There was a moment of terrible silence between them. In the old days Fenella would have flamed out at him--would have heaped abuse and rage and anger upon his head; but now she said not one single word--not one. The events of the last month had broken her down, and crushed her to the earth, and her tongue was tied. She could not deny the charge, nor tell the truth. She had taken this blood-guiltiness upon her soul to save him she loved--and to the end she must bear it--to the end! Only, she had not realized before how dreadful it would be to bear. That Jacynth, who had worshiped the very ground she stood upon, should refuse to touch her hand, was very terrible to her. She sat down. There was a moment of intense silence, then dully, spiritlessly, she asked: “Why have you come here, then?” “To see you--to help and advise you, if you will take my help, and to tell you about Ronny.” “Ah, Ronny!” she cried, looking at him with a sudden eagerness, while a pink flush flooded her pale cheeks. “Where is Ronny? I must have him. Will you bring him to me now--at once--this very night?” “My dear Lady Francis, I want you to be very reasonable and sensible, and to listen to me.” “I never was reasonable and sensible in my life,” she began--with a little pout and a shrug of her shoulders that reminded him almost too painfully of her own wayward self--“but I will listen if you like,” she added humbly. “I want you to let Ronny be where he is--for the present at least. He is with my sister Helen, and with Grandison her boy, his old playfellow. I think it would be good for them both to be left together. My nephew has an excellent tutor, and Ronny can share his lessons. My sister has taken them both down to the country, to her home in Sussex. She was very hard to you, Fenella, but she is not really a bad-hearted woman, and she was very, very sorry for poor little Ronny when--when it all happened--and when--you were taken from him. Let Ronny be where he is.” “But I want him, I want him!” she cried. “He is all I have on earth--why should I be parted from him?” “For his own good, Fenella!” “It is best for a child to be with his mother.” He looked at her fixedly, but very sadly and seriously. “Do you think so,” he asked slowly--“in this case?” Then she understood. Understood, that because of the brand of Cain upon her brow, the world would not think it good for her boy to be brought up by his own mother! Her cup of woe was indeed full. She bowed her head--the bright brown head that he would have died to serve--upon her hands, and wept aloud.