The roadstead was quiet enough now.  All the racing yachts had melted away like a dream, and most of the pleasure yachts were off to Ryde.  Lady Lesbia lay in her curtained cabin, with Kibble keeping watch beside her bed, while Maulevrier came in every half-hour to see how she was—­sitting by her a little now and then, and talking of indifferent things in a low kind voice, which was full of comfort.

She seemed grateful for his kindness, and smiled at him once in a way, with a piteous little smile; but she had the air of one in whom the mainspring of life is broken.  The pallid face and heavy violet eyes, the semi-transparent hands which lay so listlessly upon the crimson coverlet, conveyed an impression of supreme despair.  Hartfield, looking down at her for the last time when he came to say good-bye before leaving for London, was reminded of the story of one whose life had been thus rudely broken, who had loved as foolishly and even more fondly, and for whom the world held nothing when that tie was severed.

    ’She looked on many a face with vacant eye,
      On many a token without knowing what;
    She saw them watch her, without asking why,
      And recked not who around her pillow sat.’

But Lesbia Haselden belonged to a wider and more sophisticated world than that of the daughter of the Grecian Isle, and for her existence offered wider horizons.  It might be prophesied that for her the dark ending of a girlish dream would not be a life-long despair.  The passionate love had been at fever point; the passionate grief must have its fever too, and burn itself out.

‘Do all you can to cheer her,’ said Lord Hartfield to Maulevrier, ’and bring her to Fellside as soon as ever she is strong enough to bear the journey.  You and Kibble, with your own man, will be able to do all that is necessary.’

‘Quite able.’

’That’s right.  I must be in the House for the expected division to-night, and I shall go back to Grasmere to-morrow morning.  Poor Mary is horribly lonely.’

Lord Hartfield went off in the boat to catch the Southampton steamer; and Maulevrier was now sole custodian of the yacht and of his sister.  He and the doctor had agreed to keep her on board, in the fresh sea air, till she was equal to the fatigue of the journey to Grasmere.  There was nothing to be gained by taking her on to the island or by carrying her to London.  The yacht was well found, provided with all things needful for comfort, and Lesbia could be nowhere better off until she was safe in her old home:—­that home she had left so gaily, in the freshness of her youthful inexperience, nearly a year ago, and to which she would return so battered and broken, so deeply degraded by the knowledge of evil.

Lady Kirkbank had started for London on the previous day.

‘I am evidently not wanted here,’ she said, with an offended air; ’and I must have everything at Kirkbank ready for a house full of people before the twelfth of August, so the sooner I get to Scotland the better.  I shall make a detour in order to go and see Lady Maulevrier on my way down.  It is due to myself that I should let her know that I am entirely blameless in this most uncomfortable business.’