Neither Hector or Theodora stirred or made room for them on the seat.

“Isn’t this a sweet place, Lord Wensleydown?” Miss Winmarleigh said.  “Why have you never brought me here before?  How did you find it, Hector?” turning to him in a determined fashion.  “You will have to show us the way back, as we are quite lost!” and she giggled irritatingly.

“The first turn to the right at the end of the willows,” said Hector, with what politeness he could summon up, “and I am sure you will be able to get to the house quite safely.  As you are in such a hurry, don’t let us keep you.  Mrs. Brown and I are going the other way by the river, when we do start.”

“Oh, we are not in a hurry at all,” said Lord Wensleydown.  “Do come with us, Mrs. Brown, we are feeling so lonely.”

Theodora rose.  She could bear no more of this.

“Let us go,” she said to Hector, and they started, leading the way.  And for a while they heard the others in mocking titters behind them, but presently, when near the house, they quickened their pace, and were again alone and free from their tormentors.

They had not spoken at all in this hateful walk, and now he turned to her.

“My darling,” he said, “life seems over for me.”

“And for me, too, Hector,” she said.  “And when we come to this dark piece of wood I want you to kiss me once more and say good-bye forever, and go out of my life.”  There was a passionate sob in her voice.  “And oh! Bien-aime, please promise me you will leave to-morrow.  Do not make it more impossible to bear than it already is.”

But he was silent with pain.  A mad, reckless revolt at fate flooded all his being.

It was past eight o’clock now, and when they came to the soothing gloom of the dark firs he crushed her in his arms, and a great sob broke from him and rent her heart.

“My darling, my darling!  Good-bye,” he said, brokenly.  “You have taught me all that life means; all that it can hold of pleasure and pain.  Henceforth, it is the gray path of shadows; and oh, God take care of you and grant us some peace.”

But she was sobbing on his breast and could not speak.

“And remember,” he went on, “I shall never forget you or cease to worship and adore you.  Always know you have only to send me a message, a word, and I will come to you and do what you ask, to my last drop of blood.  I love you!  Oh, God!  I love you, and you were made for me, and we could have been happy together and glorified the world.”

Then he folded her again in his arms and held her so close it seemed the breath must leave her body, and then they walked on silently, and silently entered the house by the western garden door.

The evening was a blank to Theodora.  She dressed in her satins and laces, and let her maid fasten her wonderful emeralds on throat and breast and hair.  She descended to the drawing-room and walked in to dinner with some strange man—­all as one in a dream.  She answered as an automaton, and the man thought how beautiful she was, and what a pity for so beautiful a woman to be so stupid and silent and dull.