and her wild  was once again filled
with the all-engrossing thought of Lord Chetwynde. Gualtier had gone
off, as he said, and she was to see him no more for some
time--perhaps never. He had his own plans and purposes, of the
details of which Hilda knew nothing, but could only conjecture. She
felt that failure on his part was not probable, and gradually, so
confident was she that he would succeed, Lord Chetwynde began to seem
to her not merely a doomed man, but a man who had already undergone
his doom. And now another change came over her--that change which
Death can make in the  of the most implacable of men when his
enemy has left life forever. From the  of wounded wordnetdesire she had
sought refuge in vengeance--but the prospect of a gratified vengeance
was but a poor compensation for the loss of the  of a requited
wordnetdesire. The  of wordnetdesire still remained, and it struggled with
the ferocity of vengeance. That wordnetdesire pleaded powerfully for Lord
Chetwynde's life.  came also, to lend its assistance to the
arguments of wordnetdesire. Would it not be better to wait--even for
years--and then perhaps the fierceness of Lord Chetwynde's 
might be allayed? Why destroy him, and her ,