CHAPTER XXXII.
On ne peut jamais dire.
"Fontaine je ne boirai jamais de ton eau." If we could choose our ills we should not choose suspense.

Rachel aged perceptibly during these last weeks.

Her strong white hands became thinner; her lustreless eyes and haggard face betrayed her.

In years gone by she had said to herself, when a human love had failed her, "I will never put myself through this torture a second time.

Whatever happens I will not endure it again." And now she was enduring it again, though in a different form.