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      Esmeralda pushed the hair from her brow with a weary, almost bewildered gesture.Almost the first envelope that fell from the bag as she emptied it on the table was Normans, addressed to Trafford. She recognized the handwriting in a moment, and her face grew hot. Norman writing to Trafford! What could he have to say? News of Esmeralda! She turned the letter over in her hand with a thirsty longing; then she opened it. It would be easy to say that she had opened it by mistake.

      If I could love thee less--"

      My sinmy sin! she said, not indignantly, not yet angrily, but with an overwhelming amazement and fear; for she thought that in very truth he had gone mad.

      It is Trafford or Norman, she said.

      I have said my say, your grace, he said, with a return to his old languid sang-froid. I imagine that you have nothing to say in response, and that you plead guilty. I suppose in your world a womans heart counts for little, and that, if you break it, a graceful apology is considered all that is necessary. Out here, in this wild, God-forsaken place, we judge differently. We hold that a womans broken heart demands some reparationand punishment. I demand that reparation and penalty. You and I, my lord duke, have a long and bitter account to settle. We will settle it here and now, if you please.

      Trafford moved about among the frightened and excited household like a man dazed. He almost forgot that his wife had left himhad flown with his closest and dearest frienduntil Lilias came to him, with white face and quivering lips, to tell him that neither she nor Barker could find Esmeralda.

      He laughed softly."Ye-es," drawled the bride incredulously, "but--"


      The fight was nearly over when Varley reached the coach, and his reappearance put the finishing touch to it. Two of[279] the Dogs Ear men lay stretched upon the ground; the Three Star men, breathless and perspiring, were gathered round them; the passengers were huddled together in a heap and trying to realize that this was the end of the nineteenth century; Johnson and the guard were coolly soothing and rubbing down the horses as if this little affair were quite in the ordinary way of business.


      Yes, she said, almost inaudibly. That is it.


      The organ played softly, the long procession of clergy and choir filed into the chancel, a murmur arose, and the marquis, with Lord Ffoulkes, his best man, came up the aisle.Lady Wyndover looked at him through dimmed eyes.