Reluctant and bewildered Andrew Beddoes went away.

There was yet another visitor.

It was no use trying to hide from the world now. All London ... all England knew that Melisande St. Martin was a prisoner and that she was to face her trial for the murder of Thorold Randall.

So ... was it surprising that Leon should find her?

He came to tell her that he had never forgotten her, that he had begged Sir Charles and others at Trevenning to tell him where she was. He had put notices in papers begging her to let him know where she was.

"At first I was hurt by your desertion," he said, "and I felt that, since you did not trust me, we were better apart, for I could never convince you of the truth. But after a while I wanted above all things to make you understand."

"The truth, Leon?"

"It was an accident, Melisande. I swear it was an accident. He was wilful; he would go out on that day. I warned him not to venture on to the jetty. But you know how headstrong he was. He never could forget that he was in a way the master; I was the paid companion. I shall always remember that moment of horror, the realization that I was powerless, that if I plunged in I could do nothing. All I could do was run for help ... and that I did. After that I knew there would be no rest for me until I learned to swim. I wanted to be ready in case I should be in a similar position. I used to think that if I could save a person from drowning I would rid myself of the terrible feeling of guilt which obsessed me. That was why I had to learn ... immediately. I could not bring myself to ask someone to teach me, so I went to the quietest cove and threw myself into the sea. I was determined to swim and ... I found it easy enough. Every day I did that. Someone saw me, I suppose, told someone else ... and soon many had seen me. They talked of me; they suspected me... . How they love a dramatic story, even if it is not true!"

"Leon, Leon, I misjudged you so. How you must despise me!"

"It was natural to distrust. And then ... you did not love me, did you, Melisande ? Perhaps it would have been different if you had."

"I do not know. It is so hard to know. Leon, what tragic people we are, you and I!"

"And I talk of my troubles now! Do you know why I have come to see you? It is for this: I am going to save you. It must be possible. I am going to engage the best lawyers and we will fight this. And I will wait, Melisande, however long. You will know that I shall be waiting for you." He took her hands and kissed them. "Who knows, this may be a blessing in disguise, for through it I have found you."

"Leon, I shall not forget what you have said. I shall remember it on the morning I die."

"Don't speak of death like that."

"How did I speak of it?"

"Finally. As though it were settled."

"Leon, I believe it is settled."

"No, no! Anyone looking at you can see that you are no murderess."

"But I am. I shot him, Leon. I killed him."

"He had treated you badly. I have already been talking to a lawyer. We can appeal to the pity of the judge, of the jury and the public. He ill-treated you."

She was silent.

"I know it," he said. "He deserved to die. Your case must be presented to the jury with all the sympathy you deserve. You are so young and beautiful, and anyone, by looking at you, can see that there is no evil in you. This man deserved to die. Melisande, you only have to tell why, and you will be saved. Oh, my dearest, how wonderful it is to find you again! There may be a wait of... perhaps some years ... but I shall be waiting. I shall make your stay in ... wherever they send you ... as comfortable as possible. I shall come to see you, write to you, make our plans. You remember we were going to New Orleans? That is where we will go, Melisande. The time will pass; then we'll marry and we'll go away to a new life."

"You must go without me, Leon."

"Without you! How could I! I had always planned to take you with me."

"You believe in me! You believe in me though I did not believe in you!"

"I love you, remember. Meeting you changed my life. I had forgotten how happy I could be, until I met you; and when you went away, distrusting me ... I knew that I had never been miserable before, such was the depth of my suffering.''

"And I was to blame! I am to blame for everything. I have been foolish and I do not deserve kindness. Leon, go away and forget me."

"Now that I have found you! I shall never go away from you again!"

"Go to New Orleans. Build a new life for yourself there. I cannot help you, Leon, because I have killed a man. I must pay the penalty for that."

"No, no! You despair too easily. Tell me the truth. Tell me what he did to deserve what you did to him. You only have to tell me and, I know, you will be safe."

Was it true ? she wondered. Would people understand if she said to them: "He was about to blackmail my father, and I could not endure it because it was through me that he was in a position to do so?"

They would be sorry for her if he had jilted her. What if they knew she had killed him to save her father's good name ?

They would be sorry still. They would punish her, but mildly, because Leon and Fermor would have the best men to defend her.

But how could she say this without divulging her father's name! And if she did that it would seem that she had killed Thorold Randall in vain.

"Melisande," Leon was saying, "you must not despair. We will fight this together, and I shall be waiting for you ... no matter how long."

She wanted to live, how desperately she wanted to live; yet she was firm in her determination. She would not tell the truth. She would not mention her father's name. And how could they—all the best lawyers in the land—work for her if she would not help them ? How could they arouse the public's pity, how could they plead with the jury, how could they influence the judge, when she would not tell them why she had killed Thorold Randall?

She lay in her cell—her own cell. Fermor had arranged that. Leon had wanted to, but Fermor had forestalled him.

There were letters from Fermor and Leon. There were more visits.

They were right when they said that money could do most things. It bought them many interviews with her.

They pleaded with her; they stormed at her; they cajoled and they grew exasperated.

"This silence is madness!" cried Fermor.

He came with his lawyer, the best he could find.

"We must have a sympathetic case," said the lawyer. "If you plead guilty and offer no defence, the verdict is a foregone conclusion."

"Don't be an idiot!" stormed Fermor. "Speak ... speak ... you little fool! What did he do to you? Why did you shoot him?"

She often thought of those little scraps of paper which had fluttered away on the breeze. If someone could have found them and pieced them together, they would have the answer to the mystery.

She would never give it.

There came that day which she had dreaded and for which she yet longed. It was the beginning of the end.

She saw them in the court—Fermor, Leon; and there was Genevra with Clotilde and Polly—and yes, Fenella herself!

They all seemed so remote; she was scarcely aware of them. They belonged to another life, it seemed—the life before she had known Thorold Randall.

She looked indifferently at the judge and the jury. She listened to the procedure. It was short. It had to be short, for there was no defence.

She was addressed: "Prisoner at the Bar, you stand accused of the murder of Thorold Randall. Are you Guilty or Not Guilty?"

And she answered as clearly as she had intended: "Guilty."

She did not hear the words which were spoken. Her memories were passing before her eyes in a succession of rapid pictures: Sir Charles outside the auberge ; their meeting in the Convent; Paris and the dress shop; Trevenning: Fermor and Leon there; Fenella's salon; Fermor in the little house which he had provided for her; Fermor loving, Fermor tender, Fermor fierce, Fermor mocking. She saw Mr. Lavender, leering at her, and she remembered the moment when her fingers had first closed over the pearl-handled pistol—her friend which had saved her from Mr. Lavender, which had saved her for death. She was in the Park facing Thorold. "You shall not ... you shall not... . Swear to me ... Swear. ..." And that was the end, the end of the story which had begun in Vauxhall Gardens.

At times it had seemed as though it were a comedy, but it was the last act that decided.

The judge was putting on the black cap. Vaguely she heard those dreadful words: "This Court doth ordain you to be taken from hence to the place from whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution, and that you be there hanged by the neck until you are dead... . And may the Lord have mercy on your soul."

There was silence in court. She looked at Fermor. His face was blank at first; then suddenly it was angry and determined. He was determined that she should not die. She knew it and exulted in that.

Leon had buried his face in his hands.

And then a wardress was at her side, leading her away.

TWO

Fenella was lying on her chaise longue. Polly sat beside her. Neither of them spoke. Polly's eyes were red; Fenella had no words to say for she felt that if she attempted to speak her emotions would choke her.

She would never feel completely happy again. This should have been a triumphant time, for Genevra was about to marry her lord; and that was a matter for rejoicing, congratulation and amusement; but how could she feel triumph when one of her girls was to be hanged for murder?

And I, in my way, am to blame, thought Fenella. I did not know her. I did not understand her. So many of us are to blame, and that beautiful child will suffer. There can never be real peace for me again.

Polly buried her head in the shawl which she had placed over Fenella's legs and began to weep again. Fenella touched her head. She said: "Don't, Polly. It's unnerving. Why has she let this happen? Why couldn't she defend herself? They could at least have saved her life. Why, Polly, why?"

Polly looked up. "There was a reason, Madam dear. There must have been a reason why."

"Yes, there was a reason. Fermor could not make her talk ... even Fermor. Polly, she will haunt me all my days. I shall never forget her. I have been careless with her."

"It wasn't your fault, Madam dear. No one could have been kinder. She ran away from you, but that was because of the young man and his wife. You never did anything you have to feel reproaches for."

"But, Polly, we let her go."

"We tried to find her," said Polly quickly.

"We didn't try hard enough, Polly. We shrugged our shoulders, didn't we? We said, 'Well, she won't marry Beddoes and there's nothing we can do.' And Polly, we knew, didn't we, that she was meeting Fermor? We ought not to have allowed it. But we liked him.... He was charming and we thought it amusing to watch what happened. We were like two children putting spiders in a basin to see what happened. Well, we've seen now. One of them is married to a crippled wife; the other will hang by the neck."

"No, Madam, don't say it. It can't be. Somebody's got to do something."

There was a knock on the door. It was Genevra, her eyes swollen.

She said: "There's a gentleman to see you. He won't wait. He's got to see you right away."

"But I can't see anybody."

"He says you must. He says it's urgent. It's about her ... about Melisande."

He was already in the room; he looked so haggard and old that Fenella scarcely recognized him.

Then she rose and said: "All right. All right, Polly ... Genevra, leave us together."

And when the door closed she said: "So, Charles, you have come."

"I heard the result," he said.

"Well?"

"Fenella, we can't let this happen. Something has to be done."

"Several of those who love her have tried."

"But ... it can't happen. How did it happen?"

"You have been a long time coming. I thought you would have come before."

"I never thought that ... this would happen. I thought ... as she is so young ..."

Fenella turned slightly away from him and said: "I take some blame to myself, but I should not like to be in your shoes."