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her, at least she had been sure of her own feelings—her absolute recoil from Power and determination to go her own way. What had happened to her just then? In another moment she would have been in his arms, unresisting, and after that there would have been no escape for her, she knew. She shivered and sobbed, recalling stories of hypnotism. Had he mesmerised her, she wondered, with his staring eyes that she had always dreaded, to whose gaze she had submitted just now for how many shameful moments? . . . Presently, through the tangle of broken thoughts, a shaft of light burnt its way. She must run away. There must be no more indecision, no further waiting; she must never see any member of the household again. Thank Heaven it was night, and she need not face another day in that terrible place—she must go at once, and alone.

She did not tremble now. She lit the lamp, pushed back her ruffled hair, and with noiseless movements filled a small suitcase with as many of her belongings as she could carry easily. She had no idea how long they would have to last her plans for the future would have to be evolved later; but her brain was clear and steady now, and she packed only the things she thought most likely to be useful. As she set aside her heavy writing-case, Tony’s last letter fell out. She read the closing words again and smiled; she would take that friendly message with her—somehow it lent her courage. Then she dressed in her blue serge tailor-made and travelling hat, counted her money—fortunately there was still quite a considerable sum left—and sat down again in the darkness, to wait till it was safe to assume that all the household was asleep.

It was barely midnight yet. The stage which ran nightly to Linton passed along the main road a mile and a half away, between two and three o’clock, she knew. The thought of the lonely walk in store for her did not alarm