She lifts her head. The anguish, the entreaty in her eyes frighten, and yet gladden him. For in this moment he feels he is master of her fate, and she is unconscious of the fact. Did he but hold her in his arms--did the tide of passion, locked back within his throbbing heart, find vent in one word, one caress, he knows he could not answer for himself--for her! It is the critical moment of Keith Athelstone's life. All that is best and worst in his heart are at war; all that is most hard to resist wraps him in a flame of tempting that burns away all good resolves, and almost stifles the faint whispers of a conscience that pleads for her. For her--for her. To save her from _herself_ as well as from his own mad love. To leave her unharmed, untainted by the baseness of his selfish passion; to be worthy of love, as love had been in those sweet, glad, childish days. These thoughts flash like lightning through his brain, even as he meets her mournful eyes, and reads their unconscious betrayal. "Oh, love, good-bye! Let me go!" he cries wildly, and throws her hands aside with almost cruel force. He is blind and dizzy with pain. A word, a look from her, and he knows that his strength will be broken like a reed--that he will never leave her again; and in his blindness and dizziness and agony of heart he rushes away, flings the door wide open, and finds himself face to face with--Sir Francis Vavasour! CHAPTER XXV Fate delights in playing mankind spiteful tricks. The present instance is no exception. Lauraine has sunk back into her chair, faint and spent with emotion; scarcely conscious, indeed, of what is going on around her; and in this state her husband's rough voice breaks upon her ear. "What the devil's the matter? I met Athelstone flying out like a bomb-shell, and you look like a ghost. Have you been having a--fraternal quarrel?" She starts to her feet and looks at him with wild, wide eyes. "Francis, you--" she gasps. "You don't seem very pleased to see me," says her husband, looking at her suspiciously. "What on earth have you been doing with yourself? You look as ill as possible." He takes her hand and kisses her carelessly on the cheek as he speaks. "I have not been well," she falters, trying for composure, "and Etwynde asked me to come to her for a few weeks, and I thought the change would do me good. How is it you are in London? Did you know I was here?" "Yes. I got your letter at the club and came on. I only arrived last night." He throws himself into a chair, and looks at her curiously. "What was the row with Athelstone?--you haven't told me." Lauraine grows very white. "He is going abroad--away for years. His engagement is all over. He came to say good-bye." Sir Francis gives a long whistle. "_Nom de Dieu_? Is that so? And have you had a hand in breaking it off, my lady?" "What do you mean?" she asks, looking at him with grave surprise.