“For the present, fear nothing,” he said, dryly.  “For his own sake Cliffe will hold his tongue and leave London.  And as to the future—­I can get some message conveyed to him—­by a man he won’t disregard.  Leave it to me.”

“You can’t write to him, William!” cried Kitty, passionately.

“Leave it to me,” he repeated.  “Then suppose you take the boy—­and Margaret French—­to Haggart till I can join you?”

“And your mother?” she said, timidly, coming to stand beside him and laying a hand on each shoulder.

“Leave that also to me.”

“How she’ll hate the sight of me,” she said, under her breath.  Then, with another tone of voice—­“How long, William, do you give the government?”

“Six months, perhaps—­perhaps less.  I don’t see how they can last beyond February.”

“And then—­we’ll fight!” said Kitty, with a long breath, smoothing back the hair from his brow.

“Allow me, please, to command the forces!  Well, now then, I must be off!” He tried to rise, but she still held him.

“Did you have any breakfast, William?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Sit still and eat one of my sandwiches.”  She divided one into strips, and standing over him began to feed him.  A knock at the door arrested her.

“Don’t move!” she said, peremptorily, before she ran to open the door.

“Please, my lady,” said Blanche, “Lady Tranmore would like to see you.”

Kitty started and flushed.  She looked round uncertainly at Ashe.

“Ask her ladyship to come up,” said Ashe, quietly.

The maid departed.

“Feed me if you want to, Kitty,” said Ashe, still seated.

Kitty returned, her breath hurried, her step wavering.  She looked doubtfully at Ashe—­then her eyes sparkled—­as she understood.  She dropped on her knees beside him, kissing the sleeve of his coat, against which her cheek was pressed—­in a passion of repentance.

He bent towards her, touching her hair, murmuring over her.  His mind meanwhile was torn with feelings which, so to speak, observed each other.  This thing which had happened was horribly serious—­important.  It might easily have wrecked two lives.  Had he dealt with it as he ought—­made Kitty feel the gravity of it?

Then the optimist in him asked impatiently what was “the good of exaggerating the damned business”?  That fellow has got his lesson—­could be driven headlong out of his life and Kitty’s henceforward.  And how could he doubt the love shown in this clinging penitence, these soft kisses?  How would the Turk theory of marriage, please, have done any better?  Kitty had had her own wild way.  No fiat from without had bound her; but love had brought her to his feet.  There was something in him which triumphed alike in her revolt and her submission.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in the cool drawing-room to which the green persiennes gave a pleasant foreign look, Lady Tranmore had been waiting for the maid’s return.  She shrank from every sound in the house; from her own reflection in Kitty’s French mirrors; from her own thoughts most of all.