CHAPTER XXIV.
SHE WAS A WIFE, AND SHE HAD A LOVER WHO DISAPPOINTED HER.
The prayer of Ella Linton had not been answered.

She had prayed, not that her heart wherewith she loved Herbert Courtland might be changed--that she knew would be difficult; not that her love for Herbert Courtland might cease--that she believed to be impossible; but simply that Herbert Courtland might be kept away from her--that she knew to be the most sensible course her scheme of imploration could take.
She was well aware of the fact that God had given her strength to run away from Herbert Courtland, and for that she was sincerely thankful; she did not pause to analyze her feelings, to ask herself if her thanks were due to her reflection upon the circumstance of her husband's return, at the very hour when she had appointed to meet Herbert Courtland; she only felt that God had been good to her in giving her sufficient strength to run away from that appointment.

Then it was that she had prayed that he might be kept away from her.

Surely God would find it easy to do that, she thought.

Surely she might assume that God was on her side, and that he would not leave his work half done.
But when she began to think of the thorough manner in which God does his work she began to wish that she had not prayed quite so earnestly.
Supposing that God should think it fit to keep him away from her by sending a blast from heaven to capsize that yacht in the deep sea, what would she think of the fervency of her prayer then?
The terror of her reflection upon the possibility of this occurrence flung her from her bed and sent her pacing, with bare feet and flying lace, the floor of her bedroom in the first pearly light of dawn, just as she had paced the floor of Phyllis' drawing room beneath the glow of the electric lights.
She wished that she had not prayed quite so earnestly that he might be kept apart from her.