But Zara was no morbidly sentimental person, the strong blood ran in her veins, and she knew she must face her life and be true to herself, whatever else might betide. So after a while the night airs soothed her, and she said her prayers and went to bed. But Tristram, her lord, paced the floor of his room until almost dawn. * * * * * The next day passed in the same kind of way, only, it was nearly all in public, with local festivities again; and both of the pair played their parts well, as they were now experienced actors, and only one incident marked the pain of this Thursday out from the pains of the other days. It was in the schoolhouse at Wrayth, where the buxom girl who had been assistant mistress, and had married, a year before, brought her first-born son to show the lord and lady--as he had been born on their wedding day, just a fortnight ago! She was pale and wan, but so ecstatically proud and happy looking; and Tristram at once said, they--he and Zara--must be the god-parents of her boy; and Zara held the crimson, crumpled atom for a moment, and then looked up and met her husband's eyes, and saw that they had filled with tears. And she returned the creature to its mother--but she could not speak, for a moment. And finally they had come home again--home to Wrayth--and no more unhappy pair of young, healthy people lived on earth. Zara could hardly contain her impatience to see if a telegram for her from Mimo had come in her absence. Tristram saw her look of anxiety and strain, and smiled grimly to himself. She would get no answering telegram from her lover that day! And, worn out with the whole thing, Zara turned to him and asked if it would matter or look unusual if she said--what was true--that she was so fatigued she would like to go to bed and not have to come down to dinner. "I will not do so, if it would not be in the game," she said. And he answered, shortly: "The game is over, to-night: do as you please." So she went off sadly, and did not see him again until they were ready to start in the morning--the Friday morning, which Tristram called the beginning of the end! He had arranged that they should go by train, and not motor up, as he usually did because he loved motoring; but the misery of being so close to her, even now when he hoped he loathed and despised her, was too great to chance. So, early after lunch, they started, and would be at Park Lane after five. No telegram had come for Zara--Mimo must be away--but, in any case, it indicated nothing unusual was happening, unless he had been called to Bournemouth by Mirko himself and had left hurriedly. This idea so tortured her that by the time she got to London she could not bear it, and felt she must go to Neville Street and see. But how to get away?