"Yes, your vision is clear;—I will not palter or fight off, or equivocate,—I do love Alan. Oh, what a relief it is to speak aloud, what I have scarcely dared to whisper to my own heart. Love has come to me at last; hitherto I have starved in the midst of plenty, now cruel fate has brought me a great gift—which I may not accept. I nursed Alan back to life—he had gone to the very edge of the grave, and he says my voice recalled him; that he loved me, only dawned upon me recently; he has never dared to tell me in so many words, but I know it, and the fact fills me with almost intolerable joy. My husband is cold and formal; I was freezing into the same mould. Alan has melted my heart; I've warmed my hands before the fire of life——" "Yes," interrupted Angel, finishing the quotation, "but it does not sink—nor are you ready to depart! Elinor, I beseech you, send Mr. Lindsay away. You are not as other women—you have a name and example to live up to; your influence has been like a star, which, if it falls, means black darkness to hundreds." "You need not be afraid, Angel," said Mrs. Gordon with a sob; "I will never succumb—with God's help—but you do not realise what it is, to starve and shiver for years, and then be offered your heart's desire, only to refuse it; a supreme influence seems to have taken possession of me, undefinable, and impalpable, but real and actual, as light or the electric current. But I see that you despise me; in your eyes I have fallen from my high estate," and she rose and threw her arms tightly round Angel. "Yes, I despise myself." "Promise me that you will send him away," whispered Angel. "Yes, yes—that I promise. When we return to Marwar, he goes to England, and we shall never—never—meet again. Oh—never." "Goes to England?" repeated Angel, incredulously. "He succeeded to his property some time ago, but has kept the matter quiet, and remains out in India for——" "For your sake," interrupted Angel; "I understand. Well, I hope he will go soon." Mrs. Gordon shivered involuntarily. "It is strange—or is it not strange—that your husband has never noticed how friendly Mr. Lindsay is—with you?" "No, no; he attributes it all entirely to himself. It would be impossible for him to realise that I could attract anyone in that way." "And he is an old mole, grubbing away at the story of the love of Shireen and Ferhad, and never sees the real story which is enacted before his eyes." "Oh, Angel, don't say such things, my dear—they hurt—they hurt."