She gave a little delicious sigh. "Ah," she said, "then you will feel it too. I thought you would be so glad to have your own countrywomen with you--to turn your back upon this desert place." He lifted his head, showing her his eyes suffused with tears. "Desert!" he said. "This is the garden, and the King's daughter. I am the unfortunate stranger whom your bounty has succored. Now he must be driven forth again into the wilderness." She laughed, with an assumption of lightness. "Wilderness! That is very unlike Miss Forester's description of England! She says it is the fairest place on earth. I have always"--her sweet, emotional voice dropped to its lowest notes--"I have always wished that I could go there. It is a land of peace, of safety, as well as beauty." It was as if the voice, the words, touched a spring. He turned to her. "Come," he articulated, almost inaudibly; and his craving sounded in his broken voice. "Come to England--with me--Nadia." He felt that he simply could not help it. It had to be said. It was bald, bare, it needed softening, it needed much explaining. But something in Nadia's heart apparently bridged all the gaps. In a moment he had her in his arms. And as he held her, there leaped upon him, out of the past, a memory of the moment in which he had so held Rona, in the Abbey ruins at Newark. The thought went nigh to poison his ecstatic hour. Rona had not yielded herself to him. She had not exactly rejected, but she had by no means responded to his mood. But Nadia responded with a rush of feeling which astounded her lover. It almost frightened him. For the moment it carried him away completely. He had a dim feeling that all the careful maxims of centuries were borne away and swept down by the current upon which he was carried. Through it all was a sense that Nemesis must overtake him--that this could not last. Something was coming upon him--what was it? Remorse for treachery? Stuff! How could one be a traitor to a thing one had never felt? Yet, surely the avenging moment was at hand! Surely there was a hand outstretched to dash away this heady cup from his lips? Yes--and close by. As at last he lifted his burning face, and loosened the clasp of his arms from about Nadia's form, he saw, standing there before him, in bodily shape, his brother Felix. There stood the scapegrace, and there before him sat the virtuous elder brother, caught in the treacherous act. Felix had indeed changed since their last meeting. Tall, handsome, and altogether at his ease, he fixed a glance of ironic amusement upon the situation for a brief half-moment, and then, turning silently and swiftly, walked off among the trees of the garden, unseen by Nadia, whose face was hidden against her lover; leaving Denzil writhing in the pangs of a shame far more acute than the most scathing criticism in words of his conduct would have produced in him. CHAPTER XXX VERONICA IS SURPRISED