The old pain gnawed at her heart.  Anthony Dexter had come back, she had had her little hour of triumph, and still she had not been freed.  The Piper had told her that only forgiveness could loosen her chains.  And how could Anthony Dexter be forgiven, when even his son said that he was a coward and a cur?

“I—­” Miss Evelina’s lips moved, then became still.

“And so,” said Ralph, “you have gone veiled ever since, for the sake of that beast?”

“No, it was for my own sake.  Do you wonder that I have done it?  When I first realised what had happened, in an awful night that turned my brown hair white, I knew that Love and I were strangers forevermore.

“When I left the hospital, I was obliged, for a time, to wear it.  The new skin was tender and bright red; it broke very easily.”

“I know,” nodded Ralph.

“There were oils to be kept upon it, too, and so I wore the veil.  I became accustomed to the shelter of it.  I could walk the streets and see, dimly, without being seen.  In those days, I thought that, perhaps, I might meet—­him.”

“I don’t wonder you shrank from it,” returned Ralph.  His voice was almost inaudible.

“It became harder still to put it by.  My heart was broken, and it shielded me as a long, black veil shields a widow.  It protected me from curious questions.  Never but once or twice in all the twenty-five years have I been asked about it, and then, I simply did not answer.  People, after all, are very kind.”

“Were you never ill?”

“Never, though every night of my life I have prayed for death.  At first, I clung to it without reason, except what I have told you, then, later on, I began to see a further protection.  Veiled as I was, no man would ever love me again.  I should never be tempted to trust, only to be betrayed.  Not that I ever could trust, you understand, but still, sometimes,” concluded Miss Evelina, piteously, “I think the heart of a woman is strangely hungry for love.”

“I understand,” said Ralph, “and, believe me, I do not blame you.  Perhaps it was the best thing you could do.  Let me ask you of the man.  You said, I think, that he still lives?”

“Yes.”  Miss Evelina’s voice was very low.

“He is well and happy—­prosperous?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes.”

“Has he ever suffered at all from his cowardice, his shirking?”

“How should I know?”

“Then, Miss Evelina,” said Ralph, his voice thick with passion and his hands tightly clenched, “will you let me go to him?  For the honour of men, I should like to punish this one brute.  I think I could present an argument that even he might understand!”

The temptation became insistent.  The sheathed dagger was in Evelina’s hands; she had only to draw forth the glittering steel.  A vengeance more subtle than she had ever dared to dream of was hers to command.