“Ah, but if I marry her I shan’t love her; and then, you know, Mrs. Mellot, I shall go to the bad again, just as much as ever.  Oh, I was trying to be steady for her sake!”

“You can be that still.”

“Yes, but it’s so hard, with nothing to hope for.  I’m not fit to take care of myself.  I’m fit for nothing, I believe, but to go out and be shot by those Russians; and I’ll do it!”

“You must not; you are not strong enough.  The doctors would not let you go as you are.”

“Then I’ll get strong; I’ll—­”

“You’ll go home, and be good.”

“Ain’t I good now?”

“Yes, you are a good, sensible fellow, and have behaved nobly, and I honour you for it, and Claude shall come and see you every day.”

That evening a note came from Scoutbush.

“DEAR MRS. MELLOT—­Whom should I find when I went home, but Campbell?  I told him all; and he says that you and everybody have done quite right, so I suppose you have; and that I am quite right in trying to get out to the East, so I shall do it.  But the doctor says I must rest for six weeks at least.  So Campbell has persuaded me to take the yacht, which is at Southampton, and go down to Aberalva, and then round to Snowdon, where I have a little slate-quarry, and get some fishing.  Campbell is coming with me, and I wish Claude would come too.  He knows that brother-in-law of mine, Vavasour, I think, and I shall go and make friends with him.  I’ve got very merciful to foolish lovers lately, and Claude can help me to face him; for I am a little afraid of genuises, you know.  So there we’ll pick up my sister (she goes down by land this week), and then go on to Snowdon; and Claude can visit his old quarters at the Royal Oak at Bettws, where he and I had that jolly week among the painters.  Do let him come, and beg La Signora not to be angry with me.  That’s all I’ll ever ask of her again.”

“Poor fellow!  But I can’t part with you, Claude.”

“Let him,” said La Cordifiamma.  “He will comfort his lordship; and do you come with me.”

“Come with you!  Where!”

“I will tell you when Claude is gone.”

“Claude, go and smoke in the garden.  Now?”

“Come with me to Germany, Sabina.”

“To Germany?  Why on earth to Germany?”

“I—­I only said Germany because it came first into my mind.  Anywhere for rest; anywhere to be out of that poor man’s way.”

“He will not trouble you any more; and you will not surely throw up your engagement?”

“Of course not!” said she, half peevishly.  “It will be over in a fortnight; and then I must have rest.  Don’t you see how I want rest?”

Sabina had seen it for some time past.  That white cheek had been fading more and more to a wax-like paleness; those black eyes glittered with fierce unhealthy light; and dark rings round them told, not merely of late hours and excitement, but of wild passion and midnight tears.  Sabina had seen all, and could not but give way, as Marie went on.