And in that retrospect it seemed that bygone days had failed to show her the uttermost possibilities of mental anguish. Not throughout the long-protracted pain of striving against Lucinda Belmont's successful rivalry; not in that moment of humiliation and agony of spirit when Morris had bade her leave him for Tony; not the year of grinding poverty and overwork that followed--none of all this had brought the cruellest last drops of the cup of misery so near her shrinking lips as did the present hour. She knew now that she could taste of these final dregs by one means only--by seeing her own deeds used as the weapon wherewith to shatter the happiness of the man she loved far more dearly then life. "Geoff, Geoff, forgive me!" she cried aloud, and buried her face in her hands. How cruel it all seemed! Could it be mere chance that so often made a sport, a mockery, of just the highest hopes and prospects--of the sunshine of the present--of the sweetest amidst past memories? Hot rebellion awoke within her heart, so surely did it seem that some subtle malignity, some deliberate spitefulness, had been at work shaping her life from the very day of her birth, when she lost her mother, guiding and controlling events until they culminated in this coil of torment. Or perchance it had all been preordained by some Supreme Being as a test, a needful trial. Yet again, may be, she, and Geoffrey too, were but working out their own salvation, fated to endure in order to expiate evil wrought in some forgotten existence; that she ought to be resigned, and, rebelling no longer, to submit patiently to sorrow both for herself and for him. Ah, mystery of suffering! Can blind mortal eyes pierce the veil? Can a heart torn with ardent earthly love find comfort in the shadowy dreams of philosophers or mystics? Evarne flung herself upon the couch, pressing her face despairingly into the cushions. And in the blackness arose, clear and distinct, a mental vision of that little Temple of Sekhet far away in the land of Egypt. How minutely could she recall the terrifying aspect of the goddess who held dominion over Love, over its joy and its cruelty. Almost with the vividness of reality could she see those ominous features--that flat head with its receding brow, beneath which no wise benevolence, no tender charity could ever find place. And in the mental picture, the narrow gleaming eyes seemed reading the agony of her spirit with malicious deliberation, the long lips were parted over sharp teeth with a devilish smile of amusement and gratification. She started erect and gazed around the familiar room, seeking to clear her mind of such spectres. But the train of thought was not to be got rid of so easily.