miss chressham closed the door, and the countess lavinia was again surprised in marius, for he did not thrust her from him nor give any sign of start or shame. his hand remained where it was, resting on the spinet behind her, but she loosened her clasp on his lace and drew herself erect.

susannah was the most ill at ease of the three.

“what shall i say,” she murmured, halting within the door—“to either of you?” she added; but her speech was directed wholly to her cousin. she ignored the countess.

“i am sorry that you have come,” he answered, not looking at her, “for here, madam, is a matter you cannot mend.”

“have you followed me?” demanded the countess violently.

miss chressham brought herself to address rose’s wife.

“your maid came to me,” she said, with pallid lips, “and informed me of this visit. she is below now, waiting for you, my lady.”

the countess lavinia laughed.

“what manner of woman do you think i am, madam?” she cried. “you do not know me.”

“i did not think of you at all, madam,” answered miss chressham quietly, “for, as you say, i do not know you; but captain lyndwood i do know, and to him have i come to appeal.”

he stood unnaturally still, with slightly parted lips and averted eyes. the lace falling round the hand he rested on the spinet shook noticeably.

the countess, braced by hatred of the other woman, inspired by the fury of this interference, stepped into the centre of the room, a slender, almost childish figure in the clinging white dress.

“will you begone, madam?” she said thickly. “this is no affair of yours.”

“no affair of mine, madam?” answered miss chressham proudly. “i, my lady, am of the house of lyndwood.”

“and i am not,” cried the countess; “but a tradesman’s daughter.”

“i speak of honour, madam, which belongeth not to birth,” retorted susannah.

lady lyndwood flung back her head.

“there was nought of honour in the bargain,” she said. “your house hath had the money and spent it, and now i think it is my turn.”

“marius!” cried miss chressham. “help me—help me in what i have come to do!”

he moved forward slowly, with his head bent, and at sight of him both the women were silent, so clearly was he labouring with an almost unendurable agony of soul.

“how shall i adjust this?” he asked. “how?”

“there is nothing to adjust,” said the countess. “you have decided.”

“i also,” said miss chressham. “i have decided that you return to-night—that you shall return, madam, and before my lord notices your absence. do you suppose that your insanity can be permitted to work this mad mischief?”

it was marius who answered.

“you should not have come on this errand. it can do no good. my lady has appealed to me.”

the sudden bright flash of wrath with which susannah spoke was like the unsheathing of a sword.

“what have we fallen to that a woman alone must try to defend the honour of lyndwood? will you for this”—she turned her gleaming eyes on the countess—“deliver your house to infamy?”

“i am bound,” said marius. then he also turned to the countess. “speak!” he cried passionately. “tell me again what it is you ask of me; but reflect, in the name of god, what this means. is it going to be worth it to you?”

she moved away both from him and miss chressham; she sank on to the stool in front of the spinet, and her hands fell slackly into her lap.

“abandon me if you will,” she said faintly. “i have no claim i can enforce; only i am not going back. i can end it now as well as another time.”

susannah moved impulsively forward.

“madam, i beseech you!” her voice was softer. “you have much to forgive—i have not come to judge you—but no wrongs can be righted this way. you must come back.”

the countess looked at her bitterly.

“you use words you do not know the meaning of. what have you and i in common, madam, that you should dare to interfere with me? we have always disliked each other; do not have the hypocrisy to disclaim it.”

“you are my lord’s wife,” interrupted miss chressham, withdrawn again into a cold reserve, and armed with angry pride.

“my lord’s wife!” repeated the countess lavinia. “that to you, and no more. my lord’s wife to be reclaimed like a straying dog and sent back shivering to my post! my lord’s wife! but i am more, madam; i am a woman.”

she rose impetuously and leant against the spinet, her muslin ruffles touching the white roses.

“what’s to do?” muttered marius. he looked from one woman to another in a desperate, helpless fashion, as if he sought some cue. in his eyes was the bewildered, appealing reproach of a wounded animal.

miss chressham spoke to the countess with her glance and her gesture as well as her words.

“do you think i can retire leaving you here? if it be useless to quote honour or shame, ye cannot ignore decency. ye cannot, under my eyes, leave the house in the company of captain lyndwood; also your maid is below.”

“wretch to have betrayed me!” exclaimed the countess. “what is her motive? she wishes to keep me in my place because it means to her so much in money, in comfort, in this and that. what is your motive? you wish to save my lord’s face before the town. neither you nor she care what becomes of me!” she shivered with scorn. “no one would—not my lady agatha. i might go to damnation for all of you, did it not suit your convenience or your pride to keep me honest. what would my lord care for any sin of mine, did it not touch him?”

she pressed her hands to her bosom, and took a step or two towards miss chressham, her whole slight body trembling.

“away with your flimsy morality!” she said. “you speak for yourself, i for myself, and your object is no worthier than mine. my lord and the name of lyndwood is as little to me as my happiness is to you. there is no argument that you can touch me with.”

“lavinia!” interrupted marius, in a low and terrible voice, “i will not hear you speak in such fashion.”

she turned and gave him a curious, quiet look.

“are you going to ask me to go back?” she said.

“i would thank you on my knees,” he answered, “if you could listen to my cousin; if you could find it in you to return.” he paused a second; both the women looked at him intently. with a quick breath and added force, he continued: “yet i think you speak the truth, and i know i have been wrong, and that our house hath not been so honourable in this matter, and—” he paused again, then frantically, “oh, god!” he cried, “there are things impossible to speak of—things that sear the lips! i am a coward, and i would that i were dead!”

“marius!” cried miss chressham, wan and rigid, horror in her eyes. “i cannot find you in this behaviour. why do you hesitate? what is there to weigh with you against the fact that this woman is rose’s wife?”

the countess gave a sudden laugh.

“he knows this woman loves him, and that fact weighs something with a man.”

marius put his hand before his face, and susannah drew back aghast.

“you outrage all shame!” she said hoarsely. “are you without all honour that you dare say this to my face?”

the countess turned her back on her.

“take me away,” she held out her hands to marius, “or kill me! this woman does not understand.”

he looked at her, but shrank, and she fell suddenly to her knees. susannah sprang forward and caught her up. there was a cry, an exclamation among them, and the door was flung open on rose lyndwood.

his eyes travelled from one to another. he took off his hat.

“ah, you also, susannah!” he said, and closed the door behind him.

he was splendidly dressed in black velvet and satin. his magnificence and superb looks put the chamber to shame. he came across the room gaily, with his head high, and miss chressham, at least, saw he was in a passion of wrath and scorn that uplifted him above them all.

marius waited. stealthily the countess drew away from him.

“rose,” began susannah feebly; but the bare truth was so obviously abroad among them, the facts lay so clearly before them, that all attempts to soften or excuse were futile. she could not get the foolish words across her lips.

my lord dropped the rich cloak he carried on to a chair.

“i did not go to the trefusis ball,” he said, addressing his brother, “but to my lady’s house, and there i learnt enough.”

“of what you already suspected?” asked marius, in a dreary way.

“i warned you,” said my lord. he smiled, and the eyes he kept on his brother’s face were black in their intensity. “well, we are all worthless knaves and fools, but i have done with this.”

“take my lady home,” broke in susannah.

“not yet,” said rose lyndwood. he drew his rapier with a soft, bright sound, and laughed in marius’s face.

“ah, that!” cried the younger man; and his eyes began to shine. “do you force bloodshed on me, my lord?”

the earl struck him on the breast with the flat of his sword.

“do you want me to strike you across the face, you poor weak hypocrite?” he cried. “cannot you answer for what you have done?”

marius put his hand to his hilt. the countess gave a sobbing laugh, and kept her eyes on them, gloating over my lord’s fury.

she came forward.

“my lord,” she said, “i am not here by chance. i love your brother, even to the same measure that i hate you.”

he thrust her away from him, for in her passion she had stepped so close that her distorted face almost touched his shoulder, and marius snatched his weapon from the scabbard.

miss chressham stepped between the sword-points.

“marius,” she whispered, “do not fight.”

her fingers touched his sleeve for a second, and she looked into his eyes.

“stand back, madam!” cried my lord fiercely, but marius answered her gaze.

“have pity!” she murmured, and she glanced past him at the earl.

“oh!” muttered marius. his rapier slipped from his fingers and rattled on the polished boards; he staggered back against the mantelshelf, staring at susannah.

“do not fight!” she stammered, and laid her finger on her white lips.

that was all, but marius understood.

“take up your sword!” commanded my lord.

he obeyed, picked up the weapon, and returned it to the sheath.

“you may do what you will, my lord,” he said, in a changed voice, “but you and i cannot adjust anything in this way.”

“i am not here to discuss expediency,” returned the earl, “but to cross swords with you. it has come to that. we cannot both live with honour.”

marius looked from one woman to another—the countess urging him on with fiery eyes and passion in her very breath, miss chressham, still and cold, forbidding. one hated the man who stood opposed to him; the other—what of that other? and he was bound to obey her because he held her very dear.

“i do not fight, my lord,” he said. he folded his arms and moved away.

“by god!” cried the earl, transported. “are you coward, too—in this fashion, too—that you can put a last insult on me—on your house?”

the countess flung herself before marius, adding her fury to that of her husband.

“have you failed me now? will you shame me utterly?”

he looked, beyond them, at miss chressham.

“i will not fight,” he said. “i dare not. i think i might kill you.”

“oh, what miserable folly are we reduced to in this boy?” exclaimed the earl. “unfortunate have we been, and our records are wild enough, but never have we touched this shame.”

marius turned on him.

“take the countess home, my lord,” he said, “and set your own life straight. in mine own eyes i do right. and, insult me as you please, i will not, i swear, cross swords with you. as for my lady here, blame yourself, not her. i have scarcely touched her hand since her marriage, and there have been few words between us.”

“spare me any speech!” broke in the earl, restraining himself proudly. “i see now what i deal with.” he slipped his sword back into the scabbard, and addressed his wife. “you will return with me, madam.”

the countess fixed her eyes on marius, and gave a foolish laugh.

“return—with you!”

“with me.” he picked up his cloak, then flashed round on his brother. “as for tomorrow morning——

“hush!” breathed marius quickly. “not here, not now!”

the earl smiled.

“what do you mean? i speak of my duel with sir francis. i will find another second.”

miss chressham, in the shadowed background, started convulsively, shivered and drooped.

“no, no!” struck in marius, sharply. “i will be there.”

“what is my affront from sir francis compared to this i take from you?” said my lord, still with glowing eyes, and that fixed, proud smile. “i do not wish to see your face again, my brother. you will not come tomorrow.”

marius stood silent, and susannah made a little moaning sound.

“come, my lady!” commanded the earl. “your confidante is waiting below. shall we not end this miserable comedy that we have not wit nor courage to carry through?”

in a slow, mechanical way she gathered up her hat and gloves.

“i am accursed!” she said under her breath. “well, god judge you, marius!”

he did not move nor speak.

the earl crossed to the door; his eyes flashed to miss chressham.

“are you coming with us, madam?”

she shook her head dumbly.

my lord lifted his shoulders.

“then au revoir! maybe i shall see you again.”

the countess arranged her hat and joined her husband. her demeanour was quiet, yet resolute, as if she saw what to do and was satisfied. susannah, even through her own agony, wondered at this sudden taming and resignation in her; she found something more deadly and horrible than open passion and despair in the way in which the countess averted her face as she passed her husband, he holding the door open for her, and following her slight figure with his unforgiving eyes, as she went out on to the stairs.

still marius did not speak.

“we are of an unfortunate house,” said rose lyndwood, smiling at his brother. then he followed his wife and closed the door after him.

susannah lifted her hands to her forehead; it seemed to her that she dragged them painfully through air grown unsupportably heavy.

“what is this duel?” she asked, with stiff lips.

“with sir francis,” he answered. “i did not want you to know. there is nothing to be done.”

“you were to be his second?”

“yes.”

“and—and now?”

“you heard.”

she rose. the dim lamplight felt a weight upon her eyes.

“i had no business to ask you to hold back, marius,” she said dully. “women should not interfere.”

he made no answer. his head drooped a little on his breast, his eyes were cast down.

“but i could not bear it,” continued susannah. “that must be my excuse. i could not bear”—she stressed the words passionately—“to see you draw your sword on him; but i was wrong. it was unjust to you.”

“he has done with me,” said marius, without raising his head. “but when you whispered to me, when i saw—understood, i decided, and i am glad.”

“i cannot thank you,” answered susannah, “nor say what i should.”

he glanced up.

“no. you think of this duel tomorrow.”

she pressed her hand to her quivering mouth.

“you are right to speak so to me.”

“no—no, forgive me—forgive me!”

susannah did not seem to hear.

“where do they meet?”

“the park—as soon as it is light.” he jerked the words out awkwardly. “my lord was engaged all yesterday.”

“it is on selina’s account,” murmured susannah, in a colourless voice. “well, he is a good swordsman.”

marius looked at her quickly; the earl had chosen pistols.

she roused herself dully.

“will you take me home? it is getting late. we must be glad lavinia hath returned.” she fixed her distracted eyes on marius. “shall we tell my lady, or—suppose they brought him home as his father was brought?”

“he hath been in duels before.”

“but this is no fencing bout!” a sudden horror sprang into her voice. “marius, this is not with pistols?”

he could not lie to her; his silence was answer and confirmation.

she did not speak.

“i could do no more!” he cried, goaded by her face. “i let him strike me because of you. his blood is not on my sword, nor mine on his. as for this, it is not for his honour to interfere.”

susannah moved blindly across the room.

“she hath done it—she, with her lies.”

a sharp silence fell. they could hear the rain beating without; the creeper was tapping against the window, and presently the abbey clock chimed ten.

“somehow we must put the hours through,” murmured susannah, “until——”

her voice died away.

“i will take you home,” said marius hoarsely.

“home!” she repeated; her eyes filled with tears, and sought his. what was between them could not be expressed by any words, but that one look expressed it all.

she rose.

“yes,” she said. “we will go home.”