"Nay, he was right, perhaps, to say what he did. In any case I am sure you ought to know—it was my duty to tell you."
"But why?" cried Barbara. "Why?"
"A sop," he said with sudden sharpness, "to my own conscience."
But conscience proved an unappeased, upbraiding companion during James Berwick's four-mile walk to Halnakeham station.
CHAPTER XXI.
"They have most power to hurt us whom we love; We lay our sleeping lives within their arms."
Beaumont and Fletcher.
A short avenue of chestnut trees, now in their scented glory of rose-pink blossom, hid the square red-brick hunting lodge, still known by its pre-Revolution name of Le Pavillon du Dauphin, from the broad solitary roadway skirting the Forest of St. Germains. Under this avenue James Berwick, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes bent on the ground, was walking up and down the morning of the day he was expecting Barbara to join him.