The knowledge filled me with dread. Although she charmed, nay, almost magnetised me, my pulse beat none the quicker because of her presence, and I felt blinded with excess of light. A desire came for the soothing Mary’s voice alone could give, and I too left the room. Old Stephen, stiff as the mailed figures in the hall, was pacing outside the door. His eighty years of service had given him the freedom of the house. He divined my intention. ‘Miss Mary is in the garden,’ he said. I went to the Stone Dragon, convinced that I should find her there. I was not deceived: she was sitting on the sward beside the monster; her head resting on his scaly back. At my approach her face lighted up, and she rose to meet me. ‘Forgive me for being so weak,’ she murmured coyly. ‘I could not bear to see you kissing Rachel. I am foolishly jealous and--it followed so quickly after----’ ‘Dear Mary,’ I said, ‘let us forget it all. To-night I would leave the precincts of the house. Let us walk together to the moor. There is a British camp somewhere near: it will be just the place for a solemn vowing. Show me the way!’ She led me through the intricate maze to a door in a moss-covered wall, which opened on a barren path. This crossed a mile of park, and then reached a broad and hilly stretch of moorland. Here the track was sunken between gravelly banks. At some distance rose a mound, on whose top stood three cromlechs. When we stood against the largest, I took her right hand. ‘I, Ralph Eyre, swear solemnly that all my life shall be devoted to your happiness.’ Mary’s voice, soft and trembling, followed. ‘I, Mary Verelst, swear solemnly that all my life shall be devoted----’ A harsh cry interrupted her. Turning sharply we saw Rachel herself, covered with a long grey cloak, whose hood had fallen back. How she had followed so silently I never knew: it may have been that she had unwittingly chosen this as a night walk, but whether or no, her presence here was the work of some evil genius. She was haggard, and as the moonlight fell on her distorted face I saw that her eyes had contracted so much as to be almost invisible. One hand was tearing the flowers from her throat, the other moved automatically in front. ‘Rafe!’ she muttered, ‘Rafe!’ Mary came closer, and passed her arm around my waist. She was nearly fainting, and required all my strength to support her, but I was impotent as a new-born child, and could only grasp her elbow with nerveless fingers. ‘Is this the end?’ Rachel asked. Her voice was dull and monotonous. ‘Answer me quickly--don’t you know what a woman’s heart is? Is this the end of all I have prayed for--this refusal of my passion?’ I strove to speak: my teeth chattered. ‘I am not an heroic woman, noble enough to wear the willow in peace, and to pass my prime in the doing of good deeds. God forgive me; my nature is small--so small that you have consumed its virtue! If only my love would change to hatred I could endure it better.’