She had she knew well, a difficult task before her, and she did not disguise from herself the fact that in this matter there would be not only herself, not only her own strength, her own endurance to be reckoned with, but Martinworth, from whom she had fled, and who was here once more on the spot. He knew his power, and he would surely use it. Of that she had no doubt. Her dread of that power, of that determination of will, was as great now as had been the case in former years. After all,--as she had written of herself in her farewell letter at that time,--she was but a woman--a helpless, loving woman, weak and frail. On that occasion, when she had thought, rightly or wrongly, her disappearance was for his benefit, her love had given her the almost superhuman strength to fly from him. Now she had only herself to think of, and one other forlorn woman--a stranger,--who had prayed to her for help. Could she hope to be given a second time the power to resist his undeniable influence over her? Could she resist his importunities,--his prayers? He was so strong, so very strong, and she was so loving, so lonely, and so weak.
Again the bell rang. This time it was Lord Martinworth who entered the room, and with his arrival, Pearl knew that her resolutions, her force of will, would be put straightway to the test.
CHAPTER VII.
Tried as by Fire.
There are moments in one's career when one knows as clearly as if written in letters of fire that one's whole future may depend on an action or a word. Both may appear insignificant enough in themselves, and yet that one little action, that one little word, may be all-sufficient to make or mar a life.
Pearl was fully aware of this fact as she saw Lord Martinworth with outstretched hands, his face and eyes all aglow, coming towards her. The moment was portentous! Her first instinct was to greet him with all the pent-up feelings of years, and to throw herself into his arms; but realizing how greatly everything depended on her self-control, she took refuge in silence and inaction, and shrinking back behind her chair, she waited with down-cast eyes for him to speak.
Lord Martinworth did not appear to resent her silence, or to notice the fear and unrest of her movement. The chair acted as no barrier to his impetuosity, and brushing it aside he seized her two hands and kept them within his own.
"At last, Pearl," he said in a low voice, "at last I have found you."