CHAPTER XXXVIIIan stood at the garden gate hesitating to enter his own house.
He felt as if it was his no longer, nor was his wife his.
He had lost them, as a gambler might lose his whole fortune on the throw of a card. But the gambler expects the card to give him victory. Ian had not even had that excuse. He had lost everything; and he had expected nothing.
It was late, and all the lights were out, except one which still burned behind the curtains in his dressing-room.
Had one of the servants come upon the half-packed luggage and was she in mistaken zeal finishing the bitter business for him? Jean never entered his room now; she must be asleep. He hoped she would not wake before he left her. A wind from the moor blew the heather-scented air against his face. A pinched moon dragged her
