She had gone more than a mile when she stopped. An irresistible force impelled her, and she retraced her steps. When she reached Bonham's the second time, lights were shining from the windows. The roughly-built house rose directly from the road. Blinds and curtains were evidently considered superfluous. With breathless eagerness she drew near; the evening was cool, and the windows were closed; through the small wrinkled panes she could distinguish a wrinkled Cicely, a wrinkled judge, a Hollis much askew, and a Paul Tennant with a dislocated jaw; they were playing a game. After some moments she recognized that it was whist; she almost laughed aloud, a bitter laugh at herself; she had walked five miles to see a game of whist. A dog barked, she turned away and began her long journey homeward. But the thought came to her, and would not leave her. "After the game is over, and the others have gone to bed, he will see that girl somehow!" She did not find the road a long one. Passion made it short, a passion of jealous despair. Reaching the town at last, she passed an ephemeral ice-cream saloon with a large window; seated within, accompanied by a Port aux Pins youth of the hobbledehoy species, was Rose Bonham, eating ice-cream. The next evening at six the excursion party returned. At seven they were seated at the tea-table. The little door-bell jangled loudly in the near hall, there was a sound of voices; Paul, who was nearest the door, rose and went to see what it was. After a long delay he came back and looked in. They had all left the table, and Cicely had gone to her room; Paul beckoned Eve out silently. His face had a look that made her heart stop beating; in the narrow hall, under the small lamp, he gave her, one by one, three telegraphic despatches, open. _The first:_ "_Monday._ "Break it to Cicely. Dear Ferdie died at dawn. "SABRINA ABERCROMBIE." _The second:_ _"Monday._ "Morrison died this morning. Telegraph your wishes. "EDWARD KNOX, M.D." _The third:_ "Wednesday._ "Morrison buried this afternoon. Address me, Charleston Hotel, Charleston. "EDWARD KNOX, M.D." "I ought to have had them two days ago," said Paul. He stood with his lips slightly apart looking at her, but without seeing her or seeing anything. XXII. "Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting, For fear of little men: Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!"