange that was Was it a freak, a whim, on his part?

Why should he have asked her? He quite understood thi

arrangement and the bargain between them. He had been annoyed, too, when she had spoken of the money. Now, why should he have been so annoyed? It was only. fair that he should receive the benefit of the arrangement.

She sat on the bed as she brushed her hair slowly-it was beautiful hair, and most girls would have been proud of it; but Kyra had never given a thought to it-and allowed her mind to dwell upon that strange scene in the church, the almost stranger scene in the coffee-house.

How handsome he had looked, as he had stood confronting her and asking for that kiss as if it were his right; and how nobly, how chivalrously he had checked himself, even when his lips were almost touching hers.

She thought of it all, going over every detail, with a strange sensation of regret and remorse. Somehow, even in her innocence, she felt as if she had got the better of him in the bargain they had made, as if she had in some way defrauded him. After all, had she not got the better of the bargain? She was safe; Stracey Froyte could not marry her, for she was married already; and if she died, any money that was coming to her could not come to the Froytes. She had attained her object.

But what about Lance le Breton-the handsome, frank-eyed, frank-voiced young fellow who had married her? He was tied to her for life now-no, not tied to her-and yet he was, for he could not marry again; and the benefit he was to receive was quite problematical. She might be rich or she might not; if she were not, he would emphatically be the loser.

She stretched out her left hand and looked at it curiously. The wedding-ring had rested upon it-the ring which was the outward and visible sign of her wifehood. She had taken it from her finger and given it to him; she had given him the marriage-certificate; she had nothing about her to prove the fact of her marriage, to impress even her own consciousness with it.

"But I am safe now," she murmured to herself. "I am married; I am beyond Stracey Froyte's reach."

She ought to have been satisfied with the reflection; but Lance le Breton's-her husband's-face and voice haunted her, and she flung her hands before her eyes to shut them out.

"You are my wife-if I like to claim you!" The words rang in her ears. She wondered what she would have done if he had so claimed her. What would have happened? He would have taken her with him; she would have been his

The mere idea sent the blood to her head and again brought down confusion and bewilderment.

Mrs. Froyte's voice came up the stairs.

"Are you not coming to lunch, Kyra?"

She went down. Mrs. Froyte was in the room, but her husband and Stracey were absent.

"Stracey has not returned yet," said Mrs. Froyte, with a swift glance at Kyra. Everything is half cold. I can't think where he is; he must be looking for you.'

Stracey had gone off to the glen in search of Kyra. He had started quite complacently, with the perpetual cigarette between his lips. She had not accepted him for her husband; she had asked for time to think it over; but he told himself that when a woman hesitates she is lost; and he had so much faith in his own appearance and influence that he regarded Kyra's capitulation as certain, as a mere matter of time.

He smiled to himself as he went towards the glen; for the future seemed roseate and brilliant, and in sharp contrast to his past. For Stracey Froyte had a "past.”

The Froytes had been poor until Mr. Jermyn, Kyra's father, had returned to Europe; and Stracey had been thrown upon his own resources. What they were, even his own father did not know, for S: racey was of a secretive nature and was instinctively given to concealment.

He had launched himself upon the world at quite an early age; had spent some of his years in England and some on the Continent, and had pursued a devious and a dubious way until his father, announcing Mr. Jermyn's death, had summoned him home.

Now, to no man is the prospect of monetary ease more precious than to him who has struggled with poverty and that lack of pence which, according to the best authorities, is the greatest curse under which men can labour. By his marriage with Kyra, Stracey Froyte would come into the command of a vast fortune, an income which would not only place him above want, but seat him amongst those who, by virtue of gold, rule the world.

He thought of all this as he went towards the glen. He recalled his shady past-so shady that even his own father was not aware of it. To do him justice, it must be said that at the start he had endeavoured to fight his way honestly; but though honesty may be the best policy, Stracey Froyte had discovered that it is a policy which takes a long time to run; and he soon abandoned it.

In sundry bar-parlours and billiard-rooms, in the crowded

city lanes and alleys, he met with men of bad antecedents and doubtful presents. The young fellow with the cool head and sharp eyes was too poor to be plucked; so they took him in and made an associate of him. There were certain transactions connected with horse-racing, touting, "stumer" cheques, which had sailed very close to the wind; indeed, some members of the little gang of sharpers and men who live by their wits had put themselves within reach of the law's claws-and had been clawed; but Stracey, either by luck or astuteness, had managed to escape.

He thought of these old days as he walked towards the glen, of the many shifts he had been put to, of the difficulties in the way of getting that food and raiment without which a man cannot live. The retrospect made him shudder. But for the handling of Kyra's fortune, with the prospect of obtaining a safe command of it, he might have again been driven to such shifts for a living, to such strange bedfellows as his former poverty had compelled him to. Little wonder that he looked forward to a marriage with Kyra, to the disposal of the vast Jermyn wealth, with a feverish eagerness. And he felt, this morning, pretty sure of succeeding. She had been kind to him of late; had walked and driven with him. She had not absolutely declined his proposal. He smiled to himself and tried to forget the past, to forget his old associates, his early struggles, the shady actions with which he had been concerned. Once married to Kyra, he would be a wealthy man, beyond the reach of temptation, beyond the reach of reproach.

The glen was a hollow in the hills, about three miles from Holmby Hall. Stracey went towards it, smoking his cigarette and swinging his stick, looking round him with an air of expectancy: Kyra would no doubt be there waiting for him, and he might get a definite answer, an affirmative, to his proposal, and all would be well. What a future lay before him!

But he could see nothing of Kyra. He frowned slightly and was going to ascend one of the hills, so that he might have a better view, when he heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the road that cut across the end of the glen. He turned

mechanically; and, as he did so, a man, riding a horse and leading another, came into that part of the road which opened to Stracey's view. He looked at the man, incuriously enougn at first, then the blood rushed to his face; and he muttered an oath and made a movement towards a bush in the effort to conceal himself. But he was too late. The man on the horse had seen him-for the sun was shining full upon Stracey's