And when she came down again, all wrapped in her furs, she found Tristram had port wine ready for her, poured out.

“You must drink this—­a big glass of it,” he said; and she took it without a word.

Then when they got to the door she found instead of his own open motor he had ordered one of her uncle’s closed ones, which with footwarmer and cushions was waiting, so that she should be comfortable and not catch further cold.

“Thank you—­that is kind of you,” she said.

He helped her in, and the butler tucked the fur rug over them, while Tristram settled the cushions.  Then she leaned back for a second and closed her eyes—­everything was going round.

He was very troubled about her.  She must have been very ill, even in the short time—­and then her grief,—­for, even though she had been so much separated from it, a mother always loves her child.  Then this thought hurt him again.  He hated to remember about the child.

She lay there back against the pillows until they had got quite out of London, without speaking a word.  The wine in her weak state made her sleepy, and she gradually fell into a doze, and her head slipped sideways and rested against Tristram’s shoulder, and it gave him a tremendous thrill—­her beautiful, proud head with its thick waves of hair showing under her cap.

He was going to leave her so soon, and she would not know it—­she was asleep—­he must just hold her to him a little; she would be more comfortable like that.  So, with cautious care not to wake her, he slipped his arm under the cushion, and very gently and gradually drew her into his embrace, so that her unconscious head rested upon his breast.

And thus more than two hours of the journey were accomplished.

And what thoughts coursed through his brain as they went!

He loved her so madly.  What did it matter how she had sinned?  She was ill and lonely, and must stay in his arms—­just for to-day.  But he could never really take her to his heart—­the past was too terrible for that.  And, besides, she did not love him; this gentleness was only because she was weak and crushed, for the time.  But how terribly, bitterly sweet it was, all the same!  He had the most overpowering temptation to kiss her, but he resisted it; and presently, when they came to a level crossing and a train gave a wild whistle, she woke with a start.  It was quite dark now, and she said, in a frightened voice, “Where am I?  Where have I been?”

Tristram slipped his arm from round her instantly, and turned on the light.

“You are in the motor, going to Wrayth,” he said.  “And I am glad to say you have been asleep.  It will do you good.”

She rubbed her eyes.

“Ah!  I was dreaming.  And Mirko was there, too, with Maman, and we were so happy!” she said, as if to herself.

Tristram winced.

“Are we near home—­I mean, Wrayth?” she asked.