“You insult me!” she said, her voice quivering, but striving to be calm.

“Never a bit!” he declared.  “Since I am the truest friend you have!”

She drew away from him with a gesture of repulsion.

“You insult me!” she said again.  “I have my husband, and I need no other.”

He laughed sneeringly, the insinuating banter all gone from his manner.

“You know he is nothing to you,” he said.  “He neglects you.  He bullies you.  You married him because you wanted to be a married woman.  Be honest, now!  You never loved him.  You do not know what love is!”

“It is false!” she cried.  “I will not listen to you.  Let me go!”

He took a sudden step forward.

“You refuse deliverance?” he questioned harshly.

She did not retreat this time, but faced him proudly.

“I do!”

“Listen!” he said again, and his voice was stern.  “Sir Roland Brooke has returned home.  He knows that you have disobeyed him.  He knows that you are here with me.  You will not dare to face him.  You have gone too far to return.”

She gasped hysterically, and tottered for an instant, but recovered herself.

“I will—­I will go back!” she said.

“He will beat you like a labourer’s wife,” warned the jester.  “He may do worse.”

She was swaying as she stood.

“He will do—­as he sees fit,” she said.

He stooped a little lower.

“I would make you happy, Lady Una,” he whispered.  “I would protect you—­shelter you—­love you!”

She flung out her hands with a wild and desperate gesture.  The magnetism of his presence had become horrible to her.

“I am going to him—­now,” she said.

Behind him she saw, in the brightening moonlight, the opening which she had vainly sought a few minutes before.  She sprang for it, darting past him like a frightened bird seeking refuge, and in another moment she was lost in the green labyrinths.

* * *

The moonlight had become clear and strong, casting black shadows all about her.  Twice, in her frantic efforts to escape, she ran back into the centre of the maze.  The jester had gone, but she imagined him lurking behind every corner, and she impotently recalled his words:  “There is no way out of the magic circle.”

At last, panting and exhausted, she knew that she was unwinding the puzzle.  Often as its intricacies baffled her, she kept her head, rectifying each mistake and pressing on, till the wider curve told her that she was very near the entrance.  She came upon it finally quite suddenly, and found herself, to her astonishment, close to the terrace steps.

She mounted them with trembling limbs, and paused a moment to summon her composure.  Then, outwardly calm, she traversed the terrace and entered the house.

Lady Blythebury was dancing, and she felt she could not wait.  She scribbled a few hasty words of farewell, and gave them to a servant as she entered her carriage.  Hers was the first departure, and no one noted it.