Elizabeth Ryan did not return to Gateby after leaving Pound in the fields between the village and the shooting-box. All that night she roamed the lanes and meadows like a restless shade. Whither her footsteps led her she cared little, and considered less. Though not unconscious of the mechanical act of walking, her sense of locomotion was practically suspended. A night on the treadmill would have left upon her an impression of environment no more monotonous than that which remained to her when this night was spent; and she never once halted the whole night through. Her seeing mind held but one image-her husband. In her heart, darting its poison through every vein, quivered a single passion-violent, ungovernable anger. The full, undivided force of this fierce passion was directed against

