When she finally went to bed, sleep forsook her. And, as so often when she had sleepless nights, her soul rose upwards in prayer to the One in Whose care and love she was resting.
"My past," she murmured, "has been full of mistakes. Do not let me take a false step now!"
And then at last she fell asleep, and did not wake till the sun was high in the heavens.
But when Justin came to breakfast, she had done all her housekeeping, and was ready for anything that he might require. At half-past ten their luncheon basket was in the launch, and they pushed off on a still, blue lake. The children had made a great outcry when they heard that both "Dad" and "Steppie" were going to disappear for the day, but Anstice promised them that she would be back to tea; and as Justin agreed to this, they were forced to be content.
Justin was unusually grave as they crossed the lake; Anstice began giving him bits of local news to which he barely responded. She saw he was preoccupied with his own thoughts, and waited his time for unfolding them.
He landed at a most delightful little cove away in the hollow of the Fells, a veritable nest of mossy turf against a bank of bracken, overshadowed by a drooping mountain ash. They took out their rugs and luncheon basket, and settled themselves comfortably down, then Justin drew a long breath.
"Now we're alone at last, we can't have any interruptions and you won't be able to get away from me till you've heard me out."
Anstice laughed, but it was an effort to be her natural easy self.
"You are very mysterious; but, as you say, you can now have my undivided attention."
"Why do you think I have come home?" he asked her abruptly.