At night he went out again, and paced the lanes till early morning, getting home in time for an hour in bed, whereby he avoided comment. By post arrived a letter from Mrs. Keith, telling of her visit to Midfell, of her plan to take Phyllys abroad. "I have a delightful suggestion to make," she wrote. "You must join us on Lake Thun. The Forsyths send you an invitation. Write and say how soon you can be there." He understood, for he knew her wish, a wish which too well chimed in with his own desires. By this time he craved for Phyllys with a consuming passion. And Mrs. Keith, for reasons of her own, was bent on the same end. She cleared the path for him, and he had but to walk in it. But, Colin! His past resolve! He fought the battle again. He wrote to say that he would go, and he burnt the letter. Next day was a repetition. Another letter of acceptance was written, and destroyed. Then he achieved a third, declining the invitation. He sent this off, and felt that life held no more of joy. Mrs. Keith cannonaded him with remonstrances, and he held to his point. He was too busy; a lame excuse; and he knew what Phyllys would think. Too busy! He spent hours, his head on his hands, thinking only of her. Days passed thus, and a telegram arrived from Mrs. Keith, dated at Dover, saying: "Not well, will get home this afternoon, train arriving 5.5." "In England!" Then Phyllys had gone to Midfell. Some complication must have arisen. The plea "Not well" made small impression. He was too much accustomed to hearing it. Mrs. Keith was not strong; but also she never hesitated to be "not well" for a purpose. She would look ill, no doubt, since she was a born actress. Had she and Phyllys quarrelled? Impossible. A thrill tingled through his powerful frame. Was it possible that Phyllys might come too! He negatived this idea; nevertheless, he told the housekeeper to have the best spare room ready, just in case—But of course she had gone north. When the hour came he was on the platform; and as the train drew up—as he glanced along the carriages—that tingling recurred. For Phyllys was there. CHAPTER XXVIII NEW DEVELOPMENTS WAS this to mean fresh defeat? With victory in view, was he to be hurled back? Phyllys to stay a fortnight at Castle Hill! He to be, day after day, within sight, hearing, touch, yet debarred from winning her! Debarred by his own resolve in the past; by his fresh resolve in the present! If Colin failed, then would come his chance. But Colin would not fail. And meanwhile, a fortnight of this agony! To make matters worse, he read in Phyllys' face joy at their meeting. Despite Colin's absence, she was glad to be here.