He carried her out into the beamed hall, where shadows lay, mysterious and soft, and up the shallow stairs to the floor above. He would not let himself look into her face, but set his teeth against the leaping flame within him, and went on.

On the bend of the stair she sighed, and opened drowsy eyes. He stopped and spoke quietly to her.

“It’s all right, ’Lisbeth. I’m carrying you up to bed, you naughty babe.”

But she had not been startled, or afraid; he expected a struggle, perhaps shrinking. Sleepily she said,

“Thank you, Stephen! How comfy!”

He thought she was only half awake, which accounted for this trust. He would not take advantage of her unconscious pliancy. Swiftly he went on.

Elizabeth nestled a little closer, looking up into his set face. Her hand tucked itself into his coat.

“Aren’t I very heavy?” she murmured.

“No.”

He crossed the landing and put her down, just inside her room.

“Good night, my darling,” he said huskily, and went quickly out.

She was left standing by her bed, gazing blankly at the shut door. Like a child she rubbed her eyes, and her mouth drooped.

The stairs creaked; Stephen had gone down again. Listlessly she began to undress, and because she was tired and wanted his arms about her still, one or two big tears welled over her eyelids and rolled unheeded down her cheeks.

She thought, If only he would come back! I shouldn’t be frightened; it’s when he isn’t here that I’m frightened.

Presently she heard him run up the stairs and go into his dressing-room. She stood by her dressing-table, fidgeting with the handle of her brush, blinded by tears. Then, obeying an impulse which would not be gainsaid, she stumbled to the door between their rooms, and knocked on it.

“Come in!” Stephen’s voice was surprised.

She managed to open the door, and stood drooping upon the threshold. Stephen was in his shirt-sleeves, staring at her. He saw the tears, and was at her side in an instant.

“My darling!” Consternation sounded in his voice, and throbbing anxiety. “’Lisbeth, what is it?”

Words crowded in her throat, but would not be said; another big tear rolled down her cheek, and a little, lonely sob came.

Stephen drew her gently into the room, his arm comfortingly about her.

“Sweetheart, what is it? Why are you crying? I—I can’t bear to see you— Have I done something to upset you? Tell me, dearest! Please tell me!”

Into his shoulder she said, between sobs,

“I’ve—t-tried to—sh-show you—but you w -won’t see!”

“Tried to show me what, precious? You poor little thing, what is it?”

She wanted him to see for himself. She sank closer to him and buried her face in his shirt. He stiffened, and said hoarsely,