He was a little jealous of Hester.  This illness, the cause of which had sincerely grieved him, had come at an inopportune moment.  Hester was always taking Rachel from him.

“Yes,” said Rachel, “a little when she remembers.  But she can only think of one thing.”

“That unhappy book.”

“Yes.  I think the book was to Hester something of what you are to me.  Her whole heart was wrapped up in it—­and she has lost it.  Hugh, whatever happens, you must not be lost now.  It is too late.  I could not bear it.”

“I can only be lost if you throw me away,” said Hugh.

There was a long silence.

“Lady Newhaven will know to-day,” said Rachel at last.  “I tried to break it to her, but she did not believe me.”

“Rachel,” said Hugh, stammering, “I meant to tell you the other day, only we were interrupted, that she came to my rooms the evening before I came down here.  I should not have minded quite so much, but Captain Pratt came in with me and—­found her there.”

“Oh Hugh, that dreadful man!  Poor woman!”

“Poor woman!” said Hugh, his eyes flashing.  “It was poor you I thought of.  Poor Rachel! to be marrying a man who—­”

There was another silence.

“I have one great compensation,” said Rachel, laying her cool, strong hand on his.  “You are open with me.  You keep nothing back.  You need not have mentioned this unlucky meeting, but you did.  It was like you.  I trust you entirely, Hugh.  I bless and thank you for loving me.  If my love can make you happy, oh Hughie, you will be happy.”

Hugh shrank from her.  The faltered words were as a two-edged sword.

She looked at the sensitive, paling face with tender comprehension.  The mother-look crept into her eyes.

“If there is anything else that you wish to tell me, tell me now.”

A wild, overwhelming impulse to fling himself over the precipice out of the reach of those stabbing words!  A horrible nauseating recoil that seemed to rend his whole being.

Somebody said hoarsely: 

“There is nothing else.”

It was his own voice, but not his will, that spoke.  Had any one ever made him suffer like this woman who loved him?

* * * * *

Lady Newhaven had returned to Westhope ill with suspense and anxiety.  She had felt sure she should successfully waylay Hugh in his rooms, convinced that if they could but meet the clouds between them (to borrow from her vocabulary) would instantly roll away.  They had met, and the clouds had not rolled away.  She vainly endeavored to attribute Hugh’s evident anger at the sight of her to her want of prudence, to the accident of Captain Pratt’s presence.  She would not admit the thought that Hugh had ceased to care for her, but it needed a good deal of forcible thrusting away.  She could hear the knock of the unwelcome guest upon her door, and though always refused admittance he withdrew only to return.  She had been grievously frightened, too, at having been seen in equivocal circumstances by such a man as Captain Pratt.  The very remembrance made her shiver.