Night came, but Ann could not sleep. She tossed restlessly from side to side, her thoughts going round and round in an endless weary circle. Tony and Brett and Eliot, three men who had loved and desired her, each in his own way, and between them they had managed to crush out every atom of happiness that life could hold for her. Towards morning, utterly worn out, she dropped into an uneasy slumber, from which--it seemed to her--Maria roused her almost at once, and with the return of consciousness the whole deadening weight of recollection fell on her once more. She raised herself wearily on her elbow. "Is it really time to get up?" she asked languidly. "I feel as if I'd only just gone to sleep." Maria, bustling about the room pulling up the blinds and drawing back the curtains, paused and looked at the slender figure lying in the bed with eyes full of concern. They were like the faithful, yearning eyes of a dog who senses that you are in trouble but is powerless to help. He can do nothing--only love you. And Maria knew that her adored young mistress was in sore trouble, and that she could do nothing to help--only love her. "There, drink your cup o' tea, miss, and you'll feel better," she said hearteningly. "A body feels different with a cup o' tea inside. I suppose you've heard the news--since Mr. Forrester himself was here only yesterday?" Ann set down her tea-cup sharply, her heart beating apprehensively. What was she going to hear now? Something else that would hurt her afresh? She glanced shrinkingly towards Maria. "No. What news?" she faltered. She did not want to be hurt any more. She felt as though she wouldn't be able to bear it. "Why, 'twas the milkman told me. Mr. Forrester's off from White Windows to-day. Going away quite sudden like in that there _Minx_ of his." She nodded in the direction of the bay. The ghost of a smile flitted across Ann's tired face. "In the _Sphinx_, you mean," she suggested. "Yes, miss, jes' what I said, wasn't it?" agreed Maria. "You can see 'em all on board this morning--busy as bees in a hive." Ann stepped out of bed and went to the window. It was quite true. Far below in the bay she could see the shining _Sphinx_, and there were signs of unmistakable activity on board. She drew a long breath. If Brett were going, it was good news--not bad! She had always been secretly afraid of him. Now--now that she was aware of the part he had played in the destruction of her happiness, she knew that she would never again be able to see him without recalling all that she had lost. He seemed to her to embody the whole tragedy which had befallen her. And the yacht--his yacht--waiting, waiting always in the bay, like a cat at a mousehole.... Two hours later Ann stood on the cliff and watched the _Sphinx_ steam slowly out to sea, and with the last gleam of the yacht's white stern it seemed to her as though some inexplicable, still lingering menace were removed. CHAPTER XXVII THE TRUTH