"I stand outside in the bitter night,  
And beat at the fast-closed door;
 
'Oh, let me in to the light,
 
Give back to me days of yore.'
 
But an angel says, with a frowning brow,
 
'The past can no power restore,
 
You must dwell in the outer darkness now
 
For ever and ever more.'"
 
 
Through the warm summer night, her heart filled with rage, , and despair, fled the unhappy woman, whither she knew not. All she wanted was to escape from Thornstream, lest her husband, seeing her by chance, should break his word and tell Kaituna what she was. If he did so--oh, the horror of it for her daughter to know that the mother whose memory she was alive, and an unhappy, fallen creature! A thousand fiends seemed to in her ears as she ran , and it was only when she came against the trunk of a tree and fell half-stunned on the cool grass that she stopped in her mad career.
 
How cool was the delicate touch of the grass, how sweet the perfume of the flowers. She buried her hot face among the , and pressed her aching breast against the chill of the earth to still the agonised of her heart.
 
Under the great tree she lay in an condition, thinking of her failure to conciliate Pethram, of the past with all its , of the present with its pain, and the future which looked so hopeless and .
 
It was all over. She had staked everything on the casting of a die, and lost. Her husband had driven her away from the house, from her child, and there was nothing left for her to do but to return to London with Ferrari and marry him at once. Never again would she live with her child. She might see her--yes; but without being seen--for she knew that if she again to Kaituna everything would be revealed by Rupert Pethram. To destroy that beautiful memory of, motherhood, which was the chief treasure of Kaituna's life--to show herself in her true colours as a fallen and wretched woman--no, she could not do that; better exile, better wretchedness, better death than the terrible truth.
 
With a she sat up among the soft grass, her hands lying idly on her lap, her wild face raised to the lonely sky. Yes, lonely, for above there was nothing but clouds, black heavy clouds, as gloomy as her own future. Oh, God! was there no hope? Was there----
 
Stay! the clouds part, rolling heavily to the , revealing a glimpse of dark blue sky, and set therein like a diamond, the of a star. Hope! yes, it was a sign of hope! a sign of promise! a sign of comfort?
 
She thought she would go back to Ferrari and see if he could suggest any plan by which she could turn the tables on her husband; so brushing the dead leaves off her dress, she threw the lace kerchief she wore round her neck over her head, after the fashion of a mantilla, and walked rapidly down the avenue towards Deswarth.
 
The rapid motion of walking seemed to restore her nerve and with such restoration she again the fierceness of her spirit. The moment of softness was past, the good angel who had comforted her with the star of hope fled away in terror, and over her head the angel of evil, who had been her constant companion for so many years, now spread his wings.
 
He had ordered her away. He had parted her from her child. This man--her husband that used to be, who had ruined her life by his cruel words and studied neglect. The blame of her sin rested on his shoulders, and she had suffered in the eyes of the world. Now once more he triumphed, and while he was resting, honoured and respected in his own house, she was flying through the night like a guilty creature.
 
"Oh!" muttered Mrs. Belswin between her teeth, "if I was a man I'd kill him. But I can do nothing! I can do nothing. Yet I don't know. If I can persuade that cowardly Ferrari, or Belk. Belk would do anything for me. What is to be done must be done to-night--to-morrow it will be too late. Which way am I to turn?"
 
She paused a moment; pressed her hands on her beating heart, then suddenly made up her mind.
 
"I will see Ferrari--first."
 
The Chequers Inn was just on the of Deswarth, and a comparatively short distance from Thornstream, so it did not take Mrs. Belswin long, at the rapid pace at which she was walking, to arrive there.
 
It stood a short distance back from the road, and the night being hot, all the doors and windows were open, letting the yellow light within stream out on to the dark village street. On the benches outside a number of were drinking and talking loudly together about some fortnight-old event which had just reached their out-of-the-way parish. Mrs. Belswin, not wishing to be recognised, flitted rapidly past them, and was in the passage hesitating whether to make herself known to the landlord or not, when luckily at that moment Ferrari came out of a side door with the intention of going into the taproom. Like a ghost the woman forward and laid her hand on his arm.
 
"Stephano!"
 
"You, cara mia."
 
The passage was so dark that he was able to recognise her by her voice alone, and the noise from the taproom was so loud that only a quick ear like his could have her low tones.
 
"Come into some room. I wish to speak to you."
 
"Here, then!" he said, drawing her into the room from whence he had emerged, "what is wrong? Il marito! eh! Dio! By your face there is trouble."
 
With a sigh of relief Mrs. Belswin flung herself wearily into a chair, while Ferrari carefully closed the door and took up his position on the hearthrug. Even in that moment of anxiety Mrs. Belswin, with that noting of trivial things common to a mind, noticed the tawdry f............