And Alwynne should pay.... Oho! Alwynne should pay Elsbeth's debts ... should wince, and shrink, and whiten. _Scientific vivisection of one nerve._ Wait a little, Alwynne!--Ah, Alwynne--the dearest--the beloved--the light and laughter of one's life.... What fool is whispering that Clare can hurt her?... Alwynne shall see when she comes, who loves her.... There shall be a welcome, the royalest welcome she has ever had.... For what in all the world has Clare but Alwynne, and having Alwynne, has not Clare the world? Ah, well.... Perhaps, she had not been always good to Alwynne.... To-day, for instance, she might have been kinder.... But Alwynne always understood.... That was the comfort of Alwynne, that she always understood.... Why didn't she come? Wasn't there an echo of a step far down the street? When Alwynne came, they would make plans.... It would not be easy to wean the girl from her aunt, at least while they lived in the same town, the same country.... But one could travel, could take Alwynne quite away.... Italy.... Greece.... Egypt.... they would go round the world together, shake off the school and all it stood for.... In a new world, begin a new life.... Why not? She had money enough to burn.... It would not be hard to persuade Alwynne, adventurous, infatuate.... Once gone, Elsbeth might whistle for her niece.... They would talk it over to-morrow ... to-night ... as soon as Alwynne came.... Was that thunder or a knocking? Rat-tat! Rat-tat! She had not been mistaken after all.... Alwynne! Alwynne! And Clare, with an appearance on her that even Alwynne had never seen, ran like a child to open the door. On the threshold stood a messenger boy, proffering a telegram. She took it. "Any answer, Miss!" for she had offered to close the door. "Oh, of course!" She frowned, and pulled open the flimsy sheet. The boy waited. He peered past her, interested in the odd pictures on the walls, and the glimpse of a table luxuriously set. The minutes sped. He had soon seen all he could, and began to fidget. "Any answer, Miss?" he hinted. "Oh!" said Clare vaguely. "Answer? No. No answer. No answer at all." The boy knuckled his forehead and clattered away down the staircase. Mechanically Clare shut the door, locked and bolted it and secured it with the chain. Then she returned to the sitting-room and crossed to her former station by the open window. The storm was ending in a downpour of furious tropical rain. It beat in unheeded upon her thin dress and bare neck and the open telegram in her hands, as, with lips parted and a faint, puzzled pucker between her brows, she conned over the message-- _I cannot come to-night.--I have gone to Dene. I am going to marry Roger._