“Poor lily flower,” he murmured; “she looks as unfit as girl could look to stand the storms of this troublesome world, and what storms she may have to encounter with her lot linked to mine, Heaven only knows. But there, perhaps I wrong her, there is, I sometimes think, muscle as well as weakness under all that delicate womanly charm. Poor little girl! shall I go away without telling her, or shall I tell her? No, I won’t shirk the nasty things which I undertook when I married one like her—she must bear her burden—Heaven knows I want to make it light to her. Yes, I’ll tell her.” He went up to Nancy, knelt by her side, put his arms round her, and gently transferred her head from the sofa cushions to his breast. The movement, light as it was, awakened her. She opened her eyes, saw him looking down at her, and smiled at first dreamily and happily. “Where am I?” she asked. “I thought I was back at San Remo—I remember now, I am at home, and you are with me.” “I am glad you have had a sleep, Nance,” said her husband in a matter-of-fact voice. “Now I have something to say which is not quite pleasant.” “What is that?” she asked. She started up and pushed her hair from her brow. “I remember everything now,” she repeated; “the garden which I am not to see, and the poor afflicted lady, and the dreadful man who walked across the grass.” “The man has gone, dearest. I trust you may not be troubled with him again—in any case he has nothing whatever to do with you.” “Then what unpleasant thing have you to tell me, Adrian?” “Only that I must leave thee, sweetheart.” “Leave me, leave me?” she asked, her face turning very white. “But not for long.” Rowton bent forward and kissed her lips. “Only for a few hours at the worst. That man brought me a message which makes it imperative for me to go to town to-night. In fact, I am leaving almost immediately—I shall take the very next train from Pitstow. If my business is happily concluded I shall be back in time to go to church with you to-morrow, if not——” “Why do you say ‘if not’?” she asked. “Is there any fear?” “No, none really. Of course there is a possibility that I may not return in time for church—in that case, you will go with Murray; be sure you go, Nance, whether I am with you or not. Now I have not a moment to spare.” Rowton walked across the room and rang the bell. When the servant appeared he gave orders that his dog-cart was to be brought round in a quarter of an hour. He then prepared to leave the room. “Let me come with you and help you to pack,” said Nancy. “To be sure, little woman, come along,” he said. He took her hand and they went upstairs together. They passed through the beautiful bedroom into Rowton’s dressing-room. He thrust a few things into his Gladstone bag, then turned and took his wife in his arms. “How much I must love you,” he said, “when I feel it horrible even to part for a few hours.”