Yorke shook his head again.
"Not now," he said, in a dull, heavy way. "She did, but now I have lost her. The best, the sweetest——." His voice broke.
Ralph Duncombe seized his arm.
"Wait!" he said. "You are wrong! If ever a woman loved a man, Leslie Lisle loves you!"
Yorke disengaged his arm from Ralph's grasp.
"There is no hope for me," he said, despairingly. "I have lost her," and he passed through the gate, and was swallowed up by the darkness.
Lady Eleanor reached White Place, and went straight to her own room, and presently Lady Denby came to her.
"Good heavens, Eleanor, what have you been doing to yourself?" she exclaimed, as she stared at the dripping cloak. "Why, you are wet to the skin! You will catch your death of cold. Where is Yorke?"
"Yorke?" said Lady Eleanor, with a spasmodic laugh. "Yorke will not trouble you again, aunt. He has gone!"