_Afterwards_

 _By Kathlyn Rhodes_

_Author of "The Desert Dreamers, " "The Will of Allah, " "The Lure of theDesert, " etc. _

 LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO. PATERNOSTER ROW

 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, BRUNSWICK ST. , STAMFORD ST. , S. E. 1, AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. 

_PROLOGUE_

I

"Dr. Anstice"--the girl spoke slowly, and her voice was curiouslyflat--"how much longer have we--before dawn?"

Without replying, the man glanced at his watch; and when he spoke hisvoice, too, was oddly devoid of tone. 

"I think--only an hour now. "

"Only an hour. " In the gloom of the hut the girl's face grew very pale. "And then----" She broke off, shuddering. 

"Miss Ryder, don't think of it. After all, we need not give up hope yet. An hour--why, heaps of things may happen in an hour. "

A wan little smile touched the girl's lips, and she came a step nearerher companion. 

"Don't let us buoy ourselves up with false hopes, " she said quietly. "Inyour heart you know quite well that nothing on earth can save us now. When the sun rises"--in spite of herself she shivered--"we shall die. "

The man said nothing for a moment. In his heart he knew she spoke thetruth; yet being a man he tried once more to reassure her. 

"Miss Ryder, I won't allow that. " Taking her hand he led her once moreto the rude bench on which she had spent the night. "There _is_ achance--a faint one, I admit, but still an undeniable chance. "

"You mean----?" Although she tried to speak calmly he heard the tinythrill of hope in her voice, and in his soul he wondered whether, afterall, he were not acting cruelly in speaking thus. 

"I mean our absence must have been noticed long ago. When we did notreturn in time for the picnic lunch or tea, someone must have wonderedwhere we were; and it is quite possible we were seen to enter the Templeearlier in the day. "

"That awful Temple!" The horror in her eyes made his heart beatpitifully over her. "If only I had not been so foolish as to insist onentering! You didn't know how dangerous it was to go in, but I did--atleast, I knew something of the danger--and I would go . .. And then--theuncanny silence, the sudden knowledge that we were not alone . .. Thatsomething, _someone_ malignant, hateful, was watching us--and then thoseawful men who seized us . .. Oh!" The agony of remembrance was too muchfor her, and she sank back, half-fainting, against the wall. 

"Miss Ryder, don't go over it all again!" Although it seemed certainthat they had only an hour to live, Anstice could not bear to see hersuffer now. "Don't let us think of what has happened--let us try toimagine that we are saved--as indeed we may be yet!" But he stole aglance out of the empty window-space as he spoke, and his heart sank tonote the lightening of the Indian night's soft dusk. 

"I think not. " Her tone was calm, almost indifferent, but herapprehensive eyes belied her voice. "Dr. Anstice, you have not forgottenyour promise? If . .. If it comes to the worst, you--you won't let mefall into--_their_ hands?"

And then he knew that in spite of her endeavours to be brave, to facethe impending fate heroically, she too had had her doubts throughout thelong hours of their imprisonment--doubts as to whether death wouldindeed come to her with the merciful swiftness of a fanatic's bullet. .. . 

And because he shared her doubt, because he, too, had wondered whetherhe alone would be shot at dawn, while she, his companion in thishorrible nightmare, were reserved for some far more ghastly fate, because of his wonder and his doubt Anstice rejoiced in the fact that hehad it in his power to save her from the worst that could happen. 

He had not given his promise-lightly; yet having given it he wouldfulfil it, if the God who seemed to have deserted them in their needshould see fit to nerve him to the deed. 

She was looking at him wistfully, with something of horror behind thewistfulness; and he could not bear to keep her waiting any longer forthe assurance she craved. 

"Yes, " he said gently, and there was a tender note in his voice. "I willkeep my word. You shall not fall into their hands. I promise you that. "

She sighed faintly, and made room for him beside her on the rough seat. 

"That is settled, then. And now, just for this last half-hour, let uspretend that we are in no danger, that we are waiting for our friends, the friends we ran away from at the picnic--yesterday. "

Something in her own words startled her, and she broke off abruptly. 

"Well?" He smiled at her. "Let us pretend. How shall we begin?"

"Was it only yesterday?" Her accent thrilled him through and through. "Did we really start out from my uncle's bungalow yesterday morning? Howgay we were, weren't we--all the twenty of us . .. You and I leadingbecause our horses were the best and I knew the way. .. . "

"Yes--and all the smart young officers looking daggers at me because Ihad carried you off!" His tone was admirably light. 

"Nonsense!" Hilda Ryder actually laughed, and in the dim and gloomy huther laughter sounded almost uncanny. "I'm sure no one was in the leastenvious! You see, we were new friends--and it is such a treat to meetsomeone new out here!"

"Yes. By Jove, we'd only met twice, hadn't we? Somehow I was thinking wewere quite old friends, you and I! But as you say, I was a new-comer, this was my first visit to the East. Rather a change, India and thesnows, from a slum in Shoreditch!"

"Shoreditch? Did you really live in a slum?"

"Rather--and quite enjoyed it!" He laughed at her incredulous face. "Itwas experience, you see--disease flourishes in many and divers formsdown there, and although I couldn't contemplate staying there for ever, the time wasn't wasted. "

"And then--you left your slum?"

"Yes. I wanted more time to myself. " He threw back his head as hetalked, and swept the curly black hair off his brow with an impatienthand. "You see I had visions--oh, purely futile ones, I daresay--but Ihad a great idea of finding a cure for a certain disease generallyconsidered incurable----" He broke off suddenly. 

"Well? You have found it?" Her tone was eager. 

"Not yet--but I shall!" In his enthusiasm he had forgotten the present, forgotten the horror which was coming nearer with great strides as themorning brightened in the sky. He saw only the future--not the immediatefuture--death, with his back against the wall of the courtyard, his faceturned to the rising sun; but the splendid, strenuous future, when aftergood years of toil, of experience, even of suffering, he should make thegreat discovery which should free mankind from one of its most grievousfoes, and add a precious treasure to the scientific storehouse of theworld. .. . 

"It's a difficult task--almost superhumanly difficult!" His black eyessnapped at the thought of the difficulties in the way. "But thank GodI'm young and full of hope--the hope that belongs to youth--and withluck I believe I'll win through in the end. .. . "

A sudden shaft of rosy light, striking slantwise through the windowlessaperture in the wall, brought him to a standstill. 

"Sunrise! My God--I--I'd forgotten!" In an instant the youth andenthusiasm were wiped out of his face as by a ruthless hand, and hestarted to his feet. "Miss Ryder, forgive me! I've been talking like afool, and you sit there listening like an angel, while all the time----"

"Hush, please!" She laid her hand on his arm, and through the sleeve ofhis thin riding-suit he felt the chill of her slender fingers. "It isn'ttime--yet. Let us pretend until the last minute. You know--you haven'tasked me what I intend--intended"--for a second she faltered--"to makeof _my_ life!"

Inwardly cursing his own folly, Anstice sat down again beside her andtook her hand in his as a brother might have done. 

"Well, what is . .. Was. .. . " He, too, bungled over the tense, but shepretended not to notice his confusion. "What are you going to be--or do?I hope your dreams are as wild as mine!"

"Not quite!" Her tone robbed the words of all offence. "Mine are veryhumble dreams, I'm afraid! You see"--for a second her voice shook, butshe steadied it and continued to speak--"there's a man in Egypt whom Iam--was--oh, what can I say?--whom I was to marry--some day. "

"Really? You're engaged?" A fresh pang of pity shot through his heart. 

"Yes. He's an engineer--in the Irrigation Department--and the best manin all the world!" For a moment love triumphed over death, and its gloryilluminated the gloom of that fatal place of imprisonment with a hint ofimmortality. "That's _my_ ambition, Dr. Anstice--to love him and marryhim, and be a true and faithful wife--and perhaps"--her voice sank anote--"perhaps in time to bear his children. That"--said Hilda Ryder, and now her eyes were full of dreams--"would be to me the most gloriousdestiny in the world!"

Her soft voice trembled into silence, and for the space of twentyheart-beats the two sat motionless, only their hands seeking the mutualcomfort which their warm contact might well bring. 

Then, with a sudden movement, Hilda Ryder sprang to her feet and crossedthe mud floor to the aperture in the wall. 

"Dr. Anstice, the sun is rising. I suppose--now--we have only a fewminutes more to live. "

He followed her across the floor and together they watched the dawningof the day which was to be the herald of death. With the inexorableswiftness of the East the sun was rushing into the sky in all his gloryof scarlet and pearl, and in spite of the significance of his triumphalrising the two who watched him caught their breath at the rosymagnificence of his entry. 

But Hilda's words must not go unanswered; and with a resolute squaringof his shoulders Anstice turned from the gorgeous world outside to thedimness of the hut. 

"Yes, " he said, rather slowly and deliberately. "I am afraid we haveonly a few minutes left--now. "

Curiously, she cavilled at his choice of words. 

"Why do you say--afraid?" He could not understand her tone. "You are notafraid to die--it's I who am such a pitiful coward that I daren't facedeath--out there in the sunlight. "

"You're not a coward, Miss Ryder!" Impulsively he patted her shoulder, and in spite of everything his action thrilled her with a sense ofcomfort. "Why, all through this dreadful night you've behaved like aheroine, and if your courage fails you a little now--which I hardlybelieve--well, that's excusable, at any rate!"

"Have I been brave?" She looked at him with wide blue eyes like the eyesof a child. "I am glad of that, seeing it was I who led us into this byprofaning--and making you profane--their Temple. I was afraid I had beendreadfully cowardly. I--I didn't feel brave, you know!"

"You poor little girl!" She was nearly as tall as he, a stately youngwoman, in truth, but suddenly he saw her as a frightened child. "You'vebeen braver--much braver than I--and I wish to God I could have got yousafely out of this! What do you say? Shall we break open the door andmake a dash for it? We might win through--if the guards were taken bysurprise----"

"Have you forgotten the high wall of the courtyard--and the great gateswhich can only be opened by three men?" He _had_ forgotten, and herreminder seemed to close the last avenue of escape. "No, Dr. Anstice, that's not the way out. But----" A sudden noise outside made her start, and her voice grew hoarse suddenly and broke. "Oh, you won't fail me, will you? You have my revolver safe?"

"Yes. " It lay safely hidden in an inner pocket, its tiny size alonehaving prevented its discovery by alien hands. "I have it in my pocket. There's only one cartridge, but that will be enough if--if we have needof it. "

"Thank you, Dr. Anstice. " To his surprise and admiration she hadregained her courage, the threatened collapse of the previous momentgone for ever. "Then I can wait quite calmly. But"--her blue eyes methis very fully--"you won't delay too long? The moment they come youwill--do what you have promised?"

"Yes, dear. " In that second he forgot that their acquaintance was barelya week old, forgot that Hilda Ryder was the promised bride of anotherman. In this moment all external circumstances were forgotten, andnothing remained but the fact that they were called upon to face deathtogether, and that to him alone could the girl look for comfort and helpin the bitter hour which faced them. And he knew that his hand must besteady to do her service; that he must guide her footsteps unfalteringlyto the gate through which she must pass in all her radiant youth; mustsupport and strengthen her with hand and voice so that she might lookthe dark angel fearlessly in the face and pass that frowning portal withunflinching step and dauntless mien. 

In the hour of death he must help her to be true to herself, so that nocraven fear should sully her proud soul, and with this high resolve heturned to her with the little word of endearment on his lips, and laidhis hand on her arm with a touch of real affection. 

"I will do what I have promised when the moment comes. " He felt a littleshiver run over her body and his hand tightened on her arm. "Dear, itwill soon be over. Really you need not be afraid. "

"Tell me"--she turned to him, and the look in her eyes thrilled himthrough and through--"does it _hurt_--death when it comes like--that?"

"No. " He spoke firmly. "You must not think of that. It is all over in asecond--and you know"--he hesitated--"after all, this life is noteverything. "

"No. " A new light touched her eyes for a moment, a light brighter thanthat of the rising sun. "There is a life beyond, isn't there? My motherdied three years ago, and I have missed her sorely, " said Hilda Rydersimply. "Surely she will greet me--there. But"--for a moment a greathuman yearning shook her soul--"it's hard to leave this dear lifebehind . .. The world is so wonderful, so lovely--I'm sure no other worldcan ever be half so beautiful as this. "

A sudden clamour in the courtyard outside drove the colour from hercheeks, and instinctively she clung to him. 

"Dr. Anstice, they're coming, aren't they? Is this--really--the end?"

For a second he listened, the blood running icily in his veins. Then heturned to her with a smile on his lips. 

"Yes. I think they are coming--now. But"--his voice changed--"after all, there might be a chance--for you!"

Instead of reassuring her his words drove her to a white-lipped terror. 

"You're not going to fail me now? Dr. Anstice, for the love of God, doas you promised--I will be brave, I will indeed--only don't let themtake me--oh, don't!"

"It's all right, dear. " He slipped his arm round her and drew herclosely to him. "I won't fail you. I thought for a moment there might bea chance, but after all this is the better way. "

"I knew you could be brave--for me, " she said, very softly; and then, asa native voice outside the hut called an order, he felt her tremble inhis arms. "They are coming--Dr. Anstice, let us say good-bye--or"--sheactually smiled--"shall it be _au revoir_?"

"That, I think, " he said steadily, holding the little revolver hidden inhis hand as he spoke. "Dear, I'm going to do it now . .. Close your eyes, and then you will know nothing till you open them to see your mother'sface. "

A long sigh shook her from head to foot. Then she closed her eyesobediently. 

"Thank you. " They were the last words he heard her say as he raised therevolver; and the next moment the merciful deed was done, and HildaRyder was safe for ever from the vengeance of the fanatics whom she hadall unwittingly enraged. 

Then, as the door opened at last, and two grave-faced Indians enteredand motioned to Anstice to accompany them into the courtyard, he wentout unflinchingly into the sunlight to meet his fate. 

II

Late that night two British officers sat on the verandah of a bungalowin the hills, discussing the tragedy which had happened at dawn. 

"It's an appalling affair altogether, " said the elder man, as he threwaway his half-smoked cigar. "If we had been five minutes earlier weshould have saved the girl, and the man would have been spared alifetime's regret. "

"Yes. " The other officer, who was young and very human, spoke slowly, and his eyes were thoughtful. "It is a good deal worse for the man thanthe woman, after all. Shall you ever forgot his face when he realizedthat he was saved? And by Jove it was a near thing for him, too. "

"Too near to be pleasant, " rejoined his companion grimly. "Of course, noone but a lunatic would have allowed the girl to enter that Temple. Don't you remember that affair a couple of years ago, when two Americanfellows only just got out in time?"

"Yes. " Young Payton's voice was dubious. "But you must remember, sir, Anstice was a new-comer, and didn't know the yarn--and it is justpossible Miss Ryder didn't know it either. Or she may haveover-persuaded him. "

"Well, she's paid for her folly, poor girl. " Colonel Godfrey rose. "Heruncle's off his head about it, and what the fellow she was to marry willsay remains to be seen. I suppose he'll want an explanation fromAnstice. "

"Why, you don't mean he'll blame the man for doing what he did?" Theyoung officer spoke boyishly. "After all, it was the only thing to do. Fancy, if the girl had fallen into the hands of those fanatics! Shootingwould have been a merciful death compared to the life she might have hadto endure. "

"Of course, of course!" Colonel Godfrey rose and moved to the steps ofthe verandah, where he stood looking absently out over the moonlitworld. "It was the only thing to do--and yet, what a tragedy it has allbeen! By the way, where is Anstice? I've not seen him since we came in. "

"He's in hospital. Got a nasty swipe across the shoulder in therough-and-tumble before we got away, and it gave Dr. Morris an excuse toshove morphia into him to keep him quiet a bit. Of course when he comesround I expect he'll be pretty sick about it all, but at least the poordevil has got a few hours' respite. "

"That's a blessing, anyway. Wonder what he'll do after this. Sort ofthing to ruin a man's nerve, what?"

"Probably take to drink--or drugs, " said Payton succinctly. "Some chapswould put a bullet through their brains, but I don't fancy Anstice isthe sort to do that. "

"Don't you?" For a second Colonel Godfrey hesitated, still looking outover the garden to where the line of the eternal snows glimmered whiteand passionless in the splendid moonlight. "Yet you know, my boy, onecould hardly blame a man for blowing out his brains after a tragedy ofthis sort. No. " With a last glance at the mystery of the snows he turnedback to the lighted verandah and took out his cigar-case. "I think onecould not blame this fellow Anstice if he chose that way out. " Heselected a cigar with care. "After all, he must feel as though he hadmurdered the girl, and though I fully agree with you that there wasnothing else to be done, still one can imagine how the memory of thedeed will haunt the poor chap all his life. "

"Yes. " Rex Payton lifted his cap from the table and prepared to take hisleave. "Well, good-night, sir. I think I'll just step across and see howhe's getting on. By Jove, what a magnificent night. It's as bright asday out here. "

"Yes. Let me know in the morning how things are going. "

"Right you are, sir. " With another hasty good-night Rex turned andstrode away across the compound in search of the doctor. 

"Still asleep, thank God, " was Morris' report. "Give you my word I dreadhis awakening. "

"Seems a pity he's got to wake at all, " said Payton moodily. "Couldn'tyou have given him a double dose while you were about it, and put thepoor devil out of his misery?"

"That's not the way we work, " returned the other dryly. "There's beenone--miscalculation--to-day, and we can't afford any more. If he likesto do it himself, when he comes round, that's a different matter. Idon't think he will, somehow. He doesn't strike me as that sort. He'llface it out, I believe, though it will go hard with him in the doing. "

"When will he be himself again?"

"I don't know. I shall keep him under as long as I dare. After all"--thedoctor, who prided himself on his lack of emotion, for once betrayed aglimpse of the real humanity beneath the rather grim exterior--"he'llhave to serve a life-sentence in the way of regret, and one can't grudgethe poor wretch an hour or two's Nirvana. "

And:

"By God, sir, I agree with you, " was all Rex Payton could find to say. 

III

One evening three weeks later Anstice sat in the smoke-room of awell-known hotel in Bombay waiting for the arrival of the one person inthe world whom he might have been expected to avoid. 

The P. And O. Boat had docked that afternoon; and among the passengerswas the man to whom Hilda Ryder had been engaged--the man to whomAnstice must answer for the deed done as the sun rose on that fatalmorning twenty-one dawns ago. 

The news of the girl's death had been cabled to the young engineer inCairo immediately, followed by a letter from Colonel Godfrey relating somuch of the affair as he himself knew; and in response had come alaconic message to the effect that Bruce Cheniston had sought andobtained leave, and would be in India at the first possible moment. Hehad been delayed by one or two accidents, but now he had really arrived;and Anstice had come down to meet him, knowing that before he himselfcould leave this fatal country there must be an explanation between theman who had loved Hilda Ryder, and the one who had been too hasty incarrying out a promise. 

To say that he shrank from this interview would hardly be true. As amatter of fact, in the weeks which had elapsed since that fatal morningAnstice had wandered in a world of shadows. Nothing seemed real, acute, not even the memory of the thing he had done. Everything was mercifullyblurred, unreal. He was like a man stunned, who sees things withoutrealizing them; or a man suffering from some form of poison--fromindulgence in _hashish_, for instance, when time and space lose allsignificance, and the thing which was and that which is become strangelyand unaccountably interchangeable. 

That there must be a reckoning between himself and Cheniston, Ansticevaguely knew. Yet he felt no dread, and very little curiosity as to themanner of their meeting; and although he recognized the fact that theman to whom Hilda Ryder had been engaged might well look on him withhorror, inasmuch as his hand had sent her to her death, Anstice feltlittle interest in the matter as it concerned himself. 

Possibly he was still feeling the effects of that morning's happening, although unaware of it. He had received a nasty wound--even now hisshoulder was stiff and painful--and since he had discontinued the use ofopiates he had had little or no sleep; but he was a man of goodphysique, and only an unaccustomed pallor and a few finely-drawn linesround his mouth betrayed the fact that he had suffered--was sufferingstill. 

One or two men glanced at him curiously as he sat in a corner, gazingahead of him with an unseeing stare; but only one man, a young officercalled Trent, recognized him as the hero of the tragedy which had shakenthe district of Alostan a few weeks earlier. 

Being a talkative person he could not refrain from pointing Anstice outto his companion. 

"See that chap over there--the tall fellow in grey?" Trent had been oneof the picnic party which had ended in disaster; and although agood-hearted boy was thrilled with the importance of his own position. "Know who it is? Well, it's that chap Anstice--you remember, the fellowwho shot that girl up in the hills when they were in a tight place. "

"Oh! That the man?" The other, who was a portly civilian, looked at theunconscious Anstice with open interest. "Shocking affair, what? If he'dheld his hand five minutes they would both have been rescued. Wasn'tthat it?"

"Yes. Looks a bit sick about it, doesn't he?"

"Um . .. Yes. Good-looking fellow, in a hard-bitten sort of way. " Thecivilian looked Anstice over, approving the thin, well-cut face, thetall, loosely-built figure, the long hands lying idly on the arms of hischair. "Rather foreign-looking, with that black hair and those darkeyes, isn't he?"

"Yes. Looks years older than he did before it happened, " said Trent, speaking the truth. "I expect, though, it _is_ the sort of thing to ageone. "

"Yes. What's he doing here? Going home?"

"Yes, but I fancy he's got an appointment with Cheniston first, "explained the younger man importantly. "Boat got in this afternoon, andI expect Cheniston wants to hear the affair at first-hand. "

"Daresay. Rather rough on the poor devil. " The civilian, beneath hispompous exterior, had a kind heart. "Bad enough to have to shoot thegirl first, without explaining it all afterwards. Hope to goodness theother chap lets him down lightly. "

"Oh, well, he can't say much. " Trent broke off abruptly. "Here isCheniston . .. By Jove, I wouldn't like to be Anstice at this moment. "

Unconscious of the interest he was arousing, a young man had justentered the room. He was of medium height, broad-shouldered and bronzed, with a good-looking, square face and a resolute chin. Just now he waspale beneath his tan, and his eyes, which were narrow in shape and of arather hard blue, were strained and anxious. 

Inside the room, he looked uncertainly round; and the next momentAnstice rose slowly to his feet. 

"You are Mr. Cheniston?" They might have been alone in a desert for allthe notice he took of any onlookers. "I think you are looking for me. Myname is Anstice. "

Bruce Cheniston nodded abruptly. 

"Yes. I'm Cheniston. We can't talk here. Will you come up to my room?"

"Thanks. " He moved forward, and Cheniston turned to the door. 

"This way. I'm some floors up--we'll take the lift. "

In silence they made the ascent; and now to his own unwelcome surpriseAnstice felt himself awaking from the merciful stupor in which he hadbeen sunk for so many unnoticed days. 

Suddenly he began to realize what this interview must mean to Cheniston;and the knowledge that he must tear the knife from his own wound inorder to plunge it into the heart of the young man opposite him made himfeel as though he were already inwardly bleeding to death. 

From being vague and blurred his senses now became preternaturallyacute. His surroundings were no longer dim and formless, rathereverything grew inhumanly sharp and vivid. To the end of his life hewould preserve an extraordinarily faithful recollection of the room intowhich Cheniston presently ushered him--the usual hotel bedroom in India, with high green walls, mosquito curtains, and an entire absence of allsuperfluities in the way of furniture or adornment. 

On the floor lay a Gladstone bag, half open as the owner had carelesslyleft it; and Anstice found himself idly speculating as to whether thewhite and purple striped glory which protruded from it was a shirt or apair of pyjamas. .. . 

His wandering thoughts were suddenly recalled to the affair of themoment; and the minor things of life were forgotten in the onrush of thevital things, the things which matter. .. . 

"Now, Dr. Anstice"--Anstice's professional instinct, so long inabeyance, warned him that the man's self-control was only, so to speak, skin-deep; and a quite unexpected and inexplicable rush of pityoverwhelmed him as the cold voice went on speaking--"I think you willrealize that I should like to hear your account of--of the affair thattook place in that accursed Temple. "

"I quite realize that. " Anstice spoke slowly. "And I am ready to answerany questions you may like to ask. "

"I--I think----" For a second Cheniston wavered, then spoke morehumanly. "Won't you sit down? I should like, if I may, to hear the wholestory from the beginning. "

"I see. Well, you are quite within your rights in wishing to hear thestory. No, I won't sit down, thanks. It won't take very long to tell. "

Cheniston moved a step backwards and sat down on the edge of the bed, pushing the mosquito curtain impatiently aside. Then he took out hiscigarette case, and, still with his steel-blue eyes on the other man'sface, selected a cigarette which he held, unlighted, as he listened. 

Standing in the middle of the floor, his hands in the pockets of hiscoat, Anstice began his story, and in spite of the fact that this manhad robbed him of all that he held dear in life, Cheniston was forced toadmit that at least he was proving himself no coward. 

"When we set off on that fatal picnic"--Anstice took it for granted thathis hearer knew the details of the occasion--"Miss Ryder and I went onahead. We were both well mounted, and she was, as you know, a fearlesshorsewoman. We very soon out-distanced the others, and had gone a goodway when Miss Ryder suggested we should visit a certain Temple of whichit seems she had heard a great deal from a native servant. Had I knownthen, as I know now, the reputation of the place, and the intense hatredwhich the priests felt for any of the white races since that unluckyAmerican affair"--he realized suddenly that he appeared to be excusinghimself, and his manner hardened--"well, I can only regret that Iallowed Miss Ryder to set foot in the place. "

"You went?"

"Yes. It was only a few miles off the track, and we were so far ahead ofthe party that we should easily have had time to get to our originaldestination for lunch. Well, we went on, found the Temple, apparentlydeserted----"

"Apparently?" The question shot out like steel. "There was someonethere?"

"Yes. We both realized at the same moment that we were not alone. Youmust understand that the place is half in ruins--it's a cleversubterfuge of the priests to keep out intruders by pretending there isnothing there of interest. Most people turn back after a perfunctorylook round; but in reality if one penetrates through one or two passagesone comes to the Temple proper, where Heaven knows what rites go on. "

"You reached it?"

"Yes. Thinking the place was merely a ruin I went on quitecomfortably . .. And suddenly we found ourselves in a sort of Holy ofHolies . .. A queer, pillared place with an enormous idol in a kind ofrecess--an altar, I suppose. " His voice was tense. "It was at that momentwe both realized someone was watching us, malignantly, from some unseenvantage-point. I turned to Miss Ryder to suggest, as quietly aspossible, that we should retrace our steps, and found her, very pale, staring ahead of her with horror in her face. "

"She had seen--something?"

"Yes. Afterwards she told me it was the glitter of the man's eyes . .. Hewas looking through a kind of hole in the embroidered drapery behind theidol . .. That had attracted her attention; and she was only too ready tofall in with my suggestion. "

"You were--prevented?"

"Yes. As we turned towards the opening we found we were too late. Threetall fellows--priests, I suppose they were--had come up behind us, andas we moved they seized us . .. Two men held my arms--the third----" Hisvoice broke. 

"He--held Miss Ryder?"

"Yes. He wasn't rough with her. " The words, which happened to be untrue, sounded painfully inadequate in his own ears. "They gave us no time toexplain anything, but took us before the Chief Priest, or someone of thekind, and stated that we had been found desecrating the Temple by ourunhallowed presence. "

"You explained that you had done it in ignorance?"

"Of course. But"--he smiled rather cynically--"they had evidently heardthat before. You know the Americans who got into trouble there hadreally laid a plot to carry away some memento of their visit, and theythought we were after loot of some kind, too, I suppose. "

"They wouldn't listen?"

"Oh, yes, they listened all right while I tried, with Miss Ryder's help, to explain. She knew a few words of their tongue, and somehow asituation of that sort sharpens one's wits to the extent of helping oneto understand a strange lingo. The upshot was we were blindfolded"--hesaw Cheniston wince at the thought of the indignity to the girl he hadloved--"and led away. Later we were placed in a conveyance of some sort, a bullock cart, I imagine, and driven for hours over some of the worstground I've ever struck. "

"Well?" The interest of the story was gripping the other man through allhis horror, and his tone had lost its hostility for the moment. "Andthen?"

"Finally we were released, led into a small hut, our eyes wereunbandaged, and we were informed that our fate was being deliberated, and the result would be made known to us at sunset. "

"And at sunset----"

"At sunset we were sent for to the presence of a still more importantpersonage, another High Priest, I suppose. We were taken into a kind ofpresence chamber, across the large courtyard, and found our friends ofthe morning, kow-towing to this still higher potentate. He didn't wastewords on us. Through the miserable creature who had interpreted for usearlier, he made us understand that the penalty for setting foot intheir holy place was death--by strangulation as a general rule----"

Cheniston's lips turned white, and his cigarette dropped to the floor;but though Anstice saw his agitation he paid no attention. 

"But in consideration of the fact that we were English and one of us wasa woman"--Cheniston uttered an involuntary exclamation--"our sentencewas that we should be shot in the courtyard at sunrise. "

"One moment. " Cheniston's voice was harsh, and he moistened his lipsbefore he spoke. "Weren't you armed? Couldn't you have--have made afight for it?"

For the first time Anstice lost control of himself. The dark bloodrushed to his brow and his eyes flashed with anger. 

"Good God, man, do you suppose if I'd been armed we should havesubmitted tamely? As a matter of fact, the brutes who attacked us in thefirst place seized my revolver before I had a chance to draw it . .. Andthough I'm pretty tough, when it came to a struggle with those Indiandevils they were like steel--iron--anything you choose to compare themwith. "

"I know--their muscles are marvellous--especially the Hill-men. " Histone held a note of apology. "Of course, if you had had half achance--but"--suddenly his voice changed, grew suspicious--"you had arevolver, in the end?"

"Yes. Miss Ryder's. They did not suspect her of carrying a weapon, yousee, and it was a tiny one her uncle had given her, more as a toy thanas a serious protection. "

"She couldn't get at it to use it?"

"No. We were bound as well as blindfolded, you know. " He spoke grimly. "Luckily Miss Ryder had the presence of mind to say nothing about ittill we were alone in the hut, our hands untied. Then she gave it to me, and we found to our dismay that there was only one cartridge left. "

"How was that?" He spoke quickly, but there was no suspicion in his tonenow. 

"Miss Ryder explained that she had been practising shooting with heruncle and had forgotten to reload. But"--he paused--"even had it beenfully charged, I'm afraid our fate would have been unchanged. "

Cheniston rose suddenly, took a few aimless steps across the floor, andthen sank down on the bed again almost in his former position. In frontof him Anstice stood motionless, his hands, clenched now, still in hispockets, his eyes the only live feature in the grey pallor of his face. 

"Well!" Suddenly he threw back his head with a restless gesture, asthough the strain of the interview was beginning to tell on him. "Afterhearing our sentence we were taken back to our hut, there to await themoment of sunrise--of our death. "

"They gave you no food?" The question was almost futile in itstriviality; but Anstice answered it quite naturally. 

"Oh, yes, we were given food of a sort. Luckily I had a little flask ofbrandy, and once--at midnight--I persuaded Miss Ryder to take a fewdrops. She was splendidly brave throughout. "

There was a short silence. Both men felt that the crux of the interviewwas at hand; and each, in his way, was preparing himself for it. 

"Well?" It was Cheniston who spoke first. "The night wore on, I suppose, and you saw no hope of escape? But didn't you guess your absence wouldbe remarked upon?"

"Of course. And we hoped against hope that someone would remember theTemple. "

"They did--in the end?"

"Yes, and made all possible speed to reach it. But by that time we hadbeen taken away, there was no one to be seen, and of course all tracesof us had absolutely disappeared. "

"Then how did they find you in the end?"

"The native servant who had talked of the wonders of the Temple to MissRyder was aghast when he found what harm his talk had done. It seems shehad cured his little boy of some childish illness, and he simplyworshipped her in consequence. So he was wild to rescue her, and afterdispatching parties of searchers in every likely direction he suddenlyrecollected hearing of some mysterious High Priest in a tiny village inthe hills, which was so securely hidden from observation that very fewpeople knew of its existence. "

"Colonel Godfrey said he would never have reached it without theguidance of some native, " said Cheniston thoughtfully. "Would that bethe man himself?"

"Yes. It seemed his father had known the way and had told him in direstsecrecy how to reach the village; and when the officers were ready tostart he went with them, and by some stroke of luck hit the right roadat once, although the directions were fearfully complicated. "

"If only you had known----"

"Do you think I don't say that to myself day after day?" Anstice's browwas pearled with sweat. "If I had had the faintest idea there was anychance of a rescue----"

"I know, I know!" The other man moved restlessly. "Good God, man, I'mnot condemning you"--Anstice flushed hotly--"I'm only saying what apitiful mistake the whole thing was . .. The tragedy might have beenaverted if only----"

"It's no use talking now. " Anstice's tone was icy. "The thing'shappened, the mistake is made and can't be unmade. Only, if you think_you_ could have let her fall into the hands of those fanatics--well, Icouldn't, that's all. "

"She . .. She asked you to . .. To save her from that?" He hung on theother man's answer as though his own life depended upon it. 

"Yes. I shouldn't have ventured to shoot her without her permission, youknow!" In a moment he repented of the ghastly pleasantry into whichexasperation had led him. "Forgive me, Cheniston--the thing's got on mynerves . .. I hardly know what I'm saying. .. . "

Cheniston, who had turned a sickly white beneath his bronze, looked athim fiercely. 

"I'm making all allowances for you, " he said between his teeth, "but Ican't stand much of that sort of thing, you know. Suppose you tell me, without more ado, the nature of the--the bargain between you. "

Without more ado Anstice complied. 

"Miss Ryder made me promise that if the sun should rise before any helpcame to us I would shoot her with my own hand so that she should nothave to face death--or worse--at the hands of our enemies. "

"You thought it might be--worse?"

"Yes. My father was a doctor in China at the time of the Boxer rising, "said Anstice with apparent irrelevance. "And as a boy I heard storiesof--of atrocities to women--which haunted me for years. On my soul, Cheniston"--he spoke with a sincerity which the other man could notquestion--"I was ready--no, glad, to do Miss Ryder the service she askedme. "

Twice Cheniston tried to speak, and twice his dry lips refused theiroffice. At last he conquered his weakness. 

"You waited till the sun rose . .. And then . .. You were sure . .. You didnot doubt that the moment had come?"

"No. I waited as long as I dared . .. The sun had risen and we heard theclamour in the courtyard outside. .. . "

"And so----" Again his parched lips would not obey his bidding. 

"When the men were at the very door of the hut I carried out mypromise, " said Anstice steadily. "She closed her eyes . .. I told her to, so that she should not be afraid to see death coming . .. And then . .. "at the recollection of that last poignant moment a slow shudder shookhim from head to foot, ". .. It was all over in a second. She did notsuffer--of that, at least, you may be certain. "

Cheniston's hand was over his eyes; and for a space the room was verystill. 

Then:

"And you--you went out, as you thought, to meet your own death?"

"Yes--and I wish to God I'd met it, " said Anstice with an uncontrollableoutburst of bitterness. "I endured the shame, the horror of it all invain. You know what happened . .. How just as the men were about to firethe rescuers burst into the courtyard. .. . My God, why were they so late!Or, being late, why did they come at all!"

Cheniston's blue eyes, which had been full of a natural human anguish, grew suddenly hard. 

"You are not particularly grateful to your rescuers, " he said. "Yet ifthey had been a few minutes later, you too would have been beyond theirhelp. "

Anstice was quick to notice the renewed hostility in the young man'stone. 

"Just so. " His manner, too, had changed. "But can you expect me to feela very vivid gratitude to the men who restored my life to me, seeingwith what memories that life must always be haunted?"

"Need you endure the haunting of those memories?"

The question, spoken quietly, yet with an obvious significance, tookAnstice aback. For a moment he frowned, his dazed mind fumbling afterthe speaker's meaning. 

"_Need_ I?" Suddenly he knew what Cheniston had meant to imply. "Ah--youmean a man may always determine the length of his days?"

Cheniston nodded, never taking his eyes off the other's face. 

"I see. Well, suicide would be a way out, of course. But"--for a secondhis eyes hardened, grew stern--"I don't mean to take that way--unlesslife grows too much for me. A second--mistake"--he spoke slowly--"wouldnot annul the first. "

"No. " Cheniston's face had lost all its boyishness; it looked haggard, unhappy, old. "Possibly not. But when one has made a mistake of sotragic a nature I should have thought one would have been only too readyto pay the price of one's miscalculation. "

For a second Anstice stared at him silently. 

"Just so, " he said at last, very quietly, taking his hands out of hispockets for the first time. "The question is, What is the price? And doyou really think that to repudiate a debt by running away from one'screditor, so to speak, is as satisfactory a settlement as to pay it coinby coin, each coin drawn from one's own heart's blood?"

This time it was Cheniston who stared at him in non-comprehension. Presently he said slowly:

"I think I understand. You mean the strongest man is the one who canstand up to any situation with which life confronts him; can pay a debtto the uttermost farthing though it may make him bankrupt in the doing. That is what you mean?"

"Yes, " said Anstice steadily. "That is what I mean. God only knows whatthe price may be, and whether I shall have the coin in my treasury whenI'm called on to pay . .. If I am so called upon. And by the way"--hisface hardened--"do I understand you to mean that I'm your debtor--thatit is to you that the price may--one day--be paid?"

Cheniston made no reply. The hostility had suddenly died out of hiseyes; and for a moment Anstice caught a glimpse of the man Hilda Ryderhad loved. 

"You know"--his square fingers played absently with his cigarettecase--"I have loved Hilda Ryder all my life. We were brought up togetheras children; I was a few years older than she . .. By the way, how oldare you?"

Surprised, Anstice owned to his twenty-nine years. 

"And I am twenty-six. Hilda was twenty-four last year. Well, all my lifeshe has been the one--the only--woman in the world for me. We've beenengaged four years; her people wouldn't sanction it till she was twenty, but we always knew we were made for one another, and Hilda used to sayshe would rather be my wife than marry the richest, the most famous manon earth!"

Suddenly Anstice heard her soft voice in his ear. 

"To marry him . .. Perhaps in time to bear his children, would be to methe most glorious destiny in the world. .. . "

A spasm of uncontrollable anguish convulsed his features for a moment;but Cheniston was too intent on his own self-revelation to notice. 

"Life--without--Hilda seems impossible somehow. " He laughed drearily. "We have always been so happy together . .. I can't imagine going onwithout her. "

He paused, but Anstice said nothing. He did not know what to say. 

"I wonder--can I go on? Is it really required of me that I shouldcontinue to hang on to an existence which is absolutely devoid of allattraction, of all meaning?" He fixed his blue eyes on the other's face. "You're a doctor, aren't you?"

Anstice nodded. 

"Yes. "

"Well, I daresay it has happened in your experience that some poor devildoomed to a lifetime of torture, condemned, perhaps, to bear the burdenof the sins of his ancestors, has begged you to furnish him with themeans of escape . .. There must be cases in which death is infinitelypreferable to life, and a doctor must know plenty of safe ways ofsetting free the poor imprisoned wretch as one would free a miserablecaged bird. Tell me, has such an experience ever come your way?" Hespoke almost irritably now. 

"Well, " said Anstice, "and if it has? What then?"

"How have you answered such entreaties, I wonder? Even you can't pretendthat life is always a sacred thing; that a man isn't sometimes justifiedin turning his back on the existence he never desired and yet has toendure. " He paused, and his eyes held a queer blue glitter. "Well, haveyou nothing to say?"

"No, " said Anstice resolutely, moving a step forward as he spoke. "Onsuch a subject I have nothing to say--to you. If, as seems possible, youare suggesting that I should furnish either you or myself with an easysolution of the problem of our respective lives, I fear I must declinethe suggestion. I'm a doctor, not a murderer, although"--suddenly he bithis lip and his face turned grey--"you, of all men, may be pardoned forthinking me ready to act as one. "

The passing softness which had given him back his youth faded out ofCheniston's face; and when he spoke even his voice sounded years older. 

"Well, it's no use talking, I suppose. After all"--his lip curled--"noman is dependent on another's good offices if he decides to cut shorthis sojourn on this delightful planet. Though it strikes me that if, asyou say, you feel you owe me a debt, you might perhaps allow me to fixthe method of payment. "

He stopped short, taken aback by Anstice's imperious gesture. 

"Look here, Cheniston. " He spoke curtly, his eyes ablaze. "Life hasgiven us both--me as well as you--a terrible jar. But you won't makethings better by resenting what has happened. You have lost the womanyou loved, but I have lost a good deal more. With the bestintentions"--he smiled ironically at his own phrase--"I have ruined yourlife; and my own. I am ready to admit I owe you some reparation for thewrong I have quite innocently done you; and I am ready, also, to pay youany price in reason which you may ask, either now or in the future. Butthe price must be one which may decently be paid. "

"I see. " Cheniston spoke slowly. "I think, after all, we may shelve thequestion of payment between you and me. Personally I hope--you willforgive my frankness--that we may never be called upon to meet again. You see"--his voice broke, but he cleared his throat angrily and wenton--"I can't help remembering that if you had waited Miss Ryder wouldstill be alive. "

Anstice was stung to a last impulse of self-defence. 

"If I had waited--and the rescuers had not come, it is possible deathwould have been a merciful alternative to Miss Ryder's fate, " he said. "I have tried to explain that what I did was done--as Miss Ryder wouldbe the first to admit--for the best. But I see you are determined tolook upon me as a criminal; and as I don't intend to excuse myselffurther, well, I will echo your hope that we may never meet again. "

And without any further attempt at farewell Anstice turned on his heeland walked out of the room; leaving Bruce Cheniston staring after himwith an expression of amazement not untinged with shame in his narrowblue eyes. 

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

"If you please, sir, a telephone message has come for you from CherryOrchard just now. "

Anstice put down the paper he had been idly studying and looked at themaid. 

"Cherry Orchard? That's the big house on the Littlefield Road, isn'tit?"

"Yes, sir. It has just been reopened, cook tells me. "

"Oh. And I am wanted there?"

"Yes, sir. At once, the message was. "

"Very good. Tell Andrews to bring round the car immediately. And putdinner back a bit, Alice, please. "

"Yes, sir. " The trim maid hurried away, and Anstice rose to obey thesummons, congratulating himself on the fact that the night was fine, andthe Littlefield Road good going. 

Ten minutes later he was on his way; and in due course arrived at hisdestination, a pretty old gabled house standing in a large andold-fashioned garden, from whose famous cherry trees the place derivedits quaint name. 

Six months earlier Anstice had bought a practice in the Midlands, on thedeath of its former owner; but this was the first time he had visitedCherry Orchard; and as he waited for his ring to be answered heremembered the maid's remark as to the recent reopening of the housewith a slight feeling of curiosity as to its tenant. 

He was not kept waiting long. An elderly manservant speedily appeared;and his face, which wore a worried expression, lightened as he sawAnstice standing on the steps. 

"Thank God you've come, sir. " The gratitude was so obviously sincerethat Anstice felt glad he had not delayed his coming. "If you'll kindlygo upstairs, sir--the housekeeper is waiting for you, I believe. "

He relieved Anstice of his hat and coat with hands which shook; and atthe same moment a swarthy, foreign-looking woman hurried forward withunmistakable eagerness. 

"You are the doctor, sir? Then will you come up at once? My mistress isupstairs, and the sooner you see her the better. "

Without wasting time in questioning her, Anstice motioned to the speakerto lead the way; which she did accordingly, hurrying up the black oakstaircase at a surprising pace; and giving Anstice no time to do morethan glance at the artistic treasures which were in evidence on everyside. 

She led him a few steps down a broad gallery, lighted by large andfinely-designed windows; and paused outside a door, turning to him withan expression of appeal--he could call it nothing else--in her small butintensely bright eyes. 

"You'll be very gentle with the poor lady, sir? You won't--won't flusterher?" She broke off suddenly, appeared as though about to say somethingmore, then closed her lips as though she had thought better of theimpulse, and opening the door invited Anstice to enter. 

Somehow her last words had given Anstice a queer, but possiblyjustifiable, suspicion that he was about to encounter a _maladeimaginaire_; and just for a second he felt a spasm of irritation at thestress which had been laid on the urgent need for haste. 

All such thoughts fled, however, as his eyes fell on the face of thepatient he had come to see; for here was no neurotic invalid, nohysterical sufferer who craved sympathy for quite imaginary woes. 

On the bed drawn up in front of one of the big casement windows lay ayoung woman with closed eyes; and as he approached her side Anstice sawthat it was not sleep but unconsciousness which claimed her at thatmoment. 

"How long has she been like this?" He spoke sharply, one hand on theslender wrist. 

"It's two hours since she was seized, sir. " The woman's voice shook. "Nosooner was my mistress in the house--she came home only to-day--than shefainted clean away. We brought her round, the maids and me, and she wasbetter for a bit . .. Then up she would get to look after Miss Cherry, and off she went again. It's nearly half an hour ago . .. And we got soanxious that Hagyard telephoned for you . .. We thought it was the rightthing to do. "

"Quite the right thing. " He was too intent on his patient to pay muchattention to the woman's speech; but she was quite content to standsilent as he tried one means of restoration after another; and when, finally, his efforts were successful, both Anstice and the housekeeperbreathed more freely. 

"Your mistress . .. Her name, by the way. .. . "

"Mrs. Carstairs, sir. " She spoke with a tinge of reluctance, and even inthe stress of the moment Anstice wondered why. 

"Oh. Well, Mrs. Carstairs is coming round now, she will be herself in amoment or two. By the way, just go and fill a hot-water bottle, willyou? It is chilly to-night, and Mrs. Carstairs will probably feel cold. "

With a last look at her mistress the woman turned to obey; and Ansticemoved back to the bed to find his patient's eyes open and fixed upon himwith something of perplexity in their depths. 

"Don't try to move just yet, " he counselled her quickly. "You've had abad faint, and must lie still for a little while. Do you feel better?"

"Much better, thank you. " Her voice, though it sounded weak, was oddlydeep in tone. "I suppose I fainted. Did they send for you?"

"Yes. Your servants were getting alarmed. " He smiled. "But there is noneed for alarm now. What you want is a long rest. You have beenovertiring yourself, perhaps?"

A peculiar smile, which was mocking and yet sad, curved her lips for amoment. Then she said quietly:

"Perhaps I have overtired myself a little lately. But it was quiteunavoidable. "

"I see. " Something about this speech puzzled Anstice, and for a momenthe was rather at a loss to know what to say in reply. 

She did not wait for him, however. 

"Do you think I shall faint again? These faints are sounpleasant--really I don't think"--she paused, and when she resumed hervoice sounded still deeper, with a true contralto note--"I don't thinkeven death itself can be much more horrible. The sensation of falling, of sinking through the earth----"

She broke off, and he hastened to reply. 

"I don't think you need anticipate any further trouble to-night. Isuppose you have had your heart sounded?"

Again she smiled; and once more he could have sworn there was mockery inher smile. 

"Yes. But I don't think my heart is wrong. It--it is due to othercauses----"

She stopped abruptly as the door opened, and the woman came in, carryingthe hot-water bottle for which she had been sent. 

"That you, Tochatti?" She seemed to welcome the interruption. "Thank youso much. " She let the servant fuss over her for a moment, then turned toAnstice. "You see, " she said, "I am well looked after. "

"I am glad you are, " he rejoined promptly. "You know you are really inneed of a little care at present. If you will allow me, I should like tosound your heart myself. "

She acquiesced rather wearily; and having satisfied himself that thestate in which he found her was due rather to weakness than to anyspecific disease, he turned to the strangely named woman, whom he nowguessed to be a foreigner, and gave her a few directions for the night. 

"I'll see to it, sir, " she said quietly; and Anstice knew his orderswould be faithfully carried out. 

"Well, I can't do you any good by staying, " he said, bending over thebed and holding out his hand. "But send for me if you want me, won'tyou? And I'll look in to-morrow to see how you are. "

"One moment. " Her hand in his felt strangely alive in spite of herrecent unconsciousness. "Put on a little more light, please, Tochatti. Ishould like to see"--she spoke without any embarrassment--"to what sortof person I am indebted this evening. "

When, the next instant, the room was flooded with light, Anstice had noscruples in looking at his patient with an interest which, though lessopenly expressed, was quite as strong as that with which she evidentlyintended to scrutinize him. 

The first thing he noticed was that Mrs. Carstairs was young--probablynot more than twenty-five. The next, that she looked as though she hadrecently gone through some nerve-racking experience; and the last, whichcame upon him with a shock of unjustifiable surprise, that she was morethan commonly good-looking. 

Her features, as he saw for the first time, were classical in outline, and the silky black hair which lay in heavy waves on her forehead shadeda brow which in contour was almost purely Greek. Her skin was of so thinand transparent a whiteness that her black eyebrows traced two inkylines across her face; and the almond shape of her sapphire blue eyesgave them a somewhat Oriental look, in spite of their eminently Westerncolouring. 

When, in response to his stare, she vouchsafed a faint smile, he sawthat the mouth which was sad in repose was fascinating when she smiled;and the white teeth which the smile displayed were perfect in shape andcolour. 

"Well?" Her deep voice took him so much aback that he absolutelystarted. "You've seen me--haggard wreck that I am--and I've seen you. Sonow we may consider our acquaintance inaugurated and say good-night. "

"Certainly. " He looked at her closely; and noted her extreme pallor. "Ihope you will sleep--you look shockingly tired. "

"I told you I was a wreck, " she said, still with that inscrutable smile. "But if you will take me in hand I have no doubt I shall soon recover myordinary rude health. "

"I hope so. " His tone was absent--he was wondering whether he had everseen this woman before; and coming, finally, to the conclusion that hehad not. "Well, I will leave you now, and hope to find you a great dealbetter in the morning. "

"Thanks. " She spoke wearily. "I'm sorry to have troubled you. Good-night. "

In the hall the manservant waited, and Anstice, pitying his evidentanxiety, spoke reassuringly to him as he took his coat. "Your mistressis much better now--with a little care she will soon be all right, Ihope. "

"Thank you, sir. " The man's voice quivered with feeling. "We--we are allvery anxious when our lady is not well. "

"Of course. " Anstice took the hat the servant held and moved to thedoor. "Is that nine striking? I didn't know it was so late. "

Yet in spite of the lateness of the hour Anstice did not drive home at aparticularly rapid pace. Something in the episode just closed hadintrigued him, piqued his curiosity as well as stimulated his interest;and he was wondering, as he drove, what there was about his patientwhich suggested a mystery--something, at least, unusual unexpected, inher character or surroundings. 

"She's uncommonly handsome--but so are heaps of women. Nice house, plenty of money, I should say, and of course she herself is well bred. Yet there is something odd about her--about her manner, rather. Looks atone queerly--almost quizzically--and yet when she smiled she lookedextraordinarily sad. " He turned a corner rather carelessly and asurprised motor-cyclist sounded his horn reproachfully. "I wonder--isshe a widow? There was no sign of a husband, though I believe theservant said something about a child. Anyhow"--he had reached his ownhouse now and slowed down before the gate--"I will see her to-morrow andperhaps learn a little more about her--if there is anything to learn. Ifnot--well, women love to appear mysterious. There never was a woman yetwho didn't long to rival the Sphinx and appear an enigma in the eyes ofwondering men!"

And he went in to his belated dinner with a rather cynical smile on hislips. 

CHAPTER II

Just as Anstice was starting out next morning an urgent telephonemessage came through, requesting his help at a suddenly imperativeoperation at a country house some miles distant. 

Although he had been in the district only a few months, Anstice wasalready known to his professional brothers as a daring and skilfulsurgeon; and one man--the one who now called upon his services--was inthe habit of wondering openly why so brilliant a man was content to buryhimself in the country instead of seeking fame and fortune in some oneof the big cities of the world. 

There were those who could have given a very good guess at the reasonswhich led Anstice to shun notoriety and welcome the obscurity ofLittlefield; but in the meantime Dr. Willows was left to wonder in vain;though his wonder was leavened with a genuine admiration for hiscolleague's skill, and a fervent gratitude for the other man'sunwearying willingness to give his aid. 

On receiving the message Anstice frowned. 

"That you, Willows? Is it an urgent case? Oh--of course I'll come . .. Imust make a few arrangements first . .. Yes . .. Yes . .. I'll be with youin half an hour, if that will do. "

He hung up the receiver, and now his manner was alert and keen. Therewas about him none of the weariness, the indifference which too oftencharacterized his demeanour, and led some of his patients to complainthat he took no interest in them or in their sufferings. This was theman who before that fatal day in India had stood, so it was whispered, upon the threshold of a brilliant career--the man who, young, resourceful, scientific, had taken a very real and deep interest inevery detail of his profession, and had led even the most cautious ofhis teachers to prophesy for him a life of unvarying success. 

He even looked younger as he consulted his notebook this morning; andthe shoulders which had begun to stoop ever so little were squared, thehead held erect as he scanned the pages before him with quick, resoluteeyes. 

Luckily there was nothing very important on the morning list, no visitsthat could not be safely postponed till the afternoon; and one or twotelephone messages soon put things straight and left him free to keephis appointment with Dr. Willows. 

He had a moment's indecision over the case of his new patient at CherryOrchard, but reflecting that if necessary they would probably ring himup, he judged it safe to put off his visit to Mrs. Carstairs till hisreturn; and finally went out to his motor with an easy mind. 

Returning home, fatigued but jubilant, at two o'clock, he appliedhimself to his lunch; and then attacked his afternoon's work with anenergy engendered by the excellent results of the operation which he, incompany with his friend, had performed that morning. 

Being delayed on various pretexts, it was five o'clock before he foundhimself at the pretty house in its fragrant garden; and he rang the bellrather hastily, with an absurd feeling that the servants would lookreproachfully on his tardy arrival. 

The man seemed, however, to welcome him as he had done the previousnight; and when, a second later, the queerly named Tochatti arrived, herface wrinkled into a discreet smile. 

"Mrs. Carstairs up to-day?"

"She is in her room, sir. Will you come up, if you please?"

He followed her up the broad, shallow stairs, which this afternoon shetook at a more moderate pace; and then she ushered him into the room hehad visited before, falling back so that he went in alone. 

Mrs. Carstairs was lying on a deep couch by one of the open windows, herwhite gown set off by vivid blue cushions; and as he advanced Ansticenoticed that she looked even younger than he had judged her on thepreceding night. Her air of utter exhaustion had vanished; and there wasmore colour in her lips, though her cheeks still retained their ivorytransparency. 

By her side was a little table bearing a tea-tray, and as Anstice shookhands, congratulating her at the same time on her restored appearance, she drew his attention to the teacups. 

"I was just going to have some tea. Be nice and have some with me. Willyou?"

"Thanks very much. " He accepted promptly. "I've been busy all day andshould enjoy a cup of tea. But first--are you really better thisafternoon?"

"Yes, really. " She spoke indifferently, as though the subject failed tointerest her. "I should have gone out, I daresay, but I felt tired, orlazy, and succumbed to the charms of this delightful couch. "

"You did quite right. " He took the cup she held out to him and sat downin a chair beside the deep Chesterfield. "You know I think you must makeup your mind to take care of yourself for a week or two. "

"I can quite easily do that, " Chloe Carstairs answered quietly. "Ihardly think I shall find it difficult to do what the new-woman novelsused to call 'living one's own life'--down here. "

"Certainly there isn't much going on. " Anstice was puzzled by hermanner. "Do I understand that you 'belong' here, as the country folkssay?"

She put down her cup rather suddenly, and faced him squarely, her blueeyes full of a resolution which added several years to her age. 

"Dr. Anstice. " Her deep voice had lost its richness and sounded hard. "Ishould like to tell you something of myself. Oh"--she laughed rathercynically--"I'm not going to bore you with a rhapsody intended to conveyto you that I am a much misunderstood woman and all the rest of it. Only, if you are to see me again, I think I should like you to know justwho and what I am. "

Mystified, Anstice bowed. 

"Whatever you tell me I shall be proud to hear--and keep to myself, " hesaid. 

"Thanks. " Her manner had lost its slight animation and was once moreweary, indifferent. "Well, first of all, have you ever seen me before?"

"No. Though I confess that something in your face seemed familiar to melast night. "

"Oh. " She did not seem much impressed. "Well, to put it differently, have you ever heard of me?"

"No, " said Anstice. "To the best of my belief I have never heard yourname before. "

"I see. Well, I will tell you who I am, and what I am supposed to havedone. " No further warmth enlivened her manner, which throughout wascold, almost, one would have said, absent. "When I was eighteen Imarried Major Carstairs, a soldier a good many years older than myself. Presently I went out to India with him, and lived there for four years, coming home when our child was three years old. "

She paused. 

"I came here--this was my husband's old home--and settled down withCherry. And when I had been in the parish a year or so, there was ascandal in Littlefield. "

She stopped, and her mouth quivered into a faint smile. 

"Oh, I was not the chief character--at first! It was a case in which theVicar's wife won an unenviable notoriety. It seemed there had been asecret in her life, years before when she was a pretty, silly girl, which was known to very few besides her husband and, I presume, her ownpeople. Now you would not think I was a sympathetic person--one in whoma sentimental, rather neurotic woman would confide. Would you?"

And looking at her, with her air of cold indifference, of completedetachment from the world around her, Anstice agreed that he would notexpect her to be the confidante of such a woman. 

"Yet within a month of our meeting Laura Ogden had confided her secretto me--and a silly, futile story it was. " Her pale face looked disdainat the remembrance. "No harm, of course, was done. I kept her secret andadvised her not to repeat what she had told me to anyone else inLittlefield. "

"She followed your advice?" Anstice had no idea what was coming, but aninterest to which he had long been a stranger was waking slowly in hisheart. 

"_Chi lo so?_" She shrugged her shoulders. "Afterwards she swore she hadtold no one but me. You see it appeared she very soon regretted havinggiven me her confidence. It happened that shortly after she had told meher story we had--not a quarrel, because to tell you the truth I wasn'tsufficiently interested in her to quarrel with her--but there was aslight coolness between us, and for some time we were not on good terms. Then--well, to cut a long story short, one day anonymous letters andpost cards began to fly about the parish, bearing scurrilous comments onthat unhappy woman's past history. At first the Vicar tried to hush upthe matter, but as you may imagine"--her voice rang with delicatescorn--"everyone else thoroughly enjoyed talking things over andwondering and discussing--with the result that the Bishop of the Dioceseheard the tale and came down to hold a private inquiry into the matter. "

She stopped short and held out her hand for his cup. 

"More tea? I haven't finished yet. "

"No more, thank you. " He rose, placed his cup on the tray and sat downagain in silence. 

"The Bishop suggested it was a matter for the police. The writer ofthose vile communications must be discovered and punished at all costs, he said. So not only the authorities but all the amateur detectives ofboth sexes in the neighbourhood went to work to find the culprit. And_I_ was the culprit they found. "

"You?" For once in his life Anstice was startled out of his usualself-control. 

"Yes. They fixed upon me as the anonymous writer of those loathsomescrawls; and the district was provided with a sensation after its ownheart. "

"But the idea's absurd--monstrous!" Looking at her as she leaned backamong her cushions, with her air of delicate distinction, Anstice couldhardly believe the story she was telling him. 

"So I thought at first. " Her blue eyes narrowed. "But in some marvellousmanner they brought the charge home to me. I was the only one, theysaid, who knew the story. I had wormed it out of the silly woman, theyalleged, and had then, owing to the subsequent coolness between us, traded upon my knowledge in order to drive her out of the place. "

"But others must have known the story?"

"Yes. But I was the only one in Littlefield who knew it. "

"So they said. But in reality----"

"In reality, of course, it was known to someone else. But that persontook care to keep in the background. When once I had been suggested asthe culprit a quantity of evidence was forthcoming to clinch the matter, so to speak. I was never particularly popular here, and people werequite ready to believe me capable of the deed. " She smiled faintly. "Iconfess one or two things looked black for me--the letters were writtenon the kind of paper I used, and though of course the handwriting wasdisguised, there was, in one or two letters, an undeniable similarity tosome of my writing. "

"But your word--wasn't that sufficient?"

The apathy of her manner relaxed for one moment into a kind of coldamusement. 

"Oh, I gave my word--at first--quite freely. Knowing nothing of theletters, of course I said so; but I was not believed. I confesseverything was against me. Most of the letters were posted in the pillarbox not a hundred yards from this house--but on one occasion when I hadgone down to Brighton for a couple of days, one of those vile thingsbore the Brighton postmark. "

"But----"

"Oh, I've nearly done. " She glanced at the clock. "I am detainingyou--you're in a hurry? Don't mind saying so--this delightful story canbe continued in our next. "

"Please go on. " Anstice would not willingly have foregone the rest ofthe recital. 

"Well, after various suspicious happenings, which I won't inflict uponyou now, and after being interviewed by the Bishop, by detectives, by ahundred and one individuals who revelled in the case, I was accused, tried, and found guilty. "

"Found guilty? Impossible!" He sprang up, quite unable to sit stillanother moment. Somehow he had not expected this climax. 

"Yes. I was found guilty. " Her voice held little expression. "Andsentenced to twelve months' imprisonment. The judge who sentenced meinformed me--and the world at large--that he deemed it expedient to'make an example' of me--only he put it more legally--as an educatedyoung woman, of apparent refinement, who had committed a crime connectedgenerally with illiterate and ignorant persons of degeneratetendencies. "

"But you--you never served the sentence--such a vindictive sentence, too!"

"Yes, I did. " For the first time her face changed, a hint of tragedyappeared in her studiously passionless eyes. "You look surprised, but Iassure you it is true. I served my sentence, and came out of prisonexactly eight weeks ago. "

"Eight weeks? But you have only just come here?"

"Yes. First I went down into Kent to stay with an old family friend whohad taken charge of Cherry--my little girl--while I was"--she hesitated, then spoke with a directness he felt to be brutal--"in prison. I onlycame here yesterday, and I suppose the shock of finding myself back inmy happy home"--he was sure she was speaking ironically now--"was toomuch for my--nerves. "

"But, Mrs. Carstairs"--he looked down at her with perplexity in hisface--"do I understand you to mean you have deliberately come back tolive in the place which has treated you so shamefully?"

"Why not?" Her long, blue eyes were inscrutable. "I'm not ashamed ofcoming back. You see, I really don't care in the very least what thesepeople say about me. I don't even bear them malice. Prison life issupposed to make one bitter, isn't it? You hear a lot about the 'prisontaint, ' whatever that may be. Well, I don't feel conscious of havingsustained any taint. I have suffered a great wrong"--her contralto voicewas quite unmoved as she made the assertion--"a very grievous injusticehas been done to me; but now that the physical unpleasantness of theordeal is over I don't feel as though I--my ego, my soul, if youlike--had undergone any particular degradation. "

"I suppose"--the question was forced from him by his interest in thehuman document she was spreading before his eyes--"I suppose what youcall the physical unpleasantness is really hard to bear?"

He was sorry he had put the question as he saw the slow shudder whichfor a moment convulsed her immobility. 

"Yes. " For a second her voice was almost passionate. "I don't think Icould make you understand the horror of that side of imprisonment. Mostprison reformers, as I say, prate of the injury done to the soul of theprisoner. For my part--it if were worth while, which it isn't--I wouldalways refuse to forgive those enemies who subjected my body to suchindignities. "

Her vehemence, so much at variance with her usual manner, made Ansticeuneasy about her. 

"See here, Mrs. Carstairs. " He sat down on the couch beside her, andspoke persuasively. "You must promise me not to let your mind dwell onyour terrible experience. Honestly, do you think it wise to stay here?Won't it be painful for you to live among the people who know you?Wouldn't it be better to go away for a short time, travel a little?There are plenty of places off the beaten track where you would be ableto rest and get back your health and your spirits. "

She turned to him with a hint of a kindlier manner than she had hithertodisplayed. 

"Dr. Anstice, to tell you the truth I don't want to travel. I shall behappier here, in my own home, with my old servants round me, able to doexactly as I choose from morning to night. "

She hesitated a moment; then resumed in her former indifferent tone:

"You see, my husband, although he refuses to believe in my innocence, has handed over this house to me; and under my marriage settlement Ihave quite a large income----"

He interrupted her abruptly--

"Mrs. Carstairs, forgive me--did you say your husband refused to believeyou innocent?"

"Yes. My husband--like the majority of the world--believes me guilty, "said Chloe Carstairs. 

CHAPTER III

The story he had heard on the occasion of his second visit to CherryOrchard haunted Anstice for days. There was something so incongruous inthe notion of this woman having served a sentence of imprisonment for anoffence which, of all others, might well be supposed the most impossiblefor any decent person to commit; yet Anstice knew instinctively thatMrs. Carstairs had spoken the truth; and although for the last few yearshe had been far too much occupied with his own private grudge againstFate to spare any pity for the woes of others, he did feel a surprisingsympathy for the young and apparently lonely woman whom the world hadtreated so cruelly. 

That she was innocent of the crime with which she was charged, Ansticenever doubted. Since the catastrophe which had altered his whole outlookon life, he had been inclined to be cynical regarding the good faith ofmankind in general; but Mrs. Carstairs' manner had carried conviction byits very lack of emphasis. She had not protested her innocence--indeed, he could barely remember in what words she had given him to understandthat she was not guilty of the loathsome deed; yet her very quietness, the very indifference of her manner as she told her story carried moreweight than an avalanche of protestation would have done. 

As a medical man Anstice was something of a student of physiognomy; andalthough Mrs. Carstairs' face was not one to be easily read, the shapeof her brow and the classical outline of her features seemed to Ansticeto preclude any possibility of the morbid and degenerate taint whichmust have inspired the communications of whose authorship she had beenaccused. 

The very fact that she did not appear to care whether or no he believedin her strengthened Anstice's belief that she was an innocent andmuch-wronged woman; and in his mind he linked her with himself as one ofthe victims of an unfavourable and ruthless destiny. 

After attending her for a week Anstice declared her to be in no furtherneed of his services; and she acquiesced with the same air of half-wearygraciousness with which she had welcomed his visits. 

He noticed that she was rarely to be seen in the village or small townof Littlefield. Occasionally she would pass him on the road in abeautiful motor with which he supposed her husband to have endowed her, and at these times she had generally her small daughter, wrapped infurs, on the seat beside her. 

Anstice's introduction to the latter took place about a fortnight afterhis last visit to Cherry Orchard in a professional capacity. It chancedthat he was interested in a small Convalescent Home for Children whichhad recently been opened in the neighbourhood, and on one or two dayshad cut short his visit to Mrs. Carstairs on the grounds that hispresence was required at the Home. Rather to his disappointment Mrs. Carstairs had not evinced the slightest interest in the scheme, and hissurprise was proportionately great when, on one fine spring morning, hereceived a large bunch of beautiful daffodils from Cherry Orchard, witha rather carelessly worded request that he would give them to the Homeif they were likely to be welcome there. 

Anstice took the flowers with him on his morning visit, and the pleasurethey gave and the gratitude with which they were received led him tosnatch a moment on his way home to call upon the donor and thank her inperson for her kindly gift. 

As he turned his car in at the gate he hoard sounds of laughter, and afew words in a child's high-pitched voice; and when he was half-way upthe drive he discovered from whence the merriment issued. 

Just ahead of him was a motor-cycle, driven, it would appear, by a girlin a trim motoring-suit, while perched on the carrier at the back, in afashion which made Anstice's blood run chill, was a small child whom herecognized as the daughter of the house, Cherry Carstairs, agedsomething less than six years. 

The two were chattering and laughing, the driver sounding her horn in adelightfully irresponsible fashion, and both were much too intent ontheir progress and on the noise they were making to realize that a carwas coming up the drive immediately behind them. 

Instinctively Anstice slowed up, wishing the lively pair at Jericho; butluckily they had nearly reached the front door, and in another minutethe motor-cycle had come to a standstill and the riders dismounted insafety. 

"There--we've not come to grief, this time, have we, Cherry Ripe!" Theelder girl spoke gaily. "And now we'll see what Mother has to say--oh!"

At that moment she beheld the car, which was coming to a standstill, andshe looked at the man who drove it with a frankness which was curiouslyunselfconscious. At the same minute Mrs. Carstairs came slowly forwardonto the steps, and Anstice, dismounting, approached her without doingmore than glance at the girl-motorist. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Carstairs. I have come to thank you for your lovelyflowers. " They shook hands as he spoke. "The Matron at the Home made mepromise to come and convey her thanks to you at the first possiblemoment. That's my excuse for calling now!"

He had spoken more impulsively than usual, with a genuine desire to showhis gratitude for her kindness; but there was no answering warmth in hervoice, and, not for the first time, he felt chilled by her lack ofresponse. 

"I'm glad they liked them. " Her tone was perfunctory. "But I'm afraidthe gratitude is not due to me. It was my small daughter who was firedto enthusiasm by something Tochatti told her, and insisted on cuttingthe daffodils herself. "

"I see. " In spite of himself Anstice felt repulsed by her manner, which, made his warmly spoken gratitude appear superfluous. "Well, in any casethe result is the same--delight in the wards and something beautiful andfragrant to lighten the children's sufferings. "

"Pray tell Cherry--she will be pleased. " Possibly Mrs. Carstairs hadnoted the stiffness of his speech, and in her languid way desired tosoothe his feelings. "I forget if you have seen my little daughter. Imust introduce you to her--and----" she turned to the young girl whostood by and laid a hand on her arm--"to her friend--and mine. "

Anstice glanced towards the two who still stood, hand-in-hand, on thetop step, and Mrs. Carstairs performed the ceremony of introduction inthe deep, rich voice which was somehow part of her personality. 

"Iris, let me introduce Dr. Anstice . .. Miss Wayne. "

Anstice bowed, but the girl held out her hand with a youthfulfriendliness which was attractive. 

"How d'you do? I'm glad I didn't know your car was behind me as we cameup the avenue. I don't mind what I meet, but I always hate things comingup behind my cycle, " she said pleasantly. 

"If you are in the habit of giving such youthful passengers rides Idon't wonder you're nervous, " he replied; and the girl opened her greyeyes widely. 

"Nervous! I'm not!" She spoke indignantly. "But when your allowance isstrictly limited, and you have to pay for repairs yourself, you don'twant people running into you from the back and perhaps smashing up yourpet Douglas!"

"I see. " He smiled discreetly, and Mrs. Carstairs claimed his attentiononce more. 

"And this"--she drew the child forward--"is Cherry. "

"How are you?" Anstice, who was always polite to children, shook hands, and the child looked at him with a pair of very clear brown eyes. 

"Quite well, thank you, my dear, " she responded gravely, and Iris Waynewas secretly much diverted by the expression of astonishment which thisform of address evoked in the face of the hearer. 

"You like motoring?" Anstice felt constrained to keep up theconversation, and Cherry nodded calmly. 

"Very much, my dear. Do you?"

"Yes. .. . " Anstice experienced an overwhelming desire to repeat herendearing term, but luckily refrained. "This is my car--will you comefor a ride with me one day?"

For a second Cherry regarded him with a pensive courtesy which wasalmost embarrassing. Then:

"With pleasure, my dear, " she replied, and Iris laughed outright. 

"You fickle child! And you have always declared you liked my motorbetter than any car that ever was seen!"

"So I do. " Cherry looked up at her with unsmiling gravity. "But----"

"But now you must all come in and have lunch. " Mrs. Carstairs turned toAnstice. "Dr. Anstice, you can spare us a little time, can't you? Lunchis quite ready, and Cherry, I'm sure, endorses my invitation!"

He hesitated, torn between a desire to accept and an uncomfortablesuspicion that he could not afford the time. 

"You will have to lunch somewhere, you know!" Her manner was a triflewarmer than usual. "And it will really save time to do it here!"

"My lunch is a very hurried affair as a rule, " he said, smiling. "But ifI may run away as soon as I've finished I'll be delighted to stay. "

He felt a small hand slip into his as he spoke, and looked down, to meetCherry's clear eyes. 

"Do stay, my dear!" Her tone was a quaint imitation of her mother's, andbefore the twofold invitation Anstice's scruples were put to flight. 

"I'll stay with pleasure, " he said, patting the kind little hand; andwith an air of satisfaction Cherry led him into the hall, her mother andMiss Wayne following their lead. 

Once seated at the pretty round table, sweet with the fragrance ofhyacinths in a big Swansea bowl, and bright with silver and glass, Anstice owned inwardly to a feeling of pleasure at his position. Although as a rule he loved his solitude, welcomed the silence of theold panelled house he had taken in Littlefield, and shunned those of hiskind who had no direct need of his services, there were times when hisself-sought loneliness weighed heavily upon his spirit, when the ghostsof the past, whose shrouded forms were ever present to remind him thathe had made a fatal mistake on that bygone morning in India, were butpoor company. 

At first, during that first haunted year, when Hilda Ryder's face wasever before his eyes, her sad and tender accents in his ear, he hadsought many and dubious ways of laying those same ghosts. It had seemedto him, during those dreadful days, that although some instinct withinhim forbade him to end his own life, none could doubt his right toalleviate his mental suffering by any means he knew; and when temporaryoblivion, a blessed forgetfulness, could be purchased at the price of apinprick, it seemed not only overscrupulous but foolish to forgo thatNirvana. 

But that indulgence, too, had nearly ended in disaster; and for the lasttwo years his only use for the alluring drug had been to alleviate thepain of others. Yet the struggle was a hard one; and he wonderedsometimes, rather hopelessly, if he would have the strength to continueit to the bitter end. 

But to-day, sitting in the pretty room, with the sun pouring in throughthe casement windows, widely opened to the green garden beyond, Ansticeowned that for once life seemed to be in harmony with the beautifulspring world around. 

As for Iris Wayne, he told himself presently that he had rarely seen aprettier girl! Although at present his admiration was quite impersonal, it was none the less sincere; and his approval of her grey eyes, setwidely apart beneath her crown of sunny hair, of the delicately roundedface, the frank mouth, which disclosed teeth as white as milk, wasenhanced by the fact that every line, every tint spoke of flawlesshealth and a mind attuned to the simple, gracious things of life ratherthan those which are complex and hard to comprehend. 

Looking from Iris, bright-eyed and alert, to Chloe, sitting at the headof her table in a white cloth gown which somehow looked elaborate inspite of its utter simplicity, Anstice was struck by the contrastbetween them. Although the difference in their actual ages was notgreat, they might well have been at different stages of life. For allher youth, all her grace, her black and white distinction, Chloe was awoman, and no one looking at her would have doubted that to her had comesome of the most vital moments of a woman's life. But Iris Wayne wasonly a girl, an untried warrior in the battle of existence. The glanceof her large and radiant eyes was far more akin to that of the childCherry's brown orbs than to the serious, rather cynical regard whichhabitually dwelt in Mrs. Carstairs' sapphire-blue eyes; and in everylook, every word, was the delicious freshness of a joyous youth. Yet hefancied there was something in the curve of her lips, in the shape ofher head, which betokened strength of character as well as lightness ofheart. He fancied that her mouth could be tender as well as gay, thather eyes might one day look into the eyes of a man with a promise intheir depths of strong and steadfast womanhood. 

It chanced presently that Anstice was offered some strawberries, floating in a delicious-looking syrup; and a glance at his hostessbetrayed his half-humorous perplexity. 

"I know it isn't the right season for strawberries, " said Mrs. Carstairswith a smile. "But these are some of our own, bottled by a famous methodof Tochatti's. Do try them and give us your opinion. "

Anstice complied; and found them excellent. 

"They are delicious, " he said, "and bring summer very close. Don't youlike them?" he asked Cherry, who was demurely nibbling a macaroon. 

"No thank you, my dear, " replied Cherry gravely. "They give me a pain inmy head. "

"Oh, do they?" Anstice was nonplussed by this extraordinary assertion, the grounds for which were not borne out by such medical skill as hepossessed; but chancing to look across the table at Iris Wayne he foundher dimpling deliciously at his perplexity. 

"You look puzzled, Dr. Anstice!" She laughed outright. "You see youdon't understand how it happens that a pain in the head is connectedwith strawberries!"

"I don't, " he said, "but if you will kindly explain----"

"May I, Cherry?" She looked at the child with a mischievous sparkle inher eyes, and Cherry nodded. 

"If you like, my dear. But _I_ think it's rather a silly story. "

Notwithstanding this expression of opinion Iris entered forthwith intoan explanation. 

"You see, Dr. Anstice, Cherry came to stay with me last summer when thestrawberries were ripe; and seeing the bed covered with netting--to keepoff the birds"--she smiled--"she thought it very hard that the poorlittle things should not have their share. "

"You had heaps and heaps for yourself, " came a reproachful voice fromthe bottom of the table where Cherry sat in state. 

"Certainly--until you came on the scene, Cherry Ripe! Well, Dr. Anstice, to cut a long story short, Cherry thought us so selfish and cruel toprevent the poor birds sharing our fruit that she slipped into thekitchen garden one very hot morning, and devoted a good hour to takingup the netting--with the result that the stooping down with the sunbeating on her head gave her a touch of sunstroke. "

"You forget I had eaten a few strawberries--just to encourage thebirdies. " Evidently Cherry liked accuracy in any statement, even when itmilitated against herself. 

"Well, whether it was the sun or the strawberries, the fact remainsCherry was in bed for three days, and since then strawberries are_tabu_. Isn't it so, Mrs. Carstairs?"

"Yes, Iris. " Chloe's voice was more weary than usual, as though thesubject did not interest her; and suddenly Anstice remembered thatduring the previous summer she had been shut away from the beautifulworld of sun and strawberries and roses red and white. .. . 

A moment later Chloe rose from the table; and Anstice stole a look athis watch as they passed into the hall. 

As though she divined his action Chloe turned to him. 

"You will spare time for a cup of coffee? We have not lingered over ourlunch. "

Anstice hesitated, and Cherry again added her entreaties to theinvitation. 

"Do stay a little longer, my dear. Iris will have to go in a minute, butI want her to sing me a song first. "

"Do you sing, Miss Wayne?" Looking at her firm round throat and deepchest he thought it possible she sang well. 

"Yes. " She shook her head at Cherry. "But how can I sing after meringuesand strawberries, you bad child?"

"You always say that, " returned Cherry placidly. "And then you sing mostbee-autifully!"

Iris coloured at this obviously genuine compliment and Anstice laughedoutright. 

"After that testimonial, Miss Wayne, I hope you don't expect me to runaway without hearing you!" He turned to his hostess. "I will stay for acup of coffee with pleasure, Mrs. Carstairs, and you will persuade MissWayne to sing, won't you?"

"Certainly. " They were in the cool, hyacinth-scented drawing-room bynow, and Chloe drew the girl towards the grand piano which stood by oneof the big latticed windows. "Sing to us at once, Iris, before you haveyour coffee. Will you?"

"Of course I will. " She seated herself as she spoke. "What shall it be?Cherry, you know all my songs. What do you want to-day?"

After due consideration Cherry gave her verdict for "the song about thelady in the wood;" and although both Mrs. Carstairs and Iris rallied heron the mournfulness of her choice, Cherry stuck to her guns; and tojudge from the rapt expression in her big brown eyes as the singerprophesied the lonely and tragic fate of poor unhappy Mélisande, theidea of that fate proved exquisitely soothing to the youthful listener. 

Anstice's supposition had been correct. Iris Wayne could sing well. Hervoice, a clear mezzo-soprano, had been excellently trained, and in itspurity and flexibility gave promise of something exceptional when itshould have attained its full maturity. She accompanied herselfperfectly, in nowise hampered by the lack of any music; and when she hadbrought the song to a close, Anstice was sincere in his request foranother. 

"I've just got some new songs, " said Iris, twisting round on the stoolto face her hostess. "A book of Indian love-lyrics. Shall I sing you oneof those?"

And without waiting for an answer she turned back and began to play anaccompaniment which subtly suggested the atmosphere of the East, accentuated by the sound of the bells of some wayside Temple pealingthrough the dusty, sun-baked land. 

 "The Temple bells are ringing----"

With the first line of the song Anstice was back in the hideous past, back in the fatal Temple which had proved the antechamber to the hallsof Death . .. He heard again the chatter of native voices, smelt the odd, indescribable perfume of the East, felt the dread, the impotent horrorof that bygone adventure in the ruined Temple of Alostan. .. . 

The drawing-room in which he sat, bright with chintz, sweet with thefragrance of hyacinths, faded away; and he saw again the dimly lightedhut in which he and Hilda Ryder had spent that last dreadful night. Heheard her voice imploring him to kill her before the men should rush inupon them, saw the anguish in her eyes as she understood that no helpwas forthcoming from the world without; and he knew again the great andunavailing remorse which had filled his soul when he realized that HildaRyder had died too soon. .. . 

When the song ended he rose abruptly, and Chloe was startled by thechange in his manner. 

"I must really say good-bye, Mrs. Carstairs. " He had not touched hiscoffee. "Many thanks for your hospitality. " He shook hands with her andturned to Iris with something of an effort. "And many thanks for yoursongs, Miss Wayne. " He tried to smile as they exchanged a handshake, butthe attempt was a failure. 

"I'll come to the steps with you, my dear, " volunteered Cherry politely, and without further leave-taking Anstice went out into the hall, seizedhis hat, and stumbled towards the door, half-blinded by the pain of thatterribly acute inward vision. 

He took leave of Cherry with a hasty courtesy which would have hurt somechildren, but was not displeasing to the stately Cherry; and threeminutes later he was driving down the avenue at a furious pace, in avain endeavour to outstrip the phantoms which a girl's careless song hadevoked from their place in the background of his thoughts. 

 * * * * *

After his abrupt departure Iris turned impulsively to her hostess. 

"Mrs. Carstairs"--her voice was disturbed--"what was wrong with Dr. Anstice just now? Did my singing displease him? He got up and wentso--so unexpectedly. "

For a moment Chloe said nothing. Then:

"Don't you think you are rather too imaginative, Iris? Probably Dr. Anstice remembered some urgent case, and thought he ought to go atonce. "

"No. I don't think that was it. " Iris sank down on to the cushionedwindow-seat and gazed thoughtfully ahead. "I think----I wonder if thatlast song could have any associations for him? Has he been in India?"

"I don't know. " Chloe smiled faintly. "You must ask him, Iris. I supposeyour father would send for him if he were ill, wouldn't he, now that Dr. Meade is really gone?"

"I suppose so. " Iris spoke rather dreamily. "At first I thought he wasquite old--at least forty, " said the schoolgirl. "And then, when hetalked to Cherry I was not really sure. I guessed he might be worriedabout professional things and look older than he was. And now----"

She broke off, and for a moment Chloe Carstairs made no rejoinder, though her blue, almond-shaped eyes held a slightly quizzicalexpression. 

"And now"--she said at length--"what is your opinion now?"

"Now"--Iris spoke very slowly, and in her eyes was something of thewomanly tenderness and strength whose possibility Anstice haddivined--"I think he has the very saddest face I have ever seen in mylife. "

CHAPTER IV

Anstice was destined to renew his acquaintance with Iris Wayne soonerthan he had anticipated. 

On the Sunday afternoon following the little luncheon party at CherryOrchard, he was tramping, pipe in mouth, over the golf-links when he sawher ahead of him, in company with an elderly gentleman whom he guessedmust be her father. 

She had just holed her ball by a deft stroke, and as he approachedAnstice heard her utter an exultant exclamation. 

"Very good, my dear. " Her companion patted her arm. "A little more careand you will make quite a fair player. "

"Fair player indeed!" Iris tossed her curly head disdainfully. "I'd haveyou know I can beat _you_ anyway, Daddy!"

As she spoke she recognized the approaching figure and her frank smileflashed out. 

"Dr. Anstice--are you playing too?"

"No, Miss Wayne. " He advanced and shook hands. "I'm taking my Sundayafternoon tramp. It's the only chance I get of walking in the week. "

"Daddy, this is Dr. Anstice. " Iris turned to the elderly man. "Myfather, " she explained casually to Anstice, and Sir Richard Wayne heldout his hand with a smile. 

"You're not a golfer, Dr. Anstice?" Sir Richard was keen on the game. 

"No, sir. I used to be a footballer in my hospital days, but"--for asecond he hesitated--"I have had no time lately for any kind ofgame----"

"Well, golf's a grand game for an old buffer like me"--Sir Richard was ahale and well-set-up man who could afford to make such speeches--"but Idaresay you younger men like something a bit more strenuous. My daughterhere only plays with me now and then as a concession--she preferstennis, or flying about on that precious motor-cycle of hers. "

"Well, judging from what I have seen of Miss Wayne's riding I should sayshe is a very expert motor-cyclist, " said Anstice; and Sir Richardnodded. 

"Oh, she rides all right, " he owned, "and she bothered me to such anextent that I simply had to give in to her. But it wasn't until she hadbeen 'run in' for exceeding the speed limit in one of my cars and I'dhad to sentence her from the Bench in my magisterial capacity that I didgive in and buy her a Douglas. "

"He fined me twenty shillings and costs!" Iris spoke with mockindignation. "How's that for meanness to your only daughter?"

"And paid the fine out of my own pocket--don't forget that!" Sir Richardchuckled. "Well, Dr. Anstice, if you're not in a hurry, walk round withus, will you? You aren't busy on a Sunday afternoon, I suppose?"

"Well, not very. " In spite of himself Anstice felt a strange reluctanceto part from his new friends. "I was going for a walk, as you see, andif I may come with you----"

So it fell out that for the first Sunday since he had arrived inLittlefield Anstice's walk was no solitary stroll, companioned only byhis own moody or rebellious thoughts, but a pleasant interlude in a lifewhich in spite of incessant and often engrossing work, was on the wholea joyless one. 

This afternoon Iris Wayne looked little more than a schoolgirl in hershort skirt and brightly coloured jersey, a cap pulled well down overher curls, which nevertheless rioted over her forehead in entrancingconfusion. It was very evident that she and her father were on the bestof terms; and if, as seemed probable, Sir Richard was proud of hispretty daughter, it was no less certain that she, on her side, thoughther father the most wonderful of men. 

The trio chatted pleasantly as they crossed the sunny golf links, andSir Richard told himself that his impressions of this man, gathered fromhasty visions of him about the village, or from the chatter of thecountryside, impressions which had labelled him as a morose, sullen kindof fellow, had certainly been fallacious. 

Reserved he might be; but although his manner was quiet and his smile atrifle sad, there was nothing morose about him to-day; and if hisconversation was not particularly brilliant Sir Richard thought none theworse of him for that. 

So pleased, indeed, was he with his new acquaintance that when theyreached the Club House on the return journey he pressed the young man toaccompany them home for a cup of tea. 

"I'm sure your patients must cease from troubling on a Sunday afternoonat any rate, " he said genially, "and you haven't anyone waiting for youat home, have you?"

With a rather melancholy smile Anstice admitted that there was no onewaiting for him at home; and since Iris seconded her father's invitationwith a kind little entreaty on her own account, he accepted their jointhospitality without further demur. 

Greengates, the home of the Waynes, was a stately old house, moredignified, though perhaps less charming, than the fascinating CherryOrchard; but its very dignity gave charm; and it formed a by no meansincongruous background for this youngest and prettiest of its daughters. For all her youth and high spirits, Iris seemed to fit into the place asone born to it; and when she tossed aside her cap and sat down behindthe massive silver tea-tray, her gold-brown curls shone against the oakpanelling of the walls as the wild daffodils gleam golden against themassive brown trunks of the trees in whose shade they grow. 

Lady Wayne had been dead for many years; and although Anstice gathered, from casual conversation between father and daughter, that a certainAunt Laura made her home with them as a rule, it appeared that she wasat present travelling in Switzerland, leaving Iris mistress ofGreengates in her absence. 

"I confess Iris and I rather enjoy a week or two to ourselves!" SirRichard's eyes twinkled. "My sister is a thoroughly good sort, but sheloves to manage people; and Iris and I are both of us constitutionallyaverse to being managed!"

"I manage Daddy without him knowing it, " said Iris loftily; and Ansticecould not refrain from an impulse to tease her a little. 

"That is very clever of you, Miss Wayne, " he said gravely, "and I'm sureyour management must be most tactful. But--if you'll excuse mesuggesting it--wouldn't it be cleverer still of you if you refrainedfrom hinting as much to your father?"

"You mean the really clever women never let the men know they're doingit?" Her grey eyes laughed into his. "You are quite right, ofcourse--but then I don't pretend to be clever. I don't think cleverpeople--clever women, anyway--are ever happy. "

"Don't you?" Somehow Anstice felt extraordinarily interested in theviews of this very youthful woman. "May I be allowed to know what hasdriven you to that conclusion?"

"Oh, it's not exactly my own. " Iris' eyes were honest as well as gay. "It was something Mrs. Carstairs said to me one day. _She_ is clever, you know--but her life has been made very unhappy. "

Anstice, who had already wondered how much of Chloe Carstairs' historywas known to the Waynes, glanced involuntarily at Sir Richard as Irisspoke the last words; and in the elder man's eyes he thought he saw ahint of trouble. 

"I should judge Mrs. Carstairs to be a well-read woman, " he said, endeavouring to change the subject while ostensibly pursuing it. "Shehas a good many books about her, though of course nothing like yourcollection here. "

He glanced at the walls as he spoke, and Sir Richard took up the newtopic easily. 

"I don't know whether you are a reader, Dr. Anstice, " he said, "but ifso, and you're short of reading matter, don't hesitate to borrow some ofour books. We've all sorts, eh, Iris?"

"Thanks very much. I'm not a great reader--haven't time; but your bookslook rather alluring, " said Anstice, with a smile. 

"We'll have a look round after tea, " returned his host. "In the meantimepass your cup--this weather makes one thirsty. "

After tea he rose and invited the younger man to scrutinize the shelves. Somewhat to his surprise Anstice found that the Greengates collection ofbooks was a most comprehensive one, whole sections being devoted toscience, biography, travel and so on; and he was fortunate enough todiscover two recent biological works, which, owing to their somewhatprohibitive price, he had hitherto been unable to obtain. 

"Like to borrow those tomes?" Sir Richard had noted the expression inhis guest's face as he handled the volumes. "Well, take them, andanything else you like. No, I confess I don't care much about booksmyself. Most of these were my father's choice--he was a bit of a studentin his later years, and my sister likes to keep up with the times andlets the booksellers send down books as they used to do. But you'rewelcome to any of 'em, I assure you. "

He led his guest round the room, pointing out one or two favourites ofhis own; and while they were thus engaged, Iris, who had been feedingthree lively Airedales with scraps of cake, came up to Anstice withoutstretched hand. 

"Will you excuse me, Dr. Anstice? I must go and get ready for church--wehave service early here, you know. "

Immediately Anstice attempted to take his own departure, fearing he hadoutstayed his welcome; but Sir Richard positively refused to let him go. 

"No, no, don't hurry away. Stay and keep me company for a littlewhile--my man can easily run you over in the car presently. "

So it came about that after watching Iris' departure the two men turnedback into the house, where Sir Richard led his visitor to his own cosysmoking-room and handed him a cigar. 

"Light up, " he said genially, "and try that chair. Dr. Anstice, now thatmy little girl has left us, I want to say something to you--to ask you aquestion, in fact. "

Rather taken aback, Anstice expressed his willingness to answer anyquestions his host thought fit to ask; and Sir Richard plunged at onceinto the heart of the matter. 

"I understand from Iris that you have been attending the lady living atCherry Orchard. Oh!"--as Anstice's eyebrows rose--"I'm not asking you toviolate professional secrecy. I only wished to be sure that you knew thetrue position of Mrs. Carstairs in this neighbourhood. "

A moment's reflection showed Anstice that this man would hardly belikely to permit his young daughter to visit Cherry Orchard unless hisopinion of Mrs. Carstairs were favourable; and his voice wasnon-committal as he answered. 

"I have heard Mrs. Carstairs' story from her own lips, Sir Richard. Shewas good enough to relate it to me at an early stage of ouracquaintance, " he said; and this time it was the other man's eyebrowswhich betokened surprise. 

"Indeed! I didn't expect that, or I would not have spoken. I thought youhad probably heard a garbled account of the whole horrible affair fromsome of the Pharisees down here; and since I and my daughter arehonoured by Mrs. Carstairs' friendship I wanted to be sure you didn'tallow the weight of local opinion to prejudice you in any way. "

"It's awfully good of you. " For once Anstice spoke spontaneously, as hemight have spoken before that fatal day which had changed him intoanother and a less impulsive person. "I may take it, then, that you andMiss Wayne believe in Mrs. Carstairs?"

"I believe in her as I'd believe in my own girl, " returned Sir Richardemphatically. "Mind you, Chloe Carstairs isn't perfect--we none of usare. She has her faults--now. She's cynical and cold, a bit of a_poseuse_--that marble manner of hers is artificial, I verilybelieve--but I'm prepared to swear she had nothing to do with those vileletters. "

"You have known her long?"

"Since she was a child. Her father was one of my best friends, and Iknew Chloe when she was a tiny baby girl all tied up with blue ribbons. Carstairs met her first at my people's place in Surrey, and I was reallypleased when he married the girl and brought her here. "

"They lived here after their marriage?"

"Yes, for a short time only. Then they were off to India, and there theyremained till her child was born, and she was faced with the old problemof the woman who marries a soldier. "

"You mean--wife _versus_ mother?"

"Yes. Upon my soul, Anstice, I can't understand how a woman ever decidesbetween the two claims. To hand over her baby to relations, or evenstrangers, must be like tearing the heart out of her bosom, and yet awoman wants her husband too--wants him especially when she is young--asChloe was. "

"Mrs. Carstairs decided for her child?"

"Yes. They kept her in India as long as they dared--longer than somepeople thought prudent--and then Chloe brought her home to the oldplace. Iris was at school then, but Chloe used to come in to see mysister and me frequently, and we congratulated ourselves that we'd gotsuch a pleasant neighbour. You know Cherry Orchard is really the nearesthouse as the crow flies. "

"I suppose it is; though I hadn't realized it. And then--the crashcame?"

"Yes. When first those horrible letters began to fly about the parishthey were put down as the work of some spiteful servant, dismissed fordishonesty, perhaps. But little by little Mrs. Carstairs' name began tobe whispered in connection with them--no one knew how the rumourstarted, though I have always held the belief that the Vicar's wifeherself was the first to suggest it. "

"But Mrs. Carstairs and the woman were friends?"

"They had been--and in the first burst of friendship the foolish womanhad poured out all her silly, sordid secrets to Chloe Carstairs, andthen, possibly, repented having done so. They fell out, you see, and Isuppose Mrs. Ogden, being a woman of a small and petty characterherself, was only too ready to suspect her former friend. She swore, youknow, that no one but Chloe could have known some of the details whichwere mentioned in the letters. I can't tell you how vile the whole thingwas--and it was quite evidently the intention of the anonymous writer todrive Mrs. Ogden out of the parish by those libellous documents. "

"But the matter was thoroughly sifted? And there could be no evidenceagainst Mrs. Carstairs?"

"Well, when things had gone on for some time in a desultory kind offashion--a letter here, another there, and then an interval of a fewweeks--there came a perfect avalanche of the things, and the Vicar, although he had really wished to hush the matter up, was advised to takesteps to find out the culprit. "

"Even then I don't see how Mrs. Carstairs could be suspected----"

"Well, in a matter of this kind, when once a woman's name has beenmentioned, it is very hard for her to clear herself. At first, guided, Iconfess, by me, she refused to take any notice of the affair. In theend, of course, she had to come forward to clear herself of a specificcharge. "

"But what weight had the evidence against her?"

"Well, certain curious things happened. It was found that the letterswere all written on a particular kind of paper affected by Mrs. Carstairs for scribbling unimportant notes--household orders and soon--not by any means an uncommon paper, but still she was the onlyperson in the village who bought it regularly. Then the handwriting, though it was scratchy and common-looking, did bear, in some words, afaint, very faint resemblance to hers; and once, when Chloe was away ona visit to Brighton, a letter came to the owner of Carr Hall, in thevalley yonder, which had been posted at Hove. Then, as she may have toldyou, a trap was laid for her by some of the damned authorities"--hespoke heatedly--"she was supplied with marked paper; and sure enough thenext letter which arrived was written on one of those identical sheets. "

"But the servants--her servants would have had access to her paper?"

"Quite so; and that point was made much of by the defence. But when allthe household was examined, it didn't seem a feasible theory that any ofthem was to blame. "

"How many servants were there in the house?" Unconsciously Anstice'smanner was that of a doctor interrogating a patient, and Sir Richardnoted the fact with a quickly suppressed flicker of amusement. 

"Four only. During Major Carstairs' absence Mrs. Carstairs wished tolive quietly; and her staff consisted of a cook--a young Frenchman whoselife Major Carstairs had once saved in a drunken brawl in Soho----"

"A Frenchman, eh?" Anstice habitually distrusted foreigners. "Mightn'the have been the guilty person?"

"He only knew enough English to discuss the _menu_ with his mistress, "answered Sir Richard. "Chloe used to make us laugh by relating hismistakes; and even if he had wished to write the letters he could notpossibly have done it. Besides, he returned to France for his militarytraining in the very middle of all this, so he really can't besuspected. "

"Well. " In fairness Anstice could not condemn the Frenchman. "Who elsewas in the house?"

"A middle-aged housemaid who had lived with the Carstairs' all her life, and whose character was quite above suspicion. As a matter of course herwriting was compared with that of the letters and was proved to havenone of the characteristics of the anonymous handwriting. For anotherthing her sight was bad, and she couldn't write straight to save herlife. "

"I see. And what of the other two?"

"One was a pretty young girl who acted as maid to Mrs. Carstairsherself; and I admit at first it seemed that she was the most likelyperson to have been mixed up in the affair; for she was a flighty minxwho wasn't too particular about her behaviour, and was generally engagedto two or three young men at once. "

"Well?" From Sir Richard's manner Anstice gathered that there was nocase against the pretty young minx; and the next words confirmed hissupposition. 

"Sad to say the poor girl caught a chill and died of pneumonia afteronly five days' illness, during which time the letter-writer wasparticularly active; and as the communications continued after herdeath, she must be counted out. "

"Well, " said Anstice, "that accounts for three of them. What about thefourth?"

"The fourth was an old servant of the other side of the family--Chloe'sfamily--the woman they call Tochatti, who lives there still. She's halfItalian, though she's lived the greater part of her life in England. Chloe's mother picked her up on her honeymoon, and she was Chloe'snurse. She has been a most devoted servant all the time, and I wouldalmost as soon suspect Chloe herself as suspect the poor woman ofworking any harm to her adored young mistress. "

Remembering the woman's solicitude on the occasion of his first visit toCherry Orchard, Anstice was compelled to admit it was unlikely she wasthe culprit; and his impression was deepened by Sir Richard's nextspeech. 

"As a matter of fact, it came out that the poor old thing couldn't evenwrite her name. The other woman, Janet, was what she called a 'poorscollard', but Tochatti went one better, for she could neither write norread. It appeared they had often teased her about it, and she hadfrequently flown into a rage when the other servants poked fun at her;but she certainly scored in the end!"

"Well, that disposes of the household, " said Anstice rather regretfully. "But what about outdoor workers--gardeners and so forth?"

"There was only one gardener--and a boy--and neither could possibly havehad access to Chloe's writing-table; added to which they both leftCherry Orchard during the critical time and took situations in differentparts of the county. So they too had to be counted out. "

"All this came out in court?"

"Yes. You see, had the matter rested between the party libelled and thelibeller--if there is such a term--an action in the Civil Courts torecover damages would have met the case. But owing to the fact thatpractically everyone in the neighbourhood was victimized, and warnings, almost amounting to threats, issued to the Ogden woman's friends to havenothing more to do with her, the public were, so to speak, directlyaffected; and it was in the interests of the public that, finally, criminal proceedings were instituted. "

"And in the end an intelligent jury brought in a verdict of guilty?"

"Yes. The case came on at Ripstone, five miles away, and of courseexcited no end of interest locally. To give them their due, the jurywere very reluctant to bring in that verdict--but I assure you"--hespoke weightily--"when I heard the other side marshalling their facts, each one making the case look still blacker and more damning, I began tobe afraid. Yes, I confess it, I began to feel very much afraid. "

"And they brought her in guilty?"

"Yes, and the Judge sentenced her. I don't like to accuse one of HisMajesty's judges of allowing his judgment to be prejudiced by personalfeeling, " said Sir Richard slowly; "but it has always seemed to me thatChloe's manner--her peculiarly detached, indifferent manner, as thoughthe case did not interest her vitally--was in some subtle fashion anaffront to the man. His remarks to her seemed to me unnecessarilysevere, and he certainly did not err on the side of leniency. "

"I should think not! Twelve months--why, it's an Eternity!"

"What must it have seemed to that poor girl!" Sir Richard spokepitifully. "I used to fancy she would die in prison--I could not imaginehow she could support the life in there, in those degradingsurroundings. You know, not only had she been lapped in luxury, as theysay, all her life, but, more important still, she had been used toboundless love and affection from all around her. "

"You find her much altered?"

"Yes. I can't say exactly in what the alteration consists, " returned SirRichard thoughtfully. "It's not merely a surface thing--the change goesdeeper than that. I called her _posée_ just now. Well, I don't know ifthat's the right word. Sometimes I think that frozen manner of hersisn't a pose after all, it's natural to her nowadays. She seems to beliterally turned to stone by all she's gone through. Where she used tobe all sympathy, all ardour, all life, now she's cold, frigid, passionless. The girl's barely twenty-five, but upon my soul she mightbe a woman of fifty for all the youth there is about her--except in herlooks, and there I believe she's handsomer than ever!"

Anstice's cigar was smoked out; but there was one question he must askbefore he took his leave. 

"And her husband--Major Carstairs? He--I gather he was inclined to agreewith the verdict?"

Sir Richard hesitated, and when he spoke there was a note of pain in hisvoice. 

"I am sorry to say Carstairs could not bring himself to believe in hiswife's innocence. He was in India at the time, you know, and only gothome--on special leave--when the case was coming on. Heaven knows onwhat grounds he bases his doubts of her. One would have thought itimpossible for a man to live with a woman like Chloe and not know herincapable of the deed. But human nature is a strange thing----" He brokeoff. 

"I understand they do not contemplate keeping house together for thefuture?" Anstice hoped he was not appearing unduly curious, but SirRichard's manner invited interest. 

"No--though mind you, Carstairs has not left his wife because she wasunfortunate enough to be convicted and sent to prison. He's not thatsort. If he could have believed her innocent he would have stuck to herthrough thick and thin. As it is he gives her the house, a largeallowance, which permits motor-cars and things of that kind, and sincehe is known to be in India a good many people don't know they are reallyliving apart in a double sense. "

"Yet he can't believe in her?"

"No--and that's why he will not live with her. In his own ratherpeculiar way he has a remarkably high code of honour, and since hegenuinely believes her to be guilty it would doubtless be quiteimpossible for him to live with her again. "

"I am rather surprised--seeing she must know his opinion of her--thatshe condescends to live in his house and take his money, " said Anstice, voicing a question which had caused him a very real and acute wonder. 

"I'm glad you have raised that point, " said Sir Richard quickly. "Shedoes it for the sake of the child, so that Cherry may have all theadvantages of wealth. Chloe herself has nothing and Carstairs is a richman; so it is an eminently proper arrangement, and in my opinion Chloebehaved like a sensible woman in agreeing to it. "

He threw away his cigar, which had gone out as he talked. 

"No--what I wonder at is that Chloe should deliberately choose to comeback here where the whole story is known. It's not bravado, of that I'mcertain, but it beats me altogether how she can do it, for as you knowwomen can be uncommonly cruel sometimes, and these creatures here aren'tby any means charitably disposed towards her. "

"You allow Miss Wayne to visit her?"

"Yes--and I welcome her to my house on the rare occasions she honours meby entering it, " said Sir Richard with evident sincerity; and Ansticefelt oddly gratified by the other man's speech. 

A clock striking seven brought him to his feet in genuine dismay. 

"Seven o'clock! I'd no idea it was so late! Pray excuse me inflictingmyself on you all this time. "

"Must you go?" Sir Richard rose too, and stood regarding the tall, loosely built figure with something like admiration. "Well, you're abusy man, I know; and if you really must go I'll not detain you. Butyou'll come in again, won't you? Come to dinner--Iris shall send you anote--and drop in for a smoke any evening you're at liberty. "

The invitation so heartily given was accepted with a pleasure to whichAnstice had long been a stranger; and then he said good-bye to his kindhost and left Greengates feeling that he had found two unexpectedlycongenial friends in Iris Wayne and her father. 

He had been deeply, genuinely interested in Sir Richard's story, thatunhappy story in which Chloe Carstairs figured so tragically; yet as hemade his way homewards between the blossoming hedgerows his mind dweltupon another woman, a younger, happier woman than the pale mistress ofCherry Orchard. And the face which floated before his eyes in thestarlit spring dusk was the laughing, grey-eyed face of Iris Wayne. 

CHAPTER V

As the weeks passed Anstice's acquaintance with the Waynes ripened intosomething which he found strangely pleasant. 

Although he had long ago decided that for him the simple human things oflife, friendship, social intercourse with the world of men and women, were, since that bygone Indian morning, forbidden, even his acquiredmisanthropy was not proof against the kindly advances made to him by SirRichard and his daughter. 

Busy as he was, he still found time to accept some of their invitationsto Greengates, and he and Sir Richard enjoyed a quiet chat over theircigars now and again when by chance he had an evening to himself. 

On their side the Waynes found him, each in his and her own degree, anagreeable companion. Sir Richard approved of his quiet and reservedmanner, and was not inclined to quarrel with his occasional fits ofmoodiness--for there were times when the ghosts which haunted himrefused to be exorcised, and Anstice felt himself unfit, by reason ofthe handicap which Fate had imposed upon him, to mingle with the happy, the careless, the innocent ones of the earth. 

To Sir Richard, kind-hearted, uncritical, undiscerning, such fits ofsilence, even of gloom, were natural enough in a man whose life wasspent largely in the service of the sick and suffering among humanity. He was probably worried over some difficult case, Sir Richard concluded, when he found the younger man's conversation halting, his manner absent, or, on rare occasions, morose; and it must be noted that as a ruleAnstice had too much respect for his friends to inflict these moods uponthem. As for Iris, quicker of discernment than her father, of a moreanalytical turn of mind, she guessed that the changing moods whichcharacterized her new acquaintance were not induced by any external orprofessional worries, but were the marks of a trouble far more serious, far more vital to the man himself. Of the nature of this trouble Irishad naturally no very clear idea, though now and again she consideredthe probability of him having been what she called, ratherschool-girlishly, crossed in love. But though her phraseology might bechildish there was something purely womanly in the compassion with whichshe thought of Anstice; and on one occasion when a fit of melancholy hadovercome him unexpectedly in her presence, he was startled, not to saydismayed, to notice something of this half-tender, half-impersonal pityin the soft, brooding glance of her eyes as they rested on him for amoment. 

It was not with the Waynes alone that he grew more intimate as the dayswent by. A short time after his introduction to Greengates Ansticereceived a summons to Cherry Orchard, and on repairing thither foundthat his patient on this occasion was Cherry Carstairs. With all herdemure dignity Cherry was at times possessed of a very spirit ofperversity; and being, although of such tender years, absolutely devoidof fear, she had tried conclusions in secret with a shaggy pony in afield close by her home, with the result that, owing to the pony'sstubborn refusal to allow her to climb upon his back, Cherry received akick, more in sorrow than in anger, which snapped the bone in her tinyforearm, and sent her stumbling home, very pale and shaky, her dignitysadly in abeyance, to seek her mother. 

Anstice, on arrival, soon had the small arm set and comfortablybandaged; and once safely in bed, although more upset than she wishedanyone to imagine, Cherry regained her usual half-affectionatehalf-patronizing manner, and insisted upon Anstice sitting down besideher "for at least five minutes, my dear!"

With a smile, Anstice sat down as requested; and Cherry instantly beganto question him on the subject of Greengates. 

"Isn't it a fassynating house, my dear?" Cherry never employed a shortword when she thought a long one fairly appropriate. "Have you seenIris' bedroom?--all done in white and purple and green--and iriseseverywhere--on the walls and the curtains--just like a gorjus purpleiris what grows in the garden?"

"No, I've not seen Miss Wayne's bedroom, " owned Anstice rather hastily. "But it couldn't be prettier than this--why, those bunches of cherrieson the wall are so life-like that I wonder the birds don't come in tomake a meal of them!"

"Do you like them?" Cherry was openly gratified by his approval. "But Iwish you could see Iris' room. She always takes me there to wash myhands and face, and the basin is all over irises too. "

"Fassynating" as these details of Miss Wayne's domestic arrangementsmight be, Anstice judged it safer to switch his small patient on toanother topic; and in an animated discussion as to the proper age atwhich a young lady might begin to ride a motor-bicycle--Cherry incliningto seven, Anstice to seventeen years--the promised five minutes flewswiftly away. 

"You'll come again, my dear?" Cherry's anxiety to ensure his attendancewas flattering, and he laughed and assured her he would visit her everyday if she desired it. 

As a matter of fact he did visit her with some regularity; for shemanaged, with a perversity known only to imps of a like nature, to catcha severe chill which puzzled her attendants, none of them knowing of acertain feverishly delightful ten minutes spent in hanging out of thewindow holding an interesting conversation with the gardener's boy belowon the subject of broken bones. In any case, Anstice found it necessaryto call at Cherry Orchard on several consecutive days; and during thechild's illness and subsequent convalescence he was perforce obliged tocome into contact with Mrs. Carstairs herself. 

As a physiological study Chloe interested him strongly. Although sheappeared genuinely fond of her little daughter and waited on her nightand day with a solicitude which never varied, there was nothing in hermanner to denote passionate affection, nor did the child appear todesire it. Even to Cherry her voice, rich and deep as it was, neversoftened; and she rarely used an endearing term. Yet Cherry appeared tobe quite satisfied; and Anstice came to the conclusion that the child'sfine instinct was able to pierce behind this apparent coldness to thewarm human love which doubtless lay beneath. 

One fact about Mrs. Carstairs he was not slow in discovering. With theexception of Iris Wayne and her father, Chloe appeared to be absolutelydevoid of friends, even of casual acquaintances. The Littlefield people, who had been first surprised, then outraged, by her reappearance amongthem, had long since decided that for them Cherry Orchard was _tabu_;and although the Vicar, Mr. Carey, successor to the man whose wife hadraised the storm in which Chloe Carstairs' barque had come to shipwreck, had called upon her, and endeavoured, in his gentle, courtly fashion, tomake her welcome, his parishioners had no intention of following hisexample. 

That Mrs. Carstairs felt her isolation in a social sense Anstice did notbelieve; but that she must feel very lonely at times, find the days verylong and empty, he felt pretty well assured. She was not an accomplishedwoman in the usual sense of the word. He never found her playing thepiano, or painting water-colour pictures as did so many of the women havisited. She did not appear to care for needlework, and in spite of thebooks scattered about the house, he rarely saw her reading; yet all thewhile he had a feeling that had she desired to shine in any or all ofthe arts peculiar to women she would have no difficulty in doing so. 

That she ordered her household excellently he knew from the glimpses hehad obtained of her domestic life; but there again she was assisted by astaff of superior servants who all, from her personal attendant, thedevoted Tochatti, down to the boy who cleaned the knives, worshippedtheir mistress with a wholehearted affection which held about it a touchof something almost resembling fanaticism. 

One day Anstice did find her with a book in her hand; and on venturingto inquire into its contents was informed it was a well-known _Treatiseon Chess_. 

"Do you play?" he asked, rather astonished, for in common with many menhe imagined chess to be almost purely a masculine pastime. 

"Yes--at least I used to play once, " she admitted slowly. "I can't verywell indulge in a game nowadays. Even the grownup Cherry declines toplay, though I hope in time I may incite her to learn!"

"I used to play--indifferently--once, " Anstice said meditatively; andChloe looked at him with a faint smile. 

"Did you? Some day when you are not too busy will you drop in to tea andplay a game with me?"

"I'd like to immensely. " His tone was sincere, and Chloe's manner warmedever so little. 

"Can you stay now?" The hour was just on five; and Cherry, who had thatday been promoted to tea downstairs, seconded the invitation as usualfrom her nest on the big Chesterfield. 

"Do stay, my dear, and I'll help you to move all the funny little menand the castles!"

Anstice could not refuse this double invitation; and after a hasty cupof tea he and his hostess sat down to the board and set out the ancientivory chessmen which were so well suited to the pretty, old-fashionedroom in which the players sat. 

To Anstice's quite unjustifiable surprise Chloe Carstairs played anadmirable game. Her moves were clearly reasoned out, and she displayed aquickness of thought, a brilliance of man[oe]uvre, which soon convincedAnstice he was outplayed. 

At the end of fifteen minutes Chloe had vanquished him completely; andwhile most of his men were reposing in the carved box at her elbow, theranks of her army were scarcely thinned. 

"I give in, Mrs. Carstairs!" He laughed and rose. "You won't think meunsporting if I run away now? I'm beat hollow, and I know it, but if youwill condescend to play with me another day----"

"I shall look forward to another game, " she said serenely; and Ansticedeparted, feeling he had been permitted to obtain another sidelight onher somewhat complex character. 

Two days later he made another and rather disconcerting discovery, whichset him wondering afresh as to the real nature of the woman who, likehimself, had been the victim of a strangely vindictive fate. 

The day was Sunday, and Cherry had been permitted the indulgence ofbreakfast in bed; so that Anstice interviewed his young patient in herown pink-and-white nest, where, attended by the faithful Tochatti, shegave herself innumerable airs and graces, but finally allowed him toexamine her small arm, which was now practically healed. 

"Mrs. Carstairs not up yet?" It was ten o'clock--but there was no signof Cherry's mother. 

"Yes, sir. " Tochatti spoke slowly, her foreign accent more stronglymarked than usual. "My mistress has a slight headache and is in her ownroom. She would like to see you before you go. "

Accordingly, after a prolonged parting from Cherry, who shamelesslyimportuned him to neglect his other and less important patients, Ansticeaccompanied Tochatti to Mrs. Carstairs' sitting-room where its ownerpresumably awaited him. 

The room itself was in its way as uncommon as its occupant, beingfurnished entirely in black and white. The walls were white, the carpetblack. The chairs and couches were upholstered in black-and-whitechintz, with a profusion of cushions of both hues, and the pictures onthe white walls were etchings in black oak frames. On the mantelpiecewas a collection of carved ivory toys of all kinds, with here and therean ebony elephant from Ceylon or Assam. The paint on doors and windowswas black, yet in spite of the sombreness of the general scheme therewas nothing depressing, nothing sinister in the finished effect. 

Possibly because Chloe Carstairs was an artist--or a wise woman who knewthe value of relief--one note of colour was struck in the presence of ahuge china bowl filled with tulips of every conceivable shade of flameand orange and yellow and red; but with that exception black and whitepredominated, and when Chloe Carstairs rose from her low chair near thewindow and advanced towards him, she, too, carried out the subtlesuggestion of the whole room. 

Dressed in white, her silky black hair and blue eyes the only bits ofcolour about her, she looked paler than usual, and Anstice jumped to theconclusion she had sent for him to prescribe for her. 

"Good morning, Dr. Anstice. " Anstice, who hated shaking hands with mostpeople, always liked her firm, cool handshake. "How is Cherry? You findher better?"

"Yes, she is really quite herself again, and her arm has healed mostsatisfactorily. " He stood in front of her as he spoke, and studied herface carefully. "But you don't look very fit, Mrs. Carstairs. Can I doanything for you now that your little daughter has finished with me?"

She looked at him with a smile which was more melancholy than usual. 

"I think not, " she said slowly. "You see, I am not ill, only a littletired--tired with remembering days that are gone. "

"Isn't that rather a fatal thing to do?" His own bitter memories gavehim the clue to her state of mind. "No good ever comes of rememberingsad things. I think the perfect memory would be one which would onlyretain the happiness of life. You know the old motto found on manysundials: 'I only record sunny hours. '"

"I don't agree with you, " she said quietly. "It's the shadows which givevalue to the high lights, isn't it? And sometimes to remember dreadfulthings is a happiness in itself, knowing they are gone for ever. I canquite well bear to remember that horrible prison"--as always whenspeaking of it, her lips whitened--"because no power on earth can everput me back there again. "

"I don't think it can do you any good to dwell on such memories, " hepersisted. "If you are wise you will forget them. No wonder your headaches if you dwell on such unpleasant things. "

She looked at him more fully, and in her eyes he read something whichbaffled him. 

"You are quite right--and delightfully sane and sensible, " she said. "But as a matter of fact, I wasn't really thinking of the prison to-day. You see, this is the anniversary of my wedding day, and my thoughts werenot altogether sad ones. "

He looked at her, nonplussed for the moment, and suddenly Chloe's facesoftened. 

"Dr. Anstice, forgive me. The fact is, I had a bad night, and am all onedge this morning. "

"Why do you sit in here?" asked Anstice abruptly. "It is a lovelymorning--the sun is warm and there's no wind. Why not go out into yourcharming garden? Lie in a low chair and sleep--or read some amusingbook. Is this a particularly engrossing one?"

He picked up the volume she had laid down at his entrance, and shewatched him with a faint hint of mockery in her blue eyes. His facechanged as he read the title. 

"De Quincey's _Confessions_! Mrs. Carstairs, you're not interested inthis sort of thing?"

"Why not?" Her manner was ever so slightly antagonistic. "The subject isa fascinating one, isn't it? I confess I've often felt inclined to tryopium--morphia or something of the sort, myself. "

"Morphia?" His voice startled her by its harshness. "Don't make a jokeof it, Mrs. Carstairs. If I thought you really meant that----"

"But I do--or did. " She spoke coolly. "I even went so far as to purchasethe means of indulging my fancy. "

"You did? But--forgive me--why?"

"Don't we all sigh for oblivion now and then?" She put the questioncalmly, looking him squarely in the face the while. "I have alwaysunderstood that morphia is one of the roads into Paradise--a Fool'sParadise, no doubt, but we poor wretches can't always choose ourheavens. "

"Nor our hells!" He still spoke vehemently. "Yes, there are times in allour lives when oblivion, forgetfulness, seems very desirable, veryalluring. But let me entreat you, Mrs. Carstairs, not to seek to enterParadise by that devil's key!"

Her almond-shaped eyes grew still more narrow as she looked at him. 

"I wonder why you speak so impressively, " she said slowly. "As a doctordoubtless you are _au fait_ in the subject, yet your vehemence seems toimply----" She paused. 

"As a doctor I've seen enough of the havoc the opium fiend plays in thelives of men--and women, " he said steadily, "to realize the danger thatlies in the insidious habit. I have seen women--women like you"--he hadno idea of sparing her--"young, of good position and all the rest of it, who have slid into the deadly thing on the flimsiest of pretexts--andthen, too late, have realized they are bound--for life--with fetterswhich cannot be broken. "

"Yet the deadly thing is fascinating, isn't it? Else why do so many fallunder its sway?"

"Fascinating?" With an inward shudder Anstice recalled those monthsafter Hilda Ryder's death--those horrible, chaotic months when, in avain endeavour to stifle thought, to deaden remorse, he had invoked theaid of the poppy, and by so doing had almost precipitated a moralcatastrophe which should have been more overwhelming than the first. "For God's sake, Mrs. Carstairs, don't become obsessed by that idea. Themorphia habit is one degrading slavery of mind and body, and only themiserable victims know how delusive are its promises, how unsatisfactoryits rewards. What can you expect from a cult whose highest reward--theonly thing, indeed, it has to offer you, is--oblivion?"

Chloe Carstairs did not reply. Instead, she turned away and moved acrossthe room to a small black escritoire which stood against the white wall. Bending down she opened it, and after pressing a spring, released whatappeared to be a secret drawer. From this she lifted out a little packetwrapped in white paper and sealed with red wax, and holding it in herhand she came slowly back to where Anstice stood, made vaguelyuncomfortable by her curious, almost secretive manner. 

"Dr. Anstice"--she held out the packet--"will you take charge of thisfor me? It is the key--what you called the devil's key just now--to theParadise I have never had the courage to enter. "

Anstice took the little parcel from her with something of sternness inhis face. 

"Yes, Mrs. Carstairs. But what, exactly, is this thing?"

"An hypodermic syringe and a supply of morphia, " she informed himtranquilly. Then, as he pursed his lips into an involuntary whistle, shewent on, with more than a hint of mockery in her manner: "Oh, I came byit quite honestly, I assure you! I didn't steal it from a doctor'ssurgery--I bought it at a chemist's shop in London. "

"You did?"

"Yes, and I made the young man show me how to use it. " She smiled ratherironically. "Naturally I was ignorant in the matter, and I didn't wantto make a blunder in its use. "

"Really? Well, Mrs. Carstairs, this is your property, but I wish I mightpersuade you to leave it in my keeping for the present. "

"You think it would be safer there?" She looked at him as thoughconsidering the matter. "Well, I wonder?"

"You wonder--what?" He spoke dryly. 

"Whether it _is_ safer with you. Of course, as a doctor you can getplenty of your own----"

"I shan't be tempted to steal yours for my private use, " said Anstice atrifle grimly; and the Fates who rule the lives of men probably smiledto themselves over the fatuity of mankind. 

"Well, I gave it to you myself, so you may as well keep it, " said Chloeindifferently, as though already tired of the subject; and without moreado Anstice slipped the little white packet into his pocket, and tookleave of its former owner before she had opportunity to change her mindon the subject. 

He could not dismiss the figure of Chloe Carstairs from his thoughts ashe went about his day's work. Intuitively he knew that she was abitterly unhappy woman, that her life, like his own, had been rent intwo by a cataclysm of appalling magnitude, such as visits very few humanbeings, and he told himself that this woman, too, had been down in thedepths even as he had been. And no man, no woman, who has once known theblackness of the abyss, that "outer darkness" in which the soul sitsapart in a horror of loneliness, can ever view the world again withquite the clear-eyed vision of the normal human being to whom, fortunately for the sanity of the race, such appalling experiences aremercifully unknown. 

On a morning a week later Anstice received a note from Mrs. Carstairs. 

 "DEAR DR. ANSTICE, "

 "My brother has unexpectedly written to offer himself for a couple of nights, and I shall be pleased if you will come to dinner this evening at half-past seven to meet him. I have invited Miss Wayne, so please complete our quartette if you can. "

 "Sincerely, "

 "CHLOE CARSTAIRS. "

For some moments Anstice sat inwardly debating the question, the note inhis hand. 

He had no engagement for the evening. The people of Littlefield, puzzled, perhaps a little piqued, by the aloofness of his manner, rarelyinvited him to their houses in anything but his professional capacity, though they called upon his services in and out of season; and SirRichard Wayne and Mr. Carey, the gentle, courtly Vicar of the parish, were the only two men with whom he ever enjoyed an hour's quiet chatover a soothing pipe or cigar. 

So that there was no reason why he should hesitate to accept ChloeCarstairs' invitation for that particular evening, yet hesitate he did, unaccountably; and when, after fifteen minutes indecision, he suddenlyscribbled and dispatched an acceptance, the messenger had barely gonefrom his presence before he felt an unreasoning impulse to recall theletter. 

What lay at the bottom of his strange reluctance to enjoy Chloe'shospitality he had not the faintest notion. He had no special aversionto meeting her brother, nor was he in any way reluctant to improve hisacquaintance with Iris Wayne. .. . Did his heart, indeed, beat just ashade faster at the thought of meeting her? Yet something seemed towhisper that this invitation was disastrous, that it would set in trainevents which might be overwhelming in their sequence. 

He tried, vainly, to banish the faint premonition of evil which hadfallen upon him when he realized it was too late to recall hisacceptance. Throughout the day it persisted, and when at length he wentto his room to dress for the evening, he felt a strong inclination toexcuse himself over the telephone on the plea of an urgent call to whoseimportance he could not turn a deaf ear. 

Such an excuse would, he knew, pass muster well enough. A doctor canrarely be depended upon, socially, and when he was dressed he wentdownstairs with the intention of ringing up Cherry Orchard andregretting his inability to make a fourth at Mrs. Carstairs'dinner-table that night. 

Yet at the last moment Fate, or that other Higher Power of which we knowtoo little to speak with any familiarity, intervened to restrain hisimpulse, and with a muttered imprecation at his own unusual vacillationhe turned away from the telephone and went out to his waiting carimpatiently. 

Arriving at Cherry Orchard, the elderly manservant relieved him of hiscoat with a deferential smile. 

"I think I'm a little late, Hagyard. " Anstice glanced at the grandfatherclock in the corner. "Or perhaps your clock's a bit forward. "

"I daresay it is, sir. " Hagyard accepted the suggestion withwell-trained alacrity. "Miss Wayne has only been here a moment or two. "

He threw open the door as he spoke and Anstice entered the drawing-roomwith a sudden unwelcome return of his premonition strong upon him. 

Yet the room, with its shaded lamps, small wood-fire, and latticedwindows open to the sweet spring twilight, looked peaceful enough. Asusual there were masses of flowers about, tulips, narcissi, anemones;and the atmosphere was fragrant as Anstice went forward to greet hishostess, who stood by one of the casements with her guests beside her. 

She came towards him with her usual slow step, which never, for all itsdeliberation, suggested the languor of ill-health; and as he began toapologize for his late arrival she smiled away his apologies. 

"You're not really late, Dr. Anstice, and in any case we should havegiven you a few minutes' grace. "

She stood aside for him to greet Iris, and as he shook hands with thegirl Anstice's heart gave a sudden throb of pleasure, which, for themoment, almost succeeded in banishing that uncanny premonition of evilwhich had come with him to the very gates of Cherry Orchard. 

She was very simply dressed in a frock of filmy grey-green chiffon whosecolour reminded him of the spiky leaves of a carnation; but he had neverseen her look prettier than on that mild spring night; and his eyesunconsciously softened as they dwelt upon her face for one fleetingmoment. 

Then as Chloe's soft, deep voice, introducing her brother, stole on hisear, he turned to greet the other man; and instantly he realized, toolate, the meaning of that presentiment of ill which had haunted him allday; understood why the inner, spiritual part of him had bidden himrefuse Chloe Carstairs' invitation to Cherry Orchard that night. 

For the man who turned leisurely from the window to greet the new-comerwas the man whom he had last seen in a green-walled bedroom in an Indianhotel, the man whom, by a tragic error, he had robbed of the woman heloved, from whom he had parted with a mutual hope that their paths inlife might never cross again. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Carstairs' brother was the man whom Hilda Ryder had loved, BruceCheniston himself. 

CHAPTER VI

As a rule the psychological moments of life come and go so quietly thattheir passing attracts little notice. Quite minor happenings give riseto demonstrations of excitement, of joy, of loudly voiced approbation ordisappointment. But the moments which really matter in a life, whichmark an epoch or destroy a dream, pass as a rule so quietly that onlythose whose dreams are shattered, or whose lives have been touched withthe glory of the immortal, know that for a brief instant Time has becomeinterchangeable with Eternity; that in the space of sixty fleetingseconds whole cycles of life have been lived through, and a vast andyawning gulf, in thought, in feeling, in spiritual growth or mentaloutlook, has opened to divide this moment from the one which directlypreceded it. 

Such a moment was this one in which the two men who were bound togetherby so tragic a link came face to face in Chloe Carstairs' drawing-room. 

Each had been quite sincere in his dread of any future meeting; butwhereas Bruce Cheniston had been the victim of as cruel a circumstanceas ever deprived lover of his beloved, Anstice was the more to bepitied, inasmuch as to his own burden of regret must be added theknowledge that through his premature action he had given another man theright to execrate his name so long as they both should live. 

For a second Anstice wondered, growing cold whether Cheniston wouldrefuse to shake hands with him. In his heart he knew quite well, hadalways known, that he had not been to blame in that bygone episode; thatalthough he had done a thing which must haunt him for the rest of hislife by reason of its tragic uselessness, as a man in whom a woman hadtrusted he had had no alternative but to act as he had acted. 

Yet of all men on earth Cheniston might well question the necessity ofhis action; and Anstice told himself with a fast-beating heart that hewould have no right to resentment should the other refuse to take hishand, to sit at meat with the man who had deprived Hilda Ryder of hershare in the gracious inheritance of life in the world she had called sobeautiful. 

For a second, indeed, Cheniston himself hesitated, checked in thefriendly greeting he had been about to bestow on his sister's visitor. He had arrived late that evening, and had been dismissed to dress withthe hasty information that two guests were expected to dinner, but hehad had no idea of the last arrival's identity; and to him, too, themeeting brought back with horrible poignancy that last bitter interviewin the haunted East. 

Then, for Bruce Cheniston was sufficiently just to acquit Anstice of anyshare in this untoward situation, he held out his hand with a coldcourtesy which plainly betokened no intention of alluding to any formermeeting. 

"Good evening. " Their hands touched, then fell apart. "You are anew-comer to Littlefield, I understand. Like the place?"

"Yes--in moderation, " rejoined Anstice with equally frigid courtesy. "The country has its charms--at this season of the year. "

"It has charms at all seasons, Dr. Anstice. " Iris' light voicechallenged him, even while her grey eyes noted the strange expression inhis face. "I'm afraid you're not a real country lover if you qualifyyour affection by picking out a particular season!"

"You remind one of those people who love dogs--'in their proper place. '"Chloe's tone was delicately quizzical. "On inquiry you find their properplace is outside--in some kennel or inclosure as far away from thespeaker as it is possible to get!"

"You can't be charged with that particular kind of affection, Chloe. "There was an assertive note in Cheniston's voice when he spoke to hissister which was new to her. "You think a dog's proper place is the bestarmchair or the downiest bed in the house!"

For a second Chloe did not reply; and without waiting Bruce went onspeaking. 

"By the way, where are your dogs? I've not seen hide or hair of onesince I arrived. "

Again there was a short, but quite perceptible silence. Then Chloe saidtranquilly:

"No wonder you haven't seen any dogs, Bruce. There aren't any to see. "

"No dogs?" Bruce was frankly astonished. "Why, in the old days you usedto declare you couldn't live without them!"

Just for a second a quiver of emotion convulsed Chloe's usuallyimpassive face. Then she laughed, and Anstice thought her laugh almostpainful in its artificiality. 

"My dear Bruce, " she said, "please remember the old days are as deadas--as Queen Anne. When I was young enough and foolish enough to believein disinterested affection, and in the right of every creature to behappy, I adored dogs--or thought I did. Now I am wiser, and know thatlife is not all bones and playtime, so to speak. Besides, they alwaysdie when one is fond of them, and I quite agree with Kipling that withso much unavoidable discomfort to put up with, it's the height of follyto 'give one's heart to a dog to tear. ' In future I yield no fraction ofmy heart to any living creature--not even a dog. "

Certainly Chloe's drawing-room was a battlefield of conflicting emotionsthis evening. Just for a moment she had been shaken out of her usualpoise, had spoken warmly, as a normal woman might have done; yet bothIris who loved her, and Anstice who had studied her, knew that thiswarmer manner, this apparent freedom of speech, was in reality theoutward sign of some inward disturbance; and both guessed, vaguely, thatthe meeting with her brother, who had not been in England for severalyears, was the cause of her unusual animation. 

Fortunately as she finished speaking the gong which summoned them todinner began to sound; and a moment later Bruce offered his arm to Irisand led her into the dining-room, followed by Anstice and his hostess. 

Not appearing to notice his proffered arm, Chloe walked beside him in asudden pensive silence which Anstice found oddly appealing after herimpetuous speech; and for a moment he forgot his own equivocal positionin a desire to help her through what he guessed to be a trying moment. 

Once seated at the pretty round table things became easier. The room wassoftly lit by innumerable candles--a fancy of Chloe's--and in theirtender light both women looked their best. As usual Mrs. Carstairs worewhite, the fittest setting, Anstice thought, for her pale and tragicgrace; but to-night she had thrown a wonderful Chinese scarf round hershoulders, and the deep blue ground, embroidered with black and greenbirds and flowers, gave an unusually distinctive note to her elusivepersonality. Opposite to her Iris, in her filmy grey-green frock, a bigbunch of violets at her breast, wore the look of a nymph, some woodlandcreature whose fragrant charm and youthful freshness were in strikingcontrast to Chloe's more finished beauty. 

The conversation, once started, ran easily enough. Although he nevermentioned India, Cheniston was ready enough to talk of Egypt, where forsome years he had made his home; and Iris, to whose young imaginationthe very name of that mysterious land was a charm, listened entranced tohis description of a trip he had lately taken up the Nile. 

"You are an engineer, Mr. Cheniston?" Anstice interpolated a politequestion and Cheniston answered in the same tone. 

"Yes. And engineering in the land of the Pharaohs is no joke. You mustremember that we, as engineers, are only now where they were thousandsof years ago. I mean that our present-day feats, the Dam at Assouan, wonderful as it is, and the rest, are mere child's play compared withthe marvels they constructed in their day. "

"So I have been told before. " Only Anstice knew how hard it was to sitthere conversing as though he and this man shared no tragic memory incommon. "But if Egyptologists are to be believed there is hardly anyinvention, any scientific discovery--so called--which wasn't known tothe Egyptians many thousands of years before the birth of Christ. "

"They even possessed aeroplanes, didn't they?" asked Iris, smiling; andBruce Cheniston turned to her with an involuntary softening in hisrather harsh voice. 

"So it is stated, I believe, " he said, with an answering smile. "And itis generally believed that in the lost Continent of Atlantis----"

He went on talking, not monopolizing the conversation, but keeping itgoing so skilfully that Iris, at least, did not recognize the fact thatboth Mrs. Carstairs and Anstice were more than ordinarily silent as themeal progressed. 

When the short but perfect dinner was finished Chloe rose. 

"We will have coffee in the drawing-room, Bruce, " she said as she movedslowly to the door. "If you are not too long over your cigarettes Idaresay Miss Wayne will sing for us. "

"With that inducement we shall soon follow you, " said Cheniston gravely;and as Iris passed through the door which Anstice held open for her shegave him a friendly little smile which somehow nerved him for the ordealwhich he foresaw to be at hand. 

Closing the door he came back again to the table, but did not yet sitdown. Bruce had already reseated himself and was pouring out a glass ofport, an operation he interrupted with a perfunctory apology. 

"Forgive me--pray help yourself. " He pushed the decanter across thetable, but Anstice shook his head. 

"No, thanks. " He hesitated a moment, then plunged into the subject whichmust surely be uppermost in both their minds. "See here, Cheniston, Ishould like you to understand that when I accepted Mrs. Carstairs' kindhospitality to-night I had no idea you were the brother I was to meet. "

For a second Cheniston said nothing, his brown hand playing absentlywith a pair of nutcrackers beside him. Then he raised his head andlooked Anstice squarely in the face. 

"I am quite ready to believe that, " he said slowly. "I can hardlyconceive any circumstances in which you would care to run the risk of ameeting with me. "

"Quite so. " Something in Cheniston's manner made Anstice suddenly angry. "Though I would ask you, in common fairness, to believe that my distastefor such a meeting rises rather from my reluctance to remind you of thepast than from any acknowledgment that you have a right to resent mypresence. "

Again Bruce Cheniston looked him in the face; and this time there was agenuine surprise in his blue eyes. 

"I don't think I have given you reason to suppose I resent meeting you, "he said with a new note in his voice, a note of something moredefinitely like hostility than he had hitherto permitted himself toshow. "Since you have started the subject I may say that as a rule onedoesn't greet as a brother the man who has robbed one of one's mosttreasured possession--I'm speaking metaphorically, of course--but Ithink you can hardly find fault with my--hesitation just now. "

"Oh, you have been politeness itself, " said Anstice, rather bitterly. "And in return for your forbearance I will relieve you of my unwelcomepresence immediately. Luckily my profession makes it easy for me tobehave with what, in another man, would appear discourtesy. "

He turned towards the door; but Bruce's voice arrested him midway. 

"One moment, Dr. Anstice. " His tone was less openly hostile. "Don't goyet, please. There are still one or two things to be said between us. Will you do me the favour of sitting down again and letting us talk alittle?"

"I don't see what good will come of it, but I'll stay if you wish. "Anstice returned to the table, and drawing out a chair--the one whichIris had occupied during the meal--he sat down and lighted a cigarettewith a slightly defiant air. 

"To begin with"--Cheniston spoke abruptly--"I gather you know mysister's story--know the bitter injustice that has been done to her inthis damned place?"

Rather taken aback Anstice hesitated before replying, and Chenistoncontinued without waiting for him to speak:

"I say you know it, because my sister has a code of honour which forbidsher welcoming to her house anyone who is ignorant of that horriblechapter in her history. And since I find you here, not only as a doctor, but as a friend, I gather you believe she was innocent of the chargeagainst her. "

"Most certainly I believe in Mrs. Carstairs' innocence. " He spoke warmlynow. 

"For that, at least, I am grateful to you. " His tone did not betrayoverwhelming gratitude, yet Anstice felt a sudden lightening of hisspirit. "To me, of course, it is absolutely inconceivable how anyonecould believe my sister guilty of such a degrading crime--or series ofcrimes--but doubtless I am biassed in her favour. Still, you are a newacquaintance, and don't know her as I do; so that I am grateful to youfor your clear-sightedness in the matter. "

He broke off for a moment to drink some wine. Then:

"I should like to ask you one question. Does my sister know of thatepisode in India? I mean, of course, of your share in the affair?"

"No. And, " said Anstice, "it has been puzzling me for the last couple ofhours to understand how it is that she has not connected my name withyou. Didn't she know it at the time?"

"I daresay. But you must remember that my sister has gone through agreat deal since that day, three years ago. Very soon after that shebecame involved in that terrible chain of events which led to her publichumiliation; and I haven't a shadow of doubt that the names of theactors in the tragedy which broke up my life vanished completely fromher memory. As you may have noticed, Chloe is a self-centred woman. Hersympathies are not deep, nor her interests wide. Her own life is a gooddeal more interesting to her than the lives of other people--it isgenerally so with strong characters, I believe--and after all, her owntragedy has been so appalling that she may be excused if she has not avery keen curiosity for those of others. "

"I quite agree with you. But"--it was Anstice's turn to look Chenistonfully in the face--"do I understand you wish me to tell your sister ofour former--acquaintance?"

After his question there fell a silence, during which Anstice had timeto study the other man more fully than he had hitherto done. 

Like himself, Cheniston had altered since that day in India. Althoughstill sunburned and florid, a typical young Englishman in hissquare-shouldered build and general air of clean fitness, there wassomething in his face which had not been there before, which warredoddly with the youth which still lurked in the blue eyes and round theclean-shaven mouth. The boyishness had vanished from his features, taking with it all hint of softness; and in its place was a hard, assertive look, the look of one who, having been once worsted in a boutwith Fate, through no fault of his own, was determined for the future tokeep a sharp lookout for his own interests and well-being. 

That it was a stronger face there was no denying, but it was also a farless attractive one than that which Bruce Cheniston, the boy, hadpresented to the world. 

At another moment Anstice would have found occasion for interestedspeculation in the question as to whether or no this new man were thereal Bruce Cheniston--the Cheniston who would eventually have come tothe surface no matter how his life had been ordained; and as apsychologist he would have found pleasure in debating the subject in allits aspects. But as things were he was too miserably conscious that tohim, indirectly, this change from boy to man was due to take anyinterest in the subtler question as to whether, after all, thealteration was only the logical outcome of the man's true character, uninfluenced by external happenings. 

 * * * * *

"No. " Cheniston spoke so suddenly that Anstice started. "On the whole Isee no reason why my sister need be told the truth. Of course, one daythe similarity of name may flash upon her, and then, naturally, she mustbe told. "

"Quite so. " Anstice played with an empty glass for a moment. "As amatter of fact I should really prefer Mrs. Carstairs to know the truth. Of course the decision rests with you; but if you see your way totelling her the story, pray don't be held back from doing so by anyscruples on my account. Besides----"

Suddenly, so suddenly that he broke off involuntarily in his sentence, the notes of the piano rang out from the room across the hall, andwithout thinking what he did he rose hastily to his feet. 

"Miss Wayne is going to sing. " Cheniston followed his lead politely. "Shall we go and listen to the concert, Anstice?"

"As you like. Forgive my abruptness, Cheniston. " He had realized he hadacted unconventionally. "Miss Wayne's singing is a treat one doesn'twant to lose. "

With a queer little smile Cheniston led the way across the hall, andthey entered the drawing-room, Iris bringing her prelude to a close asthe door opened to admit them. 

"Come and sit down, Dr. Anstice. " Chloe indicated a deep chair besidethe piano, and nothing loth, Anstice sat down as directed, whileCheniston, his face a little in shadow, stood by one of thewidely-opened casements, through which the scents of the sleeping gardenstole softly, like a benison from the heart of the pitiful earth. 

A moment later Iris began to sing, and once again her rich, soft tonesseemed to cast a spell over Anstice's troubled, bitter spirit. 

From his low seat he had an unimpeded view of the singer. Her profile, shaded by her soft, fair hair, looked unusually pure and delicate in thecandlelight, and as she sang the rise and fall of her breast in its foldof filmy chiffon, the motion of her hands over the ivory keys, the sweetseriousness of her expression, gave her an appearance of radiant, tenderyouth which held an appeal as potent as it was unconscious. 

When she had finished her song, the last notes dying away into silence, Cheniston came forward quickly. 

"Miss Wayne, you sing beautifully. May we ask for another song? You'renot tired, are you?"

He bent over her as he spoke, and something in his manner, somethingsubtly protective, made Anstice's heart beat with a sudden fiercejealousy which he knew to be quite unjustifiable. 

"No, I'm not in the least tired. " Iris lifted her grey eyes frankly toCheniston's face, and again Anstice, watching, felt a pang of whosenature he could have no doubt. He rose from his chair, with ahalf-formed intention of adding his entreaties to those of Cheniston, but sank back again as he realized the favour was already won. 

"I will sing with pleasure. " Iris turned on the music-stool to glance ather hostess, and Anstice saw her face, pearly and luminous in the softcandlelight. "Mrs. Carstairs, you like Dvorak. Shall I sing you one ofhis gipsy songs?"

"Please, Iris. " Few words of endearment ever passed between the two, yeteach felt something like real affection for the other, and Chloe's deepvoice was always gentle when she spoke to Iris. 

The next moment Cheniston stepped back and took up his former positionon the far side of the piano; and Iris began the simple little melodywhich Dvorak acquired from the gipsies of his native land. 

 "Songs my mother taught me In the days long vanished!"

So far Anstice heard the pure, soft voice; and suddenly he felt ahalf-shy, half-reverential wonder as to what manner of woman she hadbeen who had brought this adorable girl into the world. Surely Fate hadbeen cruel to this unknown woman, inasmuch as Death had been permittedto snatch her away before her eyes had been gladdened by the vision ofher child grown into this priceless, this wonderful youth, which held ahint of a yet more gracious, yet more desirable womanhood. .. . 

And then the second verse stole softly on the quiet air. .. . 

 "Now I teach my children Each melodious measure. .. . "

Again did one, at least, of Iris' hearers lose the remaining lines. Forto Anstice these words brought another vision--a vision in which Iris, this fair-haired girl who looked so adorably young and sweet, bent overa little child whose rose-leaf face was a baby replica of her own. .. . 

And suddenly Anstice knew, knew irrevocably, beyond shadow of doubt, that he wanted Iris Wayne for himself, that she was the one woman in allthe world he desired to make his wife. .. . 

With a wild throb of his heart he looked up--to find Bruce Cheniston'seyes fixed upon his face with a half-mocking smile in their blue depths, of whose hostile meaning there could be no question. 

 * * * * *

An hour or so later, when the guests had departed, and Cheniston hadfinished a solitary pipe downstairs, he went up, yawning, to bed. Passing his sister's open door he heard her call him, and after asecond's indecision he answered the summons, wondering why she were notalready asleep. 

Chloe was sitting by the open window, wearing a thin grey wrapper whichmade her look curiously pale and ethereal. Her thick hair hung in twoheavy plaits over her shoulders, and in the dim light her face showedindistinctly in its silky black frame. 

"Chloe, why aren't you in bed?" Bruce paused half-way across the room. 

"I'm not sleepy, " she said indifferently. "I often sit here half thenight. Bruce"--her voice grew more alert--"have you and Dr. Anstice metbefore?"

"Yes, " he said, "we have. But why do you ask?"

"I thought there was something rather curious about your meeting, " sheanswered slowly. "At first I could not understand it, and then it dawnedupon me that you had met--and distrusted one another--before. "

"Distrusted?" He stared at her. "That isn't the right word, Chloe. We_have_ met before--in India. I almost wonder you yourself didn't realizethat fact, but I suppose you were not sufficiently interested----"

She interrupted him without ceremony. 

"I? But how should I realize . .. Unless"--suddenly her intuition servingher as it serves so many women, she grasped the truth with a quicknesswhich surprised even her brother--"was that the name of the man who--youdon't mean it was Dr. Anstice who . .. Who. .. . "

He nodded. 

"Yes. I see you've grasped the truth. Anstice is an uncommon name, andI'm surprised you did not recognize it earlier. "

"I had forgotten it. " She stared at him, her blue eyes narrowing as hermind worked quickly. "I see now. Dr. Anstice is the man----"

"Who shot Hilda Ryder. " Cheniston finished her sentence for her calmly, but she saw him whiten beneath his tan. "Yes. He is the man all right. We met, once, in Bombay--afterwards. And now you know why our meetingto-night was not calculated to give either of us any great pleasure. "

"Yes. I know now. " She spoke slowly, almost meditatively. "And I know, too, why he always looks so sad. Bruce, from the bottom of my heart Ipity that man. "

"You do?" Bruce's eyebrows rose. "I confess I don't see why you shouldwaste your pity on him. I think you might bestow a little more of it onme--though it is rather late for pity now. "

"On you?" Slowly her blue gaze rested on his face. "Bruce, you don'tcompare your position with his? Surely even you can understand that heis a thousand times more to be pitied than you? I always thought therewas a tragedy in Dr. Anstice's life. But I never dreamed it was quite sopiteous as this. "

Bruce uttered an exclamation of impatience. 

"I didn't expect such sentimentality from you, Chloe. I gathered fromyour conversation before dinner that you were pretty well disillusionedby this time, and it rather surprises me to hear you pouring out yourcompassion on a man like Anstice, who certainly doesn't strike me asrequiring any outside sympathy. "

For a moment there was silence, while Chloe played absently with abracelet she had just discarded. Then she said tranquilly:

"You never were overburdened with brains, Bruce, though I grant you dowell in your own profession. But, if you fail to see the reason why Dr. Anstice is deserving of more compassion than you I'm afraid it'shopeless to expect anything very brilliant from you in the future. "

Cheniston's eyes darkened and his jaw set itself aggressively. For amoment his sister found him an unfamiliar personality, and in her ownindifferent way asked herself whether after all she had ever known herbrother thoroughly. 

Then as she was considering the problem, and finding it mildlyattractive, Bruce turned on his heel and strode sulkily to the door. 

"Good night, " he said angrily as he reached it. "You're in one of youraggravating moods to-night, and it's no use me staying to talk to you. "

"Not a bit of use, " she assented serenely; and her brother went out, nearly falling over Tochatti, who was evidently about to seek admissionto her mistress's room. 

"Why on earth aren't you in bed, Tochatti?" His inward annoyance madehim speak harshly; but Tochatti apparently bore no resentment. 

She murmured something to which he paid scant attention; and then, standing aside for him to pass her, she quietly entered the room he hadjust quitted, and proceeded with her final duties for the night. 

CHAPTER VII

For two or three weeks after his meeting with Mrs. Carstairs' brother, Anstice avoided both Cherry Orchard and Greengates. 

From a chance word in the village he had learned that Bruce Chenistonwas prolonging his visit to his sister; and that new and totallyunreasoning jealousy which had assailed Anstice as he saw Chenistonbending over Iris Wayne at the piano told him with a horrid certaintythat to the girl herself belonged the responsibility for this change inthe young man's plans. 

In his calmer moments Anstice could not help admitting the suitabilityof a friendship, at least, between the two. Although he had lost much ofhis attractive boyishness Cheniston was a good-looking fellow enough;and there was no denying the fact that he and Miss Wayne were awell-matched pair so far as youth and vitality and general good lookswent; and yet Anstice could not visualize the pair together without afierce, wild pang of jealousy which pierced his heart with an almostintolerable anguish. 

For he wanted Iris Wayne for himself. He loved her; and therein laytragedy; for he told himself miserably that he had no right to ask herto couple her radiant young life with his, already overshadowed by thatpast happening in India. 

Not only that, but he was already over thirty, she but eighteen; and SirRichard Wayne's daughter was only too well provided with this world'sgoods, while he, with all his training, all his toil, was even yet acomparatively poor man, with nothing to offer the girl in exchange forthe luxurious home from which he would fain take her. 

On every count he knew himself to be ineligible; and in the same flashof insight he saw Bruce Cheniston, young, good-looking, distinguished inhis profession, in the receipt of a large salary; and owned to himself, with that clarity of vision which rarely failed him, that Cheniston, rather than he, was a fit suitor for Iris Wayne. 

On several occasions during those weeks of May he saw the two together;and each time this happened he felt as though the sun had vanished fromthe sky, as though the soft breezes of early summer were turned to thecold and hopeless blast of an icy north-easter. 

Cheniston had a motor-bicycle on which he intended to explore thedistrict; and on finding a kindred spirit in Miss Wayne he hadinaugurated a series of expeditions in which she was his companion;while Chloe Carstairs and Cherry would motor forth in the same directionand share a picnic lunch at some wayside hostelry--an arrangement whichafforded unbounded pleasure to some members, at least, of the quartette. 

That Cheniston was strongly attracted by Iris, Anstice did not doubt. Onone unlucky Sunday he had received an invitation from Greengates, which, delivered as it was in person by Sir Richard himself, could not havebeen refused without discourtesy; and in the middle of the eveningCheniston had dropped in casually with a message from his sister, andhad stayed on with an easy certainty of welcome which betokened a rapidgrowth in favour with both father and daughter. 

What Iris' feelings towards the new-comer might be Anstice had no meansof discovering. Her manner towards him was delightfully girlish andsimple, and it was plain to see that she was fascinated by his accountsof life in the wonderful Egypt which holds always so strong anattraction for the romantic temperament; but with all her young_insouciance_ Iris Wayne was not one to wear her heart upon her sleeve;and her friendliness never lost that touch of reticence, of unconsciousdignity which constituted, to Anstice, one of her greatest charms. 

Towards himself, as an older man and one whose life naturally ran oncontrasting lines, her manner was a little less assured, as though shewere not quite certain of her right to treat him as one on a level withherself; but the tinge of girlish deference to which, as he guessed, hisprofession entitled him in her eyes, was now and then coloured withsomething else, with a hint of gentleness, not unlike compassion, whichwas oddly, dangerously sweet to his sore and lonely heart. 

Somehow the idea of marriage had never previously entered his head. Before the day which had, so to speak, cut his life in two, with a lineof cleavage dividing the careless past from the ever-haunted future, hehad been too busy, too much occupied in preparation for the brilliantcareer which he felt would one day be his, to allow thoughts of marriageto distract him from his chosen work. And since that fatal day, althoughhis old enthusiasm, his old belief in himself and his capabilities, hadlong ago receded into the dim background, he had never consciouslythought of any amelioration of the loneliness, the bitter, regretfulsolitude in which he now had his being. 

Yet the thought of Iris Wayne was oddly, uncomfortably distracting; andin those weeks of May, during which he deliberately denied himself thesight of her, Anstice's face grew haggard, his eyes more sunken beneaththeir straight black brows. 

Yet Fate ordained that he should meet her, more, do her service; and themeeting, with its subsequent conversation, was one which Iris at leastwas destined never to forget. 

One grey and cloudy morning when the sun had forgotten to shine, and theair was warm and moist, Anstice was driving his car along a country roadwhen he espied her sitting by the wayside with a rather woe-begone face. 

Her motor-bicycle was beside her and she was engaged in tying a knot, with the fingers of her left hand aided by her teeth, in aroughly-improvised bandage which hid her right wrist. 

On seeing his car she looked up; and something in the rather piteousexpression of her grey eyes made him slow down beside her. 

"What's wrong, Miss Wayne? Had a spill?"

She answered him ruefully. 

"Yes. At least my motor skidded and landed me in the road. And I cut mywrist on a sharp stone--look!"

She held up a cruelly-jagged flint; and Anstice sprang out of his carand approached her. 

"I say, what a horrid-looking thing! Let me see your wrist, may I? Ithink you'd better let me bind it up for you. "

"Will you?" She held out her wrist obediently, and taking off thehandkerchief which bound it he saw that it was really badly cut, theblood still dripping from the wound. 

"Ah, quite a nasty gash--it would really do with a stitch or two. " Hehesitated, looking at her thoughtfully. "Miss Wayne, what's to be done?You can't ride home like that, and yet we can hardly leave yourmotor-bike on the roadside. "

He paused a second, his wits at work. Then his face cleared. 

"I know what we'll do, " he said. "Round this corner is a cottage where apatient of mine lives. We'll go in there, dispatch her son to look afterthe bike till I patch you up, and then if you can't manage to ride homewe'll think of some other arrangement. "

Iris rose, gladly, from her lowly seat. 

"That's splendid, Dr. Anstice. I'm sure I can ride home if you will stopthis stupid bleeding. "

"Good. " He liked her pluck. "Jump into my car and we'll go and interviewMrs. Treble. "

"What an odd name!"

"Yes, isn't it? And by a strange coincidence her maiden name was Bass!"

Iris laughed, and a little colour came into her pale cheeks as they spedswiftly round the corner in search of the oddly-named lady's abode. 

Mrs. Treble, who was engaged in hanging out the weekly washing in thesmall garden, was all sympathy at the sight of the young lady's woundedwrist, and invited them into the parlour and provided the basin of waterand other accessories for which Anstice asked with a cheerful bustlewhich took no account of any trouble involved. 

When she had dispatched her son, an overgrown lad who had just leftschool, to keep watch over the motor-cycle, Mrs. Treble requested thedoctor's leave to continue her work; and nothing loth, Anstice shut thedoor upon her and gave his attention to his pale patient. 

He had brought in a small leather case from his car, and after cleansingthe wound he selected a needle and some fine wire in order to put in thenecessary stitches, watched the while by a pair of interested, ifsomewhat apprehensive eyes. 

"I won't hurt you, Miss Wayne. " Somehow he felt oddly reluctant toinflict even a pinprick of pain on this particular patient. "I'm awfullysorry, but I'm afraid I really must put in a couple of stitches. I'll beas gentle as I can. "

Iris laughed, rather shamefacedly. 

"You think I am a coward, " she said, "and you're quite right. I openlyconfess I dread bearing pain, probably because I've never known anythingworse than toothache in my life!"

"Toothache can be the very--er--deuce, " he said. "I once had it myself, and ever since then I've had the liveliest sympathy for any poorvictim!"

"But there are so many other pains, so much worse, that it seems absurdto talk of mere toothache as a real pain, " she objected, and Ansticelaughed. 

"Quite so, but you must remember that the other 'real pains' havealleviations which are denied to mere toothache. One's friends do atleast take the other things seriously, and offer sympathy as freely asmore potent remedies; while the sight of a swollen face is apt to causeone's relations a quite heartless amusement!"

"Well, it must be a consolation to be taken seriously, " she said, "and Ido think sympathy is wonderfully cheering. Are all doctors assympathetic as you, Dr. Anstice?"

For a moment Anstice suspected her of mockery. He was well aware thatfor all his real sympathy with acute suffering he was not remarkable forpatience in cases of less reality; and he knew that the people whoseailments belonged to the latter category were apt to find his mannerabrupt and unsympathetic. 

But a glance at Iris' face showed him she had spoken in good faith; andhe answered her in the same spirit. 

"There are a good many men in the world who are far more sympatheticwith suffering humanity than I, Miss Wayne. " For a moment his faceclouded, and Iris noticed the change wonderingly. "I'm afraid my mannerisn't all it might be. It isn't that I'm not genuinely sorry for peoplewho are, or think themselves, ill; but . .. " for a second he hesitated, then a quite unusual impulse drove him into speech, ". .. The fact is, Ionce had a knock-down blow myself; and curiously enough it seemed todull my capacity for entering into the sufferings of others. "

She took him up with unexpected comprehension. 

"I think I can understand that. It has always seemed to me that it isnot the people who have suffered who sympathize . .. They understand, ifyou know what I mean, but they aren't just sorry like the people whohaven't had any sorrows of their own to spend their pity on. .. . "

She broke off abruptly, and with equal abruptness Anstice suspendedoperations to ask, with a solicitude which belied his earlier speech, whether he were hurting her very badly. 

"No . .. Not at all . .. At least, hardly at all, " she answered honestly. "I was just wishing I could explain myself better. Now take Mrs. Carstairs, for instance. " Iris knew that Chloe had told Anstice herstory. "She has suffered as very few people like her have to do, but Idon't think it has made her exactly what you call sympathetic. "

"That is just what I mean, " said Anstice. "Somehow I think suffering isapt to destroy one's nerve of sympathy for others. It atrophies, withersaway in the blast of one's personal tragedy; and although Mrs. Carstairsmight be able to enter into the feelings of another unhappy woman morefully than--well, than you could do, I think you would be more likely tofeel what we call 'sorry for' that woman than she would be. "

"I'm glad you agree with me, " said Iris slowly. "Dr. Anstice, would youthink me very--impertinent--if I say I'm sorry you havebeen--unhappy--too? I--somehow I always thought you"--she stopped, flushed, but continued bravely--"you looked so sad sometimes I used towonder if you too had suffered, like poor Mrs. Carstairs. "

For a moment Anstice's fingers faltered in their task, and the girl'sheart missed a beat as she wondered whether she had said too much. 

Then:

"Miss Wayne"--Anstice's voice reassured her even while it filled herwith a kind of wondering foreboding--"I should never find anyimpertinence in any interest _you_ might be kind enough to express. Ihave suffered--bitterly--and the worst of my suffering lies in the factthat others--one other at least besides myself--were involved in the illI unwittingly wrought. "

Again her answer surprised him by the depth of comprehension itconveyed. 

"That, too, I can understand, " said Iris gently. "I have often tried toimagine how one must feel when one has unknowingly harmed anotherperson; and it has always seemed to me that one would feel as one doeswhen one has spoken unkindly, or impatiently, at least, to a child. "

For a second Anstice busied himself in bandaging the slim wrist he held. Then, without looking up, he said:

"You have thought more deeply than many girls of your age, Miss Wayne. Iwonder if you would extend your pity to me if you knew the nature of myparticular tragedy. "

A sudden spatter of rain against the window-pane made them both look upin surprise; and in a lighter tone Anstice said:

"A sharp shower, I see. I've finished my work, you'll be glad to hear, but I think it will be wiser to wait here till the rain's over. Willyour cycle take any harm?"

"Oh, no, it can be dried at home, " said Iris rather absently; and bothof them were too much preoccupied to expend any of their talked-ofsympathy on the overgrown youth patiently guarding the motor by theroadside. 

"Come and try an easier chair, won't you?" Anstice pushed forward acapacious rocking-chair and Iris took it obediently, while Ansticeleaned against the table regarding her rather curiously. 

"Miss Wayne. " Suddenly he felt a quite overwhelming desire to admit thisgirl into his jealously-guarded confidence. "From something you saidjust now I gathered that you had been good enough to spare a thought forme now and then. Does that mean that your kindness would extend so faras to allow you to listen to a very short story in which I, unfortunately, am the principal character?"

"I am ready to listen to anything you care to tell me, " she said gently;and looking into her steadfast grey eyes Anstice told himself that a mancould desire no sweeter, more trustworthy confidante. 

"Well"--he sighed--"here is the story. Once, in India, I found myself ina tight place, with a woman, a girl, who was almost a perfect strangerto me. We had unwittingly trespassed into a native Temple, and thepenalty for such trespass was--death. "

He paused a second, wondering whether she had heard Bruce Cheniston'sstory; but although there was deep interest there was no recognition inher quiet attention; and he hurried on. 

"She--the girl--made me promise not to allow her to fall into the handsof the natives. Whether she was correct in her fears of what mighthappen to her I don't know; but I confess I shared them at the time. Anyhow I promised that if help did not come before dawn--we were to dieat sunrise--I would shoot her with my own hand. "

Again he paused; and the horror in Iris' grey eyes deepened. 

"Well, help did come--ten minutes too late. I was standing with my backagainst the wall, the guns were levelled at my heart, when the rescuersburst into the courtyard and the natives fled. But I had shot the girlten minutes earlier. .. . "

Anstice's brow was wet with drops of sweat as he finished, his wholebeing convulsed with reminiscent agony; and he turned aside lest heshould read shrinking, or worse, condemnation in the grey eyes which hadnever left his face. 

There was a silence in which to the man who waited the whole worldseemed to halt upon its axis, as though aghast at the brief recitalwhich was almost Greek in its sense of inevitable tragedy; and for awild, hateful moment Anstice told himself that for all her boastedcomprehension Iris had not the power to understand the full force of thesituation. 

Then, suddenly, he found her beside him. She had left her chair, noiselessly, as he turned away, and now she was standing close to him, her hand on his arm, her grey eyes, full of the sweetest, most divinecompassion, seeking his ravaged face. 

"Oh, you poor thing!" The pity in her voice made it sound like thesoftest music. "What a dreadfully sad story; and how you must havesuffered. But"--her kind little hand tightened on his arm--"why shouldyou reproach yourself so bitterly? You did the only thing it waspossible for you to do. No man living could have done anything else. "

He turned to her now, and he had recaptured his self-control. 

"It is sweet--and kind--of you to say just that. " Even now his voice wasnot quite steady. "And if I could believe it--but all the time I tellmyself if I had only waited . .. There would perhaps have been achance . .. I was too quick, too ready to obey her request, to carry outmy promise. .. . "

"No, Dr. Anstice. " In Iris' voice was a womanliness which showed hisstory had reached the depths of her being. "I'm quite certain that's thewrong way to look at it. As things were, there was nothing else to bedone, _nothing_. If I had been the girl, " said Iris quietly, "I shouldhave thought you very cruel if you had broken your promise to me. "

"Ah, yes, " he said, slowly; "but you see there is another factor in thecase which I haven't told you--yet. She was engaged to be married--andby acting prematurely I destroyed the hopes of the man who lovedher--whom she loved to the last second of her life. "

This time Iris was silent so long that he went on speaking with anattempt at a lighter tone. 

"Well, that's the story--and a pretty gloomy one, isn't it? But I haveno right to inflict my private sorrows on you, and so----"

She interrupted him as though she had not heard his last words. 

"Dr. Anstice, when you realized what had happened, what did you do? Imean, when you came back to England? I suppose you did come back, afterthat?"

"Yes. I had an interview with the man--the girl's _fiancé_ and camehome. " He shrugged his shoulders, a bitter memory chasing away thesofter emotions of the preceding moment. "What did I do? Well, I didwhat a dozen other fellows might have done in my place. I soughtforgetfulness of the past by various means, tried to drown the thoughtof what had happened in every way I could, and merely succeeded indelivering myself over to a bondage a hundred times more terrible thanthat from which I was trying to escape. "

For the first time Iris looked perplexed. 

"I don't think I understand, " she said, and again Anstice's facechanged. 

"No, " he said, and his voice was gentle, "of course you don't. Andthere's no reason why you should. Let us leave the matter at that, MissWayne. I am grateful to you for listening so patiently to my story. "

"Ah, " she said, and her eyes were wistful, "but I should like to knowwhat you meant just now. Won't you tell me? Or do you think I am toostupid to understand?"

"No. But I think you are too young, " he said; and the girl coloured. 

"Of course if you would rather not----"

Something in her manner made him suddenly change his mind. 

"There is no reason why I should make a mystery of it, " he said. "Ihesitated about telling you because--well, for various reasons; butafter all you might as well know the truth. I tried to win forgetfulnessby the aid of drugs--morphia, to be exact. "

He had startled her now. 

"You took morphia----?" Her voice was dismayed. 

"Yes, for nearly six months I gave myself up to it. I told myself therewas no real danger for me--I knew the peril of it so well. I wasn't likethe people who go in ignorantly for the thing; and find themselves boundhand and foot, their lives in ruins round them. That is what I thought, in my folly. " He sighed, and his face looked careworn. "Well, I soonfound out that I was just like other people after all. I went into thething, thinking I should find a way out of my troubles. And I waswrong. "

"You gave it up?" Her voice was suddenly anxious. 

"Yes. In the nick of time I came across an old friend--a friend of mystudent days, who had been looking for me, unknown to me, for months. Hewanted me to do some research work for him--work that necessitatedvisiting hospitals in Paris and Berlin and Vienna--and I accepted thecommission only too gladly. "

"And--you gave up the terrible thing?"

"Yes. The new interest saved me, you know. I came back, after somemonths of hard work, and found my friend on the eve of starting with anexpedition for Central Africa, to study tropical diseases; and had therebeen a place for me I would have gone too. But there wasn't; and I was abit fagged, so after doing locum work for another friend for some time Ilooked about for a practice, bought this one--and here I am. "

"Dr. Anstice "--she spoke shyly, though her eyes met his bravely--"youwon't ever take that dreadful stuff again, will you? I am quite sure, "said Iris Wayne, "that _that_ is not the way out. "

"No, " he answered steadily, "you are quite right. It isn't. But I haven'tfound the way out yet. " He paused a moment; then held out his hand, andshe put her uninjured left hand into it rather wonderingly. "Still, Iwill not seek that way out again. I will promise--no, I won't promise, for I'm only human and I couldn't bear to break a promise to _you_--butI will do my best to avoid the deadly thing for the rest of my life. "

He pressed her hand gently, then dropped it as a sudden loud knocksounded on the door. 

"Come in. " They turned to see who the visitor might be; and to thesurprise of both in walked Bruce Cheniston, an unmistakable frown on hisface. 

"Hullo! It is you, after all, Iris!" Anstice noted the use of herChristian name, and in the same moment remembered there was along-standing friendship between the families. "I thought it was yourmotor-cycle I found by the roadside, with a lanky yokel mounting guardover it; and he said something about an accident----"

"Nothing very serious. " Iris smiled at him in friendly fashion, and hisface cleared. "I skidded--or the bicycle did--and I fell off and cut mywrist. "

"I found Miss Wayne sitting by the roadside binding up her wound, "interposed Anstice rather coldly, "and persuaded her to come in here andhave it properly seen to. If it had not been for the rain she would havebeen on her way home by now. "

"I see. It was lucky you passed. " Evidently Iris' presence prevented anydisplay of hostility. "Well, the rain is over now, but"--he glanced atIris' bandaged wrist--"you oughtn't to ride home if you're disabled. What do you say, Dr. Anstice?"

"I think, seeing it is the right wrist, it would be neither wise noreasy for Miss Wayne to ride, " said Anstice professionally, and Chenistonnodded. 

"Well, we will leave the cycle here, and send one of the men for itpresently, " he said. "Luckily I have got Chloe's car, and I can soon runyou over, Iris. I suppose that is your motor outside?" he added, turningto Anstice with sudden briskness. 

"Yes. " Anstice glanced towards the window. "It is fine now, and I mustbe off, at any rate. "

He packed the things he had used back into their little case, and turnedtowards the door. 

"Good morning, Miss Wayne. I hope your wrist won't give you any furtherpain. "

"Good-bye, Dr. Anstice. " She held out her left hand with a smile. "Everso many thanks. I don't know what I should have done if you had notpassed just then!"

The trio went out together, after a word to the mistress of the cottage;and Bruce helped Iris into the car with an air of proprietorship whichdid not escape the notice of the other man. 

"Hadn't you better start first, Dr. Anstice?" Cheniston spoke with coolcourtesy. "Your time is more valuable than ours, no doubt!"

"Thanks. Yes, I haven't time to waste. " His tone was equally cool. "Goodmorning, Miss Wayne. 'Morning, Cheniston. "

A moment later he had started his engine; and in yet another moment hiscar was out of sight round the corner of the road. 

CHAPTER VIII

After the episode in the wayside cottage on that showery morning of MayAnstice made no further attempt to avoid Iris Wayne. 

The way in which she had received his story had lifted a weight off hismind. She had not shrunk from him, as in his morbid distrust he hadfancied possible. Rather she had shown him only the sweetest, kindestpity; and it seemed to him that on the occasion of their next meetingshe had greeted him with a new warmth in her manner which was surelyintended to convey to him the fact that she had appreciated theconfidence he had bestowed upon her. 

Besides--like the rest of us Anstice was a sophist at heart--thekindness with which Sir Richard Wayne had consistently treated him wassurely deserving of gratitude at least. 

It would be discourteous, if nothing more, to refuse his invitationssave when the press of work precluded their acceptance; and so it cameabout that Anstice once more entered the hospitable doors which guardedGreengates, incidentally making the acquaintance of Lady Laura Wells, Sir Richard's widowed sister, who kept house for him with admirableskill, if at times with rather overbearing imperiousness. 

Sir Richard, for all his years, was hale and hearty and loved a game oftennis; so that when once Iris' wrist was healed there were many keenlycontested games during the long, light evenings--games in which Iris, partnered either by Cheniston or Anstice, darted about the court like ayoung Diana in her short white skirt and blouse open at the neck todisplay the firm, round throat which was one of her greatest charms. 

The antagonism between Anstice and Bruce Cheniston deepened steadilyduring these golden summer days. Had they met in differentcircumstances, had there been no question, however vague and undefined, of rivalry between them, it is possible there would have been nopositive hostility in their mutual attitude. Any genuine friendship wasnaturally debarred, seeing the nature of the memory they shared incommon; but it would have been conceivably possible for them to have metand recognized one another's existence with a neutrality which wouldhave covered a real but harmless distaste for each other's society. 

Having been forced, by an unkind Fate, into a position in which each sawin the other a possible rival, any neutrality was out of the question. It had not taken Anstice long to discover that Cheniston had so farrecovered from the loss of Hilda Ryder as to consider the possibility ofmaking another woman his wife; nor had Cheniston's eyes been less keen. 

He had very quickly discovered that Anstice was in love with prettyIris; and instantly a fire of opposition sprang into fierce flame in hisheart; and to himself he said that this man, having once deprived him ofhis chosen woman, should not again be permitted to come between him andhis desire. 

True, he did not profess to love Iris Wayne as he had loved Hilda Ryder;for no other woman in the world could ever fill the place in his lifeleft vacant by that untimely shot in the dawn of an Indian day. 

Until the hour in which he learned of Miss Ryder's tragic death BruceCheniston had been an ordinary easy-going youth, cleverer in some waysthan the average man, on a level with most as regarded his outlook onlife and its possibilities. He had never been very deeply moved overanything. Things had always gone smoothly with him, and he had passedthrough school and college with quite passable success and completesatisfaction in himself and his surroundings. His love for Hilda Ryderwas the best and highest thing in his whole life; and in his attempt tobecome what she believed him to be he rose to a higher mental and moralstature than he had ever before attained. 

And then had come the tragedy which had deprived him at once of the girlhe had loved and the incentive to a better, worthier manhood which herlove had supplied. For her sake he could have done much, could havevanquished all the petty failings, the selfish weaknesses which marredhis not otherwise unattractive character; but when Hilda Ryder vanishedfrom his life he lost something which he never regained. 

He grew older, harder, more cynical. His sunny boyishness, which hadeffectually masked the cold determination beneath, dropped from him as adiscarded garment; and the real man, the man whose possibilities HildaRyder had dimly presaged and had resolved to conquer, came to thesurface. 

He felt, perhaps naturally, that he had a grudge against Fate; and theimmediate result was to eliminate all softness from his character, andreplace such amiable weakness by a harsh determination to shape his lifehenceforth to his own design, if indeed strength of purpose and arelentless lack of consideration for any other living being couldcompass such an end. 

Fate had beaten him once. He was determined such victory should befinal; and during the last few years Bruce Cheniston had been known as aman who invariably achieved his object in whatever direction suchachievement lay--a man of whom his friends prophesied that he wouldsurely go far; while his enemies, a small number, certainly, for on thewhole he was popular, labelled him ruthless in the pursuit of hisparticular aims. 

Perhaps he was not to blame for the metamorphosis which followed HildaRyder's death. For the first time he had loved a human being better thanhimself; so that the reaction which fell upon his spirit when herealized that his love was no longer needed was in its very naturesevere. 

Never again would he rise to the height of greatness to which his lovefor Hilda Ryder had raised him; and whatever the quality of anyaffection he might in future bestow upon a woman, the spark ofimmortality, of selflessness, which had undoubtedly inspired his firstand truest love, would never again be kindled in his heart. 

Yet in his way Bruce was attracted to Iris Wayne. On their last meetingshe had been a little schoolgirl, a pretty creature, certainly, but notto be compared with the beautiful and gracious Hilda, to whom he wasnewly betrothed. Yet now, on meeting her again, he was bound to confessthat Iris was wonderfully attractive; and in a strangely short period oftime he came, by imperceptible degrees, to look upon her as a possiblesuccessor to the woman he had lost. 

The fact that Anstice too found her desirable was stimulating. One ofCheniston's newly-acquired characteristics was a tendency to covet anyobject on which another had set his heart; and although in matters ofbusiness this trait was possibly excusable enough, in this instance itseemed likely to prove fatal to Anstice's happiness. 

 * * * * *

Which of the two men Iris herself preferred it would have taken amagician to understand. 

With Bruce she was always her gayest self, plying him with eagerquestions concerning his life in Egypt; and she was quite evidentlyflattered by the pains he took to charm and interest her with hispicturesque narratives of experiences in the land of the Nile. He was, moreover, at her service at all times, always ready to take hermotor-cycling, or to play tennis or golf with her; and although Iris wasas free from vanity as any girl could possibly be, it was not unpleasingto her youthful self-esteem to find a man like Cheniston over ready ather beck and call. 

With Anstice she was quieter, shyer, more serious; yet Sir Richard, whowatched the trio, as it were from afar, had a suspicion sometimes thatthe Iris whom Anstice knew was a more real, more genuine person than thegay and frivolous girl who laughed through the sunny hours with theyounger man. 

So the days passed on; and if Anstice was once more living in a fools'Paradise, this time the key which unlocked the Gate of Dreams was madeof purest gold. 

 * * * * *

In the middle of July Iris was to celebrate the eighteenth anniversaryof her birth; and rather to Anstice's dismay he found that the event wasto be marked by a large and festive merry-making--nothing less, in fact, than a dinner-party, followed by a dance to be held in the rarely-usedballroom for which Greengates had been once famous. 

"You'll come, of course, Dr. Anstice?" Iris asked the question one sunnyafternoon as she prepared an iced drink for her visitor, after astrenuous game of tennis. "You do dance, don't you? For my part I coulddance for ever. "

"I do dance, yes, " he said, taking the tumbler she held out to him, witha word of thanks. "But I don't think a ball is exactly in my linenowadays. "

"It's not a ball, " she said gaily. "Aunt Laura doesn't approve of oven adance, seeing I'm not really 'out' till I've been presented nextyear--but Dad has been a perfect dear and says we can dance as long aswe like down here where none of our London relations can see us!"

"Well, dance or ball, I suppose it will be a large affair?" He smiled ather, and she told herself that he grew younger every day. 

"About a hundred and fifty, I suppose, " she said lightly. "The room holdstwo hundred, but a crowded room is hateful--though an empty one would bealmost worse. Anyhow, you are invited, first of all. Dinner is at seven, because we want to start dancing at nine. Will you come?"

Just for a second he hesitated. Then:

"Of course I'll come, " he said recklessly. "But you must promise me atleast three dances, or I shall plead an urgent telephone call and fly inthe middle!"

"Three!" Her grey eyes laughed into his. "That's rather greedy!Well--I'll give you two, and--perhaps--an extra. "

"That's a promise, " he said, and taking out a small notebook he made anentry therein. "And now, in view of coming frivolities, I must go andcontinue my day's work. "

He rose and looked round the lovely old garden rather regretfully. 

"How lucky you are to be able to spend the summer days in such a cool, shady spot as this! I wish you could see some of the stuffy cottages Igo into round here--windows hermetically sealed, and even thefireplaces, when there are any, blocked up!"

She looked at him rather strangely. 

"Do you know. Dr. Anstice, " she said, irrelevantly, it seemed, "I don'tbelieve you ought to be a doctor. Oh, I don't mean you aren't veryclever--and kind--but somehow I don't believe you were meant to spendyour days going in and out of stuffy cottages and attending to littlevillage children with measles and whooping-cough!"

"Don't you?" Anstice leaned against the trunk of the big cedar underwhich she sat, and apparently forgot the need for haste. "To tell youthe truth I sometimes wonder to find myself here. When I was younger, you know, I never intended to go in for general practice. I had dreams, wild dreams of specializing. I was ambitious, and intended making somemarvellous discovery which should revolutionize medical science. .. . "

He broke off abruptly, and when he spoke again his voice held the oldbitter note which she had not heard of late. 

"Well, that's all over. I lost ambition when I lost everything else, andnow I suppose I shall go on to the end of the chapter as a generalpractitioner, attending old women in stuffy cottages, and children withmeasles and whooping-cough!"

He laughed; but Iris' face was grave. 

"But, Dr. Anstice"--she spoke rather slowly--"isn't it possible foryou to go back to those dreams and ambitions? Suppose you were tostart again--to try once more to make the discovery you speak of. Mightn't it . .. " her voice faltered a moment, but her grey eyes weresteady, ". .. Mightn't that be the way out--for you?"

There was a sudden silence, broken only by the cooing of a wood-pigeonin a tall tree close at hand. Then Anstice said thoughtfully:

"I wonder? Supposing that were the way out, after all?"

Ha gazed at her with a long and steady gaze which was yet oddlyimpersonal, and she met his eyes bravely, though the carnation flushdeepened in her cheeks. Just as she opened her lips to reply a new voicebroke upon their ears. 

"Good afternoon, Iris. Am I too late for a game of tennis?"

Bruce Cheniston, racquet in hand, had come round the corner of theshrubbery, and as she heard his voice Iris turned to him swiftly. 

"Oh, good afternoon! You are late, aren't you? We waited for you ever solong, then as you did not come Dr. Anstice and I played a single. "

"Oh. " He looked rather curiously at the other man. "Which was thevictor? You?"

"Oh, Dr. Anstice always beats me!" Iris laughed. "You and I are moreevenly matched, Bruce--though I confess you generally win. "

"Well, come and have a sett before the light goes. " He glanced again atAnstice. "Unless Anstice is giving you your revenge?"

"No, I'm off. " Anstice straightened himself and held out his hand. "Good-bye, Miss Wayne. Thanks so much for our game. "

"Good-bye. " She smiled at him with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Youwon't forget the fifteenth? I shan't believe any excuses about urgentcases!"

He smiled too. 

"I shan't tax your credulity, " he said, "and I hope you won't forgetyour promise!"

Their mutual smile, and the hint of an understanding between them whichAnstice's last words, perhaps intentionally, conveyed, brought a frownto Cheniston's bronzed forehead. 

"Oh, by the way, Anstice"--he spoke very deliberately, looking the otherman full in the face the while--"I want to have a chat with you--on amatter of some little importance to us both. When are you likely to beat liberty?"

The brightness died from Anstice's face; and when he answered his voicewas devoid of any note of youth. 

"I am generally at liberty late in the evening, " he said coolly. "If thematter is important I can see you at nine o clock to-night. You'll cometo my place?"

"Thanks. " Bruce took out his cigarette case and having selected acigarette handed the case to the other. "Then, if convenient to you, Iwill be round at nine this evening. "

"Very good. " Anstice declined a cigarette rather curtly. "If I should beunavoidably detained elsewhere I will ring you up. "

"Right. " Bruce picked up his racquet and turned to Iris as though to saythe subject was closed. "Are you ready, Iris? You like this side best, Iknow. "

And, with a sudden premonition of evil at his heart, Anstice turned awayand left them together in the sunny garden. 

CHAPTER IX

"Well, Dr. Anstice, I have come, as you see. "

Cheniston entered the room on the stroke of nine, and Anstice turnedfrom the window with an oddly reluctant movement. 

The golden day was dying, slowly, in the west. In the clear green skyone or two silver stars shone steadily, and in the little garden beyondthe house the white moths circled eagerly round the tall yellow eveningprimroses which reared arrogant heads among their sleeping brother andsister flowers. 

Anstice's room was lighted only by a couple of candles, placed on thewriting-table; but neither man desired a brilliant lightto-night--Anstice because he realized that this interview was a fatefulone, Cheniston because, although he had come here with the intention ofmaking havoc of a man's life, he was not particularly anxious to watchthat man's face during the process. 

"Yes. I see you have come. " Anstice pointed to a chair. "Sit down, won'tyou? And will you have a drink?"

"No, thanks. " Somehow Anstice's manner made Cheniston feeluncomfortable; and it was suddenly impossible to accept hospitality ofany kind from his rival. 

"Well?" As Cheniston made no attempt to seat himself, Anstice, too, stood upright, and the two faced one another with the lighted candlesbetween them. 

"I wonder----" Cheniston drew out his cigarette case and selected acigarette, which he proceeded to light with extreme care. "I wonder ifyou have any idea what I have come to say?"

On his side Anstice took a cigarette from an open box before him, but hedid not light it, yet. 

"I was never very good at guessing conundrums, " he said coolly. "Supposeyou tell me, without more ado, why you have--honoured me to-night?"

His tone, the deliberate pause before he uttered the word, showedCheniston plainly that his motive was suspected, and his mannerhardened. 

"I will tell you, as you wish, without more ado, " he said. "Only--it isalways a little awkward to introduce a lady's name. "

"Awkward, yes; and sometimes unnecessary. " Anstice's eyes, stern beneaththeir level brows, met the other man's in a definitely hostile gaze. "Are you quite sure it is necessary now?"

"I think so. " His tone was every whit as hostile. "The lady to whom Irefer is, as you have doubtless guessed by now, Miss Wayne. "

"I gathered as much from your manner. " Anstice spoke coldly. "Well? Ireally don't see why Miss Wayne's name should be mentioned between us, but----"

"Don't you?" Cheniston's blue eyes gleamed in his brown face. "I thinkyou do. Look here, Anstice. There is nothing to be gained by hedging. Let us fight fair and square, gloves off, if you like, and acknowledgethat we both admire and respect Miss Wayne very deeply. "

"I quite agree with that. " Anstice's eyes, too, began to glitter. "And--having said so much, what then?"

"Well, having cleared the ground so far, suppose we go a little further. I think--you will correct me if I am wrong in my surmise--I think I amright in saying that we both cherish a dream in regard to Miss Wayne. "

His unexpected phraseology made Anstice pause before he replied. Therewas a touch of pathos, an unlooked-for poetry about the words whichseemed to intimate that whatever his attitude towards the world ingeneral, Cheniston's regard for Iris Wayne was no light thing; and whenhe replied Anstice's voice had lost a little of its hostility. 

"As to your dreams I can say nothing, " he said quietly. "For mine--well, a man's dreams are surely his own. "

"Certainly, when they interfere with no other man's visions. " Brucehesitated a moment. "But in this case--look here, Anstice, once beforeyou shattered a dream of mine, broke it into a thousand fragments; andby so doing took something from my life which can never be replaced. Ithink you understand my meaning?"

White to the lips Anstice answered him:

"Yes. I do understand. And if ever a man regretted the breaking of adream I have regretted it. But----"

"Wait. " Cheniston interrupted him ruthlessly. "Hear me out. It is threeyears since that day in India when the woman I loved died by your hand. Oh"--Anstice had made an involuntary movement--"I am not here to heapblame upon you. I have since recognized that you could have done nothingelse----"

"For that, at least, I thank you, " said Anstice bitterly. 

"But you can't deny you did me an ill turn on that fatal morning. And"--Cheniston threw away his cigarette impatiently--"are you preparedto make amends--now--or not?"

For a second Anstice's heart seemed to stop beating. Then it throbbedfiercely on again, for he knew he had guessed Bruce Cheniston's meaning. 

"Make amends?" He spoke slowly to gain time. "Will you explain just whatyou mean?"

"Certainly. " Yet for all his ready reply Cheniston hesitated. "Imean--we're both of us in love with Iris Wayne. Oh"--Anstice hadmuttered something--"let's be honest, anyway. As to which--if either--ofus she prefers, I'm as much in the dark as you. But"--his voice was coldand hard as iron--"having robbed me of one chance of happiness, are yougoing to rob me--try to rob me--of another?"

In the silence which followed his last words a big brown moth, attractedby the yellow candlelight, blundered into the room, and began to fluttermadly round the unresponsive flame; and in the poignant hush the beatingof his foolish wings sounded loudly, insistently. 

Then Anstice spoke very quietly. 

"You mean I am to stand aside and let you have a fair field with thelady?" He could not bring himself to mention her name. 

"Yes. That's just what I do mean. " Cheniston spoke defiantly--or so itseemed to the man who listened. 

Again the silence fell, and again the only sound to be heard was thesoft flutter of the brown wings as the moth circled vainly round thecandle flame which would inevitably prove fatal to him by and by. 

"I see. " Anstice's face was very pale now. "At least you do me thehonour of looking upon me in the light of a possible rival. "

"I do--and I'll go further, " said Cheniston suddenly. "I have anuncomfortable notion that if you tried you could cut me out. Oh--I'm notsure"--he regretted the admission as soon as it was made--"after all, Miss Wayne and I are excellent friends, and upon my soul I sometimesdare to think I have a chance. But she has a great regard for you, Iknow, and if you really set out to win her----"

"I'm afraid you overrate my capabilities, " said Anstice rathercynically. "Miss Wayne has certainly never given me the slightest reasonto suppose she would be ready to listen to me, did I overstep the boundsof friendship. "

"Of course not!" Cheniston smiled grimly. "Miss Wayne is not the sort ofgirl to give any man encouragement. But as a man of honour, Anstice"--again his voice cut like steel--"don't you think I have theprior right to the first innings, so to speak?"

"You mean I am to stand aside, efface myself, and let you chip in beforeme?" His colloquial speech accorded badly with his formal tone. "I quitesee your point of view; and no doubt you think yourself justified inyour demand; but still----"

"I do think I'm justified, yes, " broke in Cheniston coolly. "After all, if one man has a precious stone, a diamond, let us say, and another manmanages to lose it, well in the unlikely event of the two of themdiscovering another stone, which of them has the best right to the newone?"

"That's a pretty ingenious simile, " said Anstice slowly. "But it's afalse premise all the same. The diamond would naturally have no voice inthe matter of its ownership. But the woman in the case might reasonablybe expected to have the power of choice. "

"But that's just what I'm anxious to avoid. " So much in earnest was thespeaker that he did not realize the fatuity of his words till they wereout of his mouth. Then he uttered an impatient exclamation. 

"Oh, hang it all, don't let's stand here arguing. You see the point, that's enough. I honestly feel that since it was through you that I lostHilda Ryder"--even though he was prepared to woo another woman his voicesoftened over the name--"it will be doubly hard if you are to comebetween me and the only other girl I've ever put in Miss Ryder's place. "

"I see the point, as I said before, " returned Anstice deliberately. "Butwhat I don't see is the justice of it. You've admitted I was not toblame in doing what I did that day; yet in the same breath in which youacquit me of the crime you expect me to pay the penalty!"

For a second this logical argument took Cheniston aback. Then, for hisheart was set on winning Iris Wayne, he condescended to plead. 

"Yes. I admit all that--and I can see I haven't a leg to stand on. But--morally--or in a spiritual sense so to speak, don't you thinkyourself that I have just the shadow of a right to ask you to standaside?"

"Yes. " His assent was unflinching, though his lips were white. "You havethat right, and that's why I'm listening to you to-night. But--don't youthink we are both taking a wrong view of the matter? What faintestgrounds have we for supposing Miss Wayne will listen to either of us?"

"Oh, that's not an insurmountable obstacle. " Cheniston saw the victorywas won, and in an instant he was awake to the expediency of clinchingthe matter finally. "We don't know, of course, that she will listeneither to me or to you. But for my part I am ready to take my chance. And"--at the last moment the inherent honesty of the man came to thesurface through all the unscrupulous bargain he was driving--"my chanceis a hundred times better if you withdraw from the contest. "

"I see. " With an effort Anstice crushed down the tide of revolt whichswept over his heart. "As you say, I owe you something for that evilturn I did you, unwittingly, in India. And if you fix this as the priceof my debt I suppose, as an honourable man, there is nothing for me todo but to pay that price. "

Bruce Cheniston looked away quickly. Somehow he did not care to meet theother man's eyes at that moment. 

"One thing only I would like to ask of you. " Anstice's manner was notthat of a man asking a favour. "If Miss Wayne remains impervious to yourentreaties"--Cheniston coloured angrily, suspecting sarcasm--"will yoube good enough to let me know?"

"Certainly. " Cheniston was suddenly anxious to leave the house, to quitthe presence of this man who spoke so quietly even while his black eyesflamed in his haggard face. "I will try my luck at once--within the nextweek or two. See here, Miss Wayne's birthday dance comes off shortly. If, after that, I have not won her consent, I will quit the field. Isthat fair?"

"Quite fair. " Suddenly Anstice laughed harshly. "And you think I canthen step forward and try my luck. Why, you fool, can't you see that forboth of us this is the psychological moment--that the man who hangs backnow is lost? I am to wait in the background while you go forward andseize the golden minute? Well"--his voice had a bitter ring--"I'veagreed, and you've got your way; but for God's sake go before I repentof the bargain. "

Cheniston, startled by his manner, moved backward suddenly; and a chairwent over with a crash which set the nerves of both men jarring. 

"When you've quite done smashing my furniture"--Anstice's jocularity wassavage--"perhaps you'll be good enough to clear out. I won't pretend I'manxious for more of your company to-night!"

Cheniston picked up the chair, and placed it against the table withquite meticulous care. 

"I'll go. " He suddenly felt as though the man who stood opposite, theflame from the candles flickering over his face with an odd effect oflight and shadow, had after all come off the best in this horribleinterview. "I--I suppose it's no use saying any more, Anstice. You know, after all"--in spite of his words he felt an irresistible inclination tojustify himself--"you do owe me something----"

"Well? Have I denied it?" Now his tone was coldly dangerous. "I havepromised to pay a debt which after all was incurred quite blamelessly;but if you expect me to enter into further details of the transaction, you are out in your reckoning. "

"I see. " Suddenly the resentment which Cheniston had felt for this mansince their first meeting flamed into active hatred. "Well, I have yourword, and that's enough. As you say, this is a business transaction, andthe less said the better. Good night. "

He turned abruptly away and plunged through the shadowy room towards thedoor. As he reached it, Anstice spoke again. 

"Cheniston. " There was a note in his voice which no other man ofAnstice's acquaintance had ever heard. "In proposing this bargain, thispayment of a debt, I think you show yourself a hard and a pitilesscreditor. But if, in these circumstances, you fail to win Miss Wayne, Ishall think you are a fool--a damned fool--as well. That's all. Goodnight. "

Without, another word Cheniston opened the door and went out, letting itfall to behind him with a bang. And Anstice, left alone, extinguishedboth candles impatiently, as though he could not bear even their feeblelight; and going to the open window stood gazing out over the starlitgarden with eyes which saw nothing of the green peacefulness without. 

And on the table, the big brown moth, scorched to death by his adoredflame in the very moment of his most passionate delight, fluttered hisburnt wings feebly and lay still. 

CHAPTER X

Having given Cheniston his word, Anstice set himself to carry out hisshare of the bargain with a thoroughness which did not preclude a verybitter regret that he had made this fatal promise. 

As he had been of late in the habit of spending a good deal of time inthe society of Iris Wayne, it was only natural that his absence shouldcause comment at Greengates; but while Lady Laura openly labelledAnstice as capricious and inclined to rate his own value too highly, SirRichard more charitably supposed that the poor fellow was overworked;and Iris, after a day or two spent in futile conjecture as to the suddencessation of his visits, accepted the fact of Anstice's defection with acomposure which was a little hurt. 

She had thought they were such friends. Once or twice she had evenfancied he was beginning to like her--even to herself Iris would notadmit the possibility of any return of liking on her side; and on theoccasion of their meeting in the wayside cottage, when he had bandagedher wrist, he had spoken to her in a more confidential, more reallyintimate manner than he had ever before displayed. 

In the weeks that followed that sudden leap into intimacy, they had beensuch good comrades, had enjoyed so many half-playful, half-seriousconversations, had played so many thrilling tennis matches, that it wassmall wonder she had begun to look upon him as one of her most genuinefriends; and his sudden absence hurt her pride, and made her wonderwhether, after all, his friendliness had been merely a pretence. 

Once or twice he met her in the village, but he only saluted her andhurried on his way; while the invitations which the ever-hospitable SirRichard insisted on sending him were refused with excuses so shallowthat even the good-natured host of Greengates refrained from comment. 

The contrast between this ungracious behaviour and Bruce Cheniston'sopen delight in her society was strongly marked; and the friendliness ofthe younger man brought balm to Iris' sore heart, sore with the firstrebuff of her budding womanhood. When Anstice failed her, refused herinvitations, and appeared indifferent to her smiles, it was undoubtedlysoothing to feel that in Cheniston she had a friend who asked nothingbetter than to be in her company at all hours, to do her bidding, and topay her that half-laughing, half-earnest homage which was so delicateand sincere a tribute to her charms. 

Anstice had spoken truly when he said the psychological moment was athand. Until the day when his visits to Greengates ceased abruptly Irishad been inclined, ever so unconsciously, to look upon Anstice with aslightly deeper, more genuine regard than that which she gave to theother man; and had Anstice been able to seize the moment, to follow upthe impression he had made upon her, it is possible she, would havelistened to him with favour, and the tiny seed of affection whichundoubtedly lay in her heart would have burst into a lovely and preciousblossom which would have beautified and made fragrant the rest of theirlives. 

But Anstice might not seize the moment; and although Bruce Cheniston hadhitherto taken the second place in Iris' esteem, when once she realizedthat Anstice had apparently no intention of renewing their latefriendship she gently put the thought of him out of her heart and turnedfor relief to the man who had not failed her. 

So matters stood on the morning of Iris' birthday, a glorious day inmid-July, when the gardens of Greengates were all ablaze with roses andsweet-peas, with tall white lilies whose golden hearts flung sweetestincense on the soft air, with great masses of Canterbury bells and giantphlox making gorgeous splashes of colour, mauve and red and white andpalest pink, against their background of velvet lawns and dark-greencedar trees. 

This was the day on which Bruce Cheniston had decided to put his fortuneto the test; and as he looked out of his window at Cherry Orchard andnoted the misty blue haze which foretold a day of real summer heat, hetold himself that on such a day as this there could be no need to fear areverse in his present luck. 

He whistled as he dressed, and when the breakfast-bell rang he wentdownstairs feeling at peace with himself and all the world. 

"'Morning, Chloe. What a day!" He stooped and kissed his sister as hepassed behind her chair, and she looked faintly amused at the unusualsalutation. 

"Yes. A beautiful day. " Her deep voice expressed little pleasure in themorning's beauty. "Are you going anywhere particular that the fineweather fills you with such joy?"

"No--only over to Greengates. " He was so accustomed to making this replythat it came out almost automatically and certainly caused Chloe nosurprise. 

"It's Iris' birthday, isn't it, Bruce?" Cherry flatly refused to endowher uncle with the title which rightly belonged to him. "What are yougoing to give her?"

"Give her? Well, come round here, and you shall see. "

Nothing loth, Cherry obeyed, and stood beside him attentively while heopened a small leather case and took out a pair of earrings eachconsisting of a tiny, pear-shaped moonstone dangling at the end of athin platinum chain. 

"Earrings! But Iris hasn't any holes in her ears, my dear!" Cherry'sconsternation was genuine. 

"I know that, you little goose! But these don't want holes--see, youscrew them on like this. "

He took one of her little pink ears in his fingers and screwed on theearring deftly. 

"There, run and look at yourself, " he commanded, and she trotted away toan oval glass which hung on the wall between the long windows. As shemoved, Cheniston passed the remaining earring to his sister. 

"What do you say, Chloe--is it a suitable present for her ladyship!"

Chloe took up the little trinket with a rather dubious air. 

"Somehow I don't think I can fancy Iris wearing earrings, " she said; andBruce, who had a respect for his sister's opinion which she herself didnot suspect, looked rueful. 

"But, Chloe, why not? You always wear them?"

"Certainly I do. " As a matter of fact she did, and the pearls orsapphires which she affected were as much a part of her personality asher black hair or her narrow blue eyes. "But then Iris is a differentsort of person. She is younger, more natural, more unsophisticated; andI'm not quite sure whether these pretty things will suit her charmingface. "

"Oh!" Bruce's own face fell, and for once Chloe felt an impulse ofcompassion with another's disappointment. 

"At any rate they are very dainty and girlish, " she said, handing backthe case. "I congratulate you on your taste, Bruce. You might veryeasily have got more elaborate ones--like some of mine--which would havebeen very inappropriate to a girl. "

"Why do you always speak of yourself as though you were a middle-agedwoman, Chloe?" asked her brother with a sudden curiosity. "You seem toforget you are younger than I--why, you are only twenty-six now. "

"Am I?" Her smile was baffling. "In actual years I believe I am. But inthought, in feeling, in everything, I am a hundred years older than you, Bruce. "

Cherry's return to her uncle's side with a request to him to take out"the dangly thing what tickles my ear" cut short Bruce's reply, andbreakfast proceeded tranquilly, while the sun shone gaily and the rosesfor which Cherry Orchard was famous scented the soft, warm air whichfloated in through the widely-opened windows. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile Anstice was in a quandary on this beautiful summer morning. 

Before he had pledged his word to Cheniston to stand aside and leave thefield open to his rival, he had gladly accepted Iris' invitation to herbirthday dinner and dance; but the thought of the dances she hadpromised him had changed from a source of anticipatory delight to one ofthe sheerest torment. 

It had not been easy to avoid her. There had been hours in which he hadhad to restrain himself by every means in his power from rushing over toGreengates to implore her pardon for his discourtesy, and to beg her toreceive him back into her most desirable favour. It had cost him aneffort whose magnitude had left him cold and sick to greet her distantlyon the rare occasions of their meeting; and many times he had been readyto throw his promise to the winds, to repudiate the horrible bargain hehad struck, and to tell her plainly in so many words that he loved herand wanted her for his wife. 

But he never yielded to the temptation. He had pledged his word, andsomehow the thought that he was paying the price, now, for Hilda Ryder'suntimely death, brought, ever and again, a fleeting sense of comfort asthough the sacrifice of his own chance of happiness was an offering laidat her feet in expiation of the wrong he had all unwittingly wroughther. 

But his heart sank at the idea of facing Iris once more, and the thoughtof her as she would surely be, the centre and queen of all the evening'sgaiety, was almost unendurable. 

At times he told himself that he could not go to Greengates that night. He was only human, and the sight of her, dressed, as she would surelybe, in some shimmering airy thing which would enhance all her beauty, would break down his steadfast resolve. He could not be with her in thewarm summer night, hold her in his arms in the dance, while the music ofthe violins throbbed in his ears, the perfume of a thousand rosesintoxicated all his senses, and not cry out his love, implore her to bekind as she was fair, to readmit him to her friendship, and grant him, presently, the privileges of a lover. .. . 

And then, in the next moment he told himself he could not bear to missthe meeting with her. He must go, must see her once more, see the widegrey eyes beneath their crown of sunny hair, hear her sweet, kind voice, touch her hand. .. . 

And then yet another thought beset him. What guarantee had he that IrisWayne would welcome him to her birthday feast? He had thrown herkindness back into her face, had first accepted and then carelesslyrepudiated her friendship; and it was only too probable she had writtenhim down as a casual and discourteous trifler with whom, in future, shedesired to hold no intercourse. 

The sunshiny day which the rest of the world found so beautiful was onelong torment to Anstice. Restless, undecided, unhappy, he went about hiswork with set lips and a haggard face, and those of his patients who hadlately found him improved to a new and attractive sociability revisedtheir later impressions of him in favour of their first and lesspleasing ones. 

At five o'clock, acting on sudden impulse, he rang up Greengates andasked for Miss Wayne. 

After a short delay she came, and as he heard her soft voice over thewire Anstice's face grew grim with controlled emotion. 

"Is that you, Dr. Anstice?"

"Yes, Miss Wayne. I wanted to say--but first, may I wish you--many happyreturns of your birthday?"

"Thanks very much. " Straining his ears to catch every inflection in hervoice, Anstice thought he detected a note of coldness. "By the way, werethose beautiful sweet-peas from you--the ones that came at twelveo'clock to-day?"

"I sent them, yes. " So much, at least, he had permitted himself to do. 

"They were lovely--thank you so much for them. " Iris spoke with a triflemore warmth, and for a moment Anstice faltered in his purpose. "You arecoming to dinner presently, aren't you? Seven o'clock, because of thedance. "

"Miss Wayne, I'm sorry . .. " the lie almost choked him, but he hurriedon, ". .. I can't get over to Greengates in time for dinner. I--I have acall--into the country--and can't get back before eight or nine. "

"Oh!" For a moment Iris was silent, and to the man at the other end ofthe wire it seemed an eternity before she spoke again. Then: "I'msorry, " said Iris gently. "But you will come to the dance afterwards?"

For a second Anstice wavered. It would be wiser to refuse, to allegeuncertainty, at least, to leave himself a loophole of escape did he findit impossible to trust himself sufficiently to go. He opened his lips totell her he feared it might be difficult to get away, to prepare her forhis probable absence; and then:

"Of course I will come to the dance, " he said steadily. "I would notmiss it for anything in the world!"

And he rang off hastily, fearing what he might be tempted to say if theconversation were allowed to continue another moment. 

 * * * * *

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Anstice entered the hall of Greengatesthat night; and by that time dancing was in full swing. 

By an irony of Fate he had been called out when just on the point ofstarting, and had obeyed the summons reluctantly enough. 

The fact that his importunate patient was a tiny girl who was gaspingher baby life away in convulsions changed his reluctance into anenergetic desire to save the pretty little creature's life at any cost;but all his skill was of no avail, and an hour after he entered thehouse the child died. 

Even then he could not find it in his heart to hurry away. The baby'sparents, who were young and sociable people, had been, like himself, invited to the dance at Greengates--had, indeed, been ready to startwhen the child was taken ill; and the contrast between the youngmother's frantic grief and her glittering ball-gown and jewels struckAnstice as an almost unendurable irony. 

When at last he was able to leave the stricken house, having done all inhis power to lighten the horror of the dreary hour, he was in no moodfor gaiety, and for a few moments he meditated sending a message to sayhe was, after all, unable to be present at the dance. 

Then the vision of Iris rose again before his eyes, and immediatelyeverything else faded from his world, and he hastened to Greengates, arriving just as the clock struck eleven. 

He saw her the moment he entered the room after greeting Sir Richard andLady Laura in the hall. She was dancing with Cheniston, and Anstice hadnever seen her look more radiant. 

She was wearing the very shimmering white frock in which he had picturedher, a filmy chiffon thing which set off her youthful beauty to itshighest perfection; and the pearls which lay on her milky throat, thesatin slippers which cased her slender feet, the bunch of lilies-of-thevalley at her breast, were details in so charming a picture that othersbesides Anstice found her distractingly pretty to-night. 

And as he noted her happy look, the air of serene content with which sheyielded her slim form to her partner's guidance, the light in the greyeyes which smiled into Cheniston's face, Anstice's heart gave one bitterthrob and then lay heavy as a stone in his breast. 

He hardly doubted that she was won already; and in Cheniston's proud andassured bearing he thought he read the story of that winning. 

As he stood against the wall, unconscious of the curious glancesdirected towards him, the music ceased, and the dancers came pouring outof the ballroom to seek the fresher air without. 

Passing him on her partner's arm, Iris suddenly withdrew her hand andturned to greet the late comer. 

"Dr. Anstice!" It seemed as though her inward happiness must needs findan outlet, so radiant was the smile with which she greeted him. "Youhave really come! I thought you had failed us after all. "

"No--I was sent for, at the last moment. " Something in his strained toneseemed to startle the girl, for her eyes dilated, and with an effortAnstice spoke more lightly. "I couldn't get away, Miss Wayne, but youwon't visit my misfortunes on my head, will you? You promised me somedances----"

"One has had to go. " She looked down at her card. "I kept the fifth foryou, but you may have the next if you like. I did not engage myself forthat, thinking"--she paused, then smiled at him frankly--"thinking youmight come after all. "

Scarcely knowing what he did Anstice made some rejoinder; and thenCheniston, who had turned away for a moment, appeared to observe Ansticefor the first time, and giving him a nod said rather curtly:

"Evening, Anstice; you've got here then, after all? Well, Iris, shall wego and get cool after that energetic waltz?"

They drifted out into the hall; and watching them go Anstice toldhimself again that Cheniston had won the day. 

 * * * * *

"Shall we sit out, Dr. Anstice?" He thought Iris looked at him ratherstrangely. "I . .. I am rather tired--and hot--but still----"

"Let us sit out by all means, Miss Wayne. Shall we go into theconservatory? It is quite cool there--and quiet. "

She agreed at once; and two minutes later he found her a seat in acorner beneath a big overshadowing palm. 

Now that she was beside him he felt his self-control failing him. Shewas so pretty in her white gown with the pearls on her neck and thedelicate moonstones dangling in her little ears. .. . 

"Dr. Anstice"--it was the girl who broke the silence--"do you know youhave treated us very badly of late? You have never been near us forweeks, and our tennis match has not been decided after all!"

"I know I've behaved disgracefully"--his voice shook, and she halfregretted her impulsive words--"but--well, I'm not exactly a free agent, Miss Wayne. "

"No, I suppose a doctor rarely is, " she answered thoughtfully; and hedid not correct her misapprehension of his meaning. 

"But I don't want you to think me ungrateful for your kindness. " Somuch, at least, he might say. "If I have appeared discourteous, pleasebelieve that in my heart I have always fully appreciated yourgoodness--and that of your father. "

She said nothing for a moment, looking down at her satin slippersabsently; and he did not attempt to interrupt her reverie. 

Then, with rather startling irrelevance, she said slowly:

"Dr. Anstice, have you ever been in Egypt? I know you have travelled alot, and I thought perhaps----"

"No. " Suddenly at this apparently innocent question a foreboding of evilfell on Anstice's soul with a crushing weight. "As you say, I havetravelled a good deal; but somehow I have never visited Egypt. Why doyou ask?"

"Because----" For yet another moment Iris hesitated, as though uncertainwhether or no to proceed. And then, suddenly, she turned to face himwith something in her eyes which Anstice could not fathom. "I askedbecause it is possible I may go to live in Egypt some day. "

"I see, " said Anstice very quietly. "You mean--Miss Wayne, I won'tpretend to misunderstand you--you mean that Cheniston has asked you tomarry him, and you have said yes. "

Now the rosy colour flooded the girl's face until even her ears werepink; but her grey eyes met his frankly, and when she spoke her voicerang happily. 

"You've guessed my secret very quickly, " she said, relievedunconsciously by his calm manner and friendly tone. "Yes. Mr. Chenistonasked me to marry him an hour ago, and I agreed. And so, as he wants tobe married almost at once, I shall have to prepare myself to live inEgypt, for a time at least. "

"I don't think you need dread the prospect, " he said, and his voice wascreditably steady, though the world seemed to be crashing down in ruinsaround him. "Egypt must be a wonderfully fascinating country, andnowadays one doesn't look upon it as a land of exile. When do you thinkyou will be going, Miss Wayne?"

"Well, Bruce has to be back in November, " she said, "so if we are reallyto be married first"--again the rosy colour flooded her face--"itdoesn't give me much time to get ready. "

"No. I suppose I ought to congratulate you. " He was beginning to feel hecould not bear this torture much longer. "At least--it is Cheniston whois to be congratulated. But you--I can only wish you all possiblehappiness. I _do_ wish it--from the bottom of my heart. "

He held out his hand and she put her slender fingers into it. For justthe fraction of a second longer than convention required he held them inhis clasp; then he laid her hand down gently on her filmy chiffon knee. 

"Miss Wayne"--he spoke rather hoarsely--"I wonder if you will think me abear if I run away after this dance? I would not have missed these fewminutes with you for anything the world might offer me; but somehow I amnot in tune with gaiety to-night. "

She shot a quick glance at his haggard face; and even in the midst ofher own happy excitement she felt a vivid impulse of sympathy. 

"Dr. Anstice, I'm so sorry. " Just for an instant she laid her fingersgently on his arm; and the light touch made him wince. "You said whenyou came in that you had been detained, and you looked so serious Ithought it must have been something dreadful which had kept you. I don'twonder you find all this"--she waved her small white fan comprehensivelyround--"jars upon you--now. "

"Yes, " he said, snatching at the opening she gave him, and longing onlyfor the moment when he might say good-bye and leave her adorable, maddening presence. "It jars, as you say--not because it isn't alldelightful and inspiring in itself, but because"--suddenly he felt aninexplicably savage desire to hurt her, as a man in pain may seek towound his tenderest nurse--"because not many miles away from herethere's a poor mother weeping, like Rachel, for her child, and refusingto be comforted. "

She turned pale, and he felt like a murderer as he watched the light dieout of her big grey eyes. 

"A child--the child you went to see--it died?"

"Yes. She was just a year old--and their only child. "

Now, to his remorse, he saw that she was crying; and instantly the cruelimpulse died out of his heart and a wild desire to comfort her took itsplace. 

"Miss Wayne, for God's sake don't cry! I had no right to tell you--itwas brutal, unpardonable of me to cloud your happiness at such a momentas this. I . .. I've no excuse to offer--none, at least, that you couldunderstand--but it makes me feel the meanest criminal alive to see youcry!"

No woman could have withstood the genuine remorse in his tone; and Irisdabbed her eyes with a little lacy handkerchief and smiled forgivenessrather tremulously. 

"Don't reproach yourself, Dr. Anstice. I . .. I think I'm rather foolishto-night. And at any rate"--perhaps after all she had divined thesoreness which lay beneath his spoken congratulations--"I'm sure of onething--you did your best to comfort the poor mother. "

"Thank you for that, at least, " he said; and then, in a different key:"You won't think me rude if I leave after this?"

"Of course not. " Suddenly Iris rose, and Anstice, surprised, followedher example. "Dr. Anstice, if you don't mind I'll ask you to take meback now. I think"--she smiled rather shyly--"I think I must just go andbathe my eyes. I don't want any one to ask inconvenient questions!"

Filled with anger against himself Anstice acquiesced at once; and in thehall they parted, Iris speeding upstairs to her room in search of waterand Eau de Cologne with which to repair the ravages his heartless speechhad caused. 

At the last came a consolatory moment. 

"Dr. Anstice. " She held out her hand once more. "You are the onlyperson--except my father--who knows what has happened to-night. SomehowI wanted to tell you because"--she coloured faintly, and her eyesdropped for a second--"because I think you and I are--really--friends inspite of everything. "

"Thank you, Miss Wayne. " His tone was so low she could barely catch thewords. "Believe me, I value your friendship above everything else in theworld. "

He wrung her hand hard; and as she left him with a last fleeting smilehe turned and found himself face to face with Bruce Cheniston. 

At that moment the hall was empty; and before the other man could speakAnstice said quickly:

"So you've won the day, Cheniston. Well, congratulations--though Godknows I wish with all my heart that you had failed. "

"Thanks. " Cheniston ignored the latter half of the sentence with a smileAnstice felt to be insolent. "So Miss Wayne told you? I had hoped to bethe first to give you the information. "

"Miss Wayne told me, yes, " said Anstice, taking his hat and coat fromthe chair where he had thrown them on his late entrance, and turningtowards the door. "And I don't know that there is anything more to besaid between us. Oh, yes, there is, though. One word, Cheniston. " Theother man had followed him to the door and now stood on the stepslooking out into the fragrant July night. "I think that in all fairnessyou will now agree that I have paid my debt to you; wiped it out to theuttermost farthing. In future"--turning on the lowest stop he faced theman who stood above him, and in his face was a look which no other humanbeing had ever seen there--"in future we are quits, you and I. The debtis paid in full. "

And before Bruce Cheniston could frame any reply to his words Ansticeturned away and was lost in the soft summer darkness. 

CHAPTER XI

On the day before that fixed for Iris Wayne's wedding a large gardenparty was held at Greengates; and fortunately the late Septemberafternoon was all that could be desired in regard to sunshine and softbreezes. 

The wedding itself was to be a comparatively quiet affair, only a scoreor two of intimate friends and relations being invited to the houseafter the ceremony; but Lady Laura had ordained that on the previous dayhalf the countryside was to be entertained; and although there were somepeople who did not altogether approve of the match--for Bruce Chenistonwas, after all, the brother of the notorious Mrs. Carstairs--themajority were only too ready to follow Sir Richard Wayne's lead andextend a hand of friendship to Miss Wayne's prospective bridegroom. 

Anstice had received an invitation to both ceremonies, and had accepted, provisionally, for each; but in his heart he knew that no power on earthcould induce him to see Iris Wayne married to another man; and althoughhe duly appeared at Greengates while the garden party was in full swinghe only remained there a brief half-hour. 

As he was bidding Lady Laura good-bye, Iris, with whom he had as yetonly exchanged a couple of words, came up to him with a friendly littlesmile on her lips. 

"Are you leaving us already, Dr. Anstice? I don't believe you've evenhad a cup of tea--or what Daddy calls a peg. Have you?"

"Yes, thanks, Miss Wayne. " He lied so convincingly that the girlbelieved him. "I'm just off again--you must excuse me, but you know mytime is not my own. "

"No. " He thought she looked a little pale this afternoon. "I quiteunderstand, and I think it is very nice of you to come at all. You arecoming to-morrow?"

"I hope so. " Again he lied, and something in the frank eyes which wereraised to his made him ashamed of his mendacity. "Of course--it'spossible I may be prevented, but in any case, Miss Wayne, pleaseremember my best wishes will be yours all day. "

As though reminded of something she spoke impulsively. 

"Dr. Anstice, I've never thanked you--except in a note--for your lovelypresent. It is really quite the most uncommon one I have had, and Ishall value it immensely. "

"I am glad you like it, " he said. He had sent her a pair of ancientChinese vases which his father had received many years ago from thegrateful wife of a mandarin to whom he had once rendered a service. "Ihardly knew what to send you, and then I remembered you once said youliked curios. "

"I do--and these are so lovely. " As she stood talking to him in thesunlight Anstice told himself that this was really his farewell to thegirl he had known and loved, and his eyes could hardly leave heradorable face. The next time they met--if Fate ordained that they shouldmeet again--she would be Bruce Cheniston's wife; and believing as he didthat this would be their last meeting as man and maid, Anstice took thehand she held out to him with a very sore heart. 

"Good-bye, Miss Wayne. " Just for a moment he hesitated, feeling that hecould not bear to let her go like this; and the girl, puzzled by hismanner, waited rather uneasily, her hand in his. Then he gave herfingers a last clasp, wringing them unconsciously hard, and let them go. 

"Good-bye, Dr. Anstice. " Standing as she did on the threshold of a newlife, face to face with a mystery she dreaded, yet was prepared, tofathom, perhaps Iris' perceptions were a little quickened. All at onceshe saw that this man looked upon her with different eyes from the othermen she knew; and the memory of her strange fancy earlier in the summergave her the key suddenly to his rather curious manner of bidding herfarewell. 

With a foolish, but purely womanly, impulse of compassion, she spokeagain, laying her hand for a second on his arm with a friendliness whichno man could have misunderstood. 

"No, Dr. Anstice. Not good-bye. We shall meet again to-morrow, at anyrate; so let us just say--_au revoir!_"

The kind little hand, the friendly words, almost broke down Anstice'sself-control. 

With a huge effort he kept his voice steady; but his face was grey as heanswered her. 

"If you wish, Miss Wayne--from the bottom of my heart let itbe--only--_au revoir!_"

 * * * * *

And Fate, who foresaw in what wise their next meeting should take place, probably chuckled to herself, like the malignant lady she can be, atthis parting between the two who might have been lovers but for amiscalculated shot in the days gone by. 

 * * * * *

When Anstice had finished his day's work it was barely seven o'clock. Fortunately for him he had no very serious cases on his hands just now, and there was no need, save in the event of an urgent call, for him togo out again when he had eaten his solitary dinner. 

He was thankful for the respite, for the strain of the last few weeks, the weeks of Iris' engagement, had been severe; and mind and body werealike overtasked and weary. For several days he had suffered from asevere neuralgic headache, and to-night the torture in head and eyesthreatened to overwhelm him. 

For three or four nights he had hardly slept; and on more than oneoccasion he had thought, with a queer, detached interest, of the reliefwhich morphia might bring to his tormented nerves; but with the thoughtcame another--the picture of Iris Wayne who had bidden him remember thatthis was not the way out of the tragic muddle into which his life hadbeen plunged by his own action. 

She had believed him when he told her he would not again deliver himselfinto bondage to the fatal drug, and although he had not given her hispromise--foreseeing even then the possibility of this black hour--he hadmeant, at the moment, to turn his back for ever on the seductive thingwhich whispers such sweet, such deliriously fatal promises to the man inthe clutch of any agony he does not know how to bear. 

So, although on the last two or three occasions he had not won thevictory without a struggle, Anstice had managed to win through withoutlowering his flag; but to-night he began to wonder whether after all itwere worth while waging the unequal war any longer. 

He had parted from Iris Wayne, as he thought, for ever. As the wife ofBruce Cheniston he must henceforward regard her; and although he was nosaint, to covet his neighbour's wife was not compatible with Anstice'scode of decency. 

He might love her still--at this moment he thought he knew that he wouldlove her always--but for all practical purposes their friendship, withall its privileges and its obligations, was at an end. And this beingso, why should he hesitate to gain, if he might, relief from this agonyof mind and body by the help of the drug he had hitherto forsworn?

It is always hard on a man when to physical anguish is added agony ofmind, since in that dual partnership of pain no help may be renderedeither by its complementary part; and it does not need a physician toknow that such help given by the one to the other is frequently a rulingfactor in the recovery of the sick body or mind. And to-night Ansticewas enduring a physical and mental suffering which taxed mind and bodyto their utmost limits, and absolutely precluded the possibility of anyhelpful reaction one upon the other. 

His eyeballs felt as though they were being pierced by red-hot needles;while the stabbing pain in his head increased every moment. Had hewitnessed such suffering in another he would instantly have set aboutalleviating it so far as his skill might allow; but he told himself thatthere was only one effectual remedy for him and that was forbidden himby his implied promise to Iris Wayne. And so he sat on in a corner ofthe couch in his dim and shadowy room, and endured the excruciating painas best he might. 

The house was very quiet, and suddenly he remembered that the servantswere out, witnessing the fireworks which Sir Richard had provided in thepark of Greengates for the entertainment of the village on the eve ofhis daughter's wedding. 

They had asked permission to go, and he had granted it readily enough;and now he was grateful for the peace and tranquillity which theirabsence engendered in the dark and quiet house. 

Dimmer and more gloomy grew the room in which he sat--hisconsulting-room, chosen to-night for its long window open to the gardenwithout. More and more thickly clustered the shadows round him as he sathalf-sunk in a corner of the big leather couch. Once an owl hooted inthe tall trees outside the house, and the strange, melancholy noteseemed a fit accompaniment to the eerie stillness of the night. 

Worse and ever more hard to bear grew the fierce throbbing in his headand eyes, but his wretchedness of mind ran a good race with his bodilysuffering; and had he been asked, suddenly, the nature of the pain whichtormented him he would have found it hard to answer immediately. 

Only as the quiet hours wore on he began to feel that the limit of hisendurance was almost reached. He told himself that even Iris herselfwould not willingly sanction such suffering as his had now become. Inall the world he desired only one boon--oblivion, unconsciousness, restfrom this state of being which was surely unendurable; and as a moreexquisitely painful throb of anguish shot through his head he plungedhis hand into his breast-pocket in search of a certain little case whichwas generally to be found there during his day's round. 

But he remembered, with a sudden keen disappointment, that he hadchanged his coat on returning home to dinner, and the means ofalleviation which he sought were not at hand. 

He half rose, intending to go in search of the thing he wanted; but theeffort of moving was too much, and he sank back again with an irritablegroan and prepared to endure still more of this misery. 

Next he thought he would try the effect of a cigarette, but the matcheswere not on the table before him. That obstacle, however, need not beinsurmountable, for in a drawer at his elbow he kept a supply, andmoving cautiously, for every movement set his nerves jangling, he turnedon the couch and opened the drawer to seek the matches which should bethere. 

He found them immediately, and was in the act of taking one from the boxwhen his eye fell on a small package which somehow roused a strangefeeling of interest in his pain-shrouded mind. 

It seemed familiar--at least he thought he remembered handling itbefore, and by a queer twist of memory he thought of Mrs. Carstairs ashe took up the mysterious little parcel and turned it about in hishands. 

Yet his throbbing brain would not allow him to feel certain what wasreally inside the packet, and with a sudden access of nervous irritationhe broke the seal which held its contents a mystery, and tore off theenwrapping papers. 

And as he realized what it was that the paper had hidden he uttered anexclamation in which surprise and dismay and relief were oddly blended. 

In his hand he held a box containing a hypodermic syringe and a supplyof morphia, and now he remembered how Mrs. Carstairs had told him of herpurchase of the same, and her subsequent decision to let the insidiousthing alone. She had given him the packet without apparent reluctance, and as his own words, "I shan't be tempted to steal yours for my privateuse, " came flashing back to his memory he smiled, rather cynically, tohimself. 

"If I believed in signs and omens I should take this as an unmistakableinvitation to me to hesitate no longer. " He fingered the syringethoughtfully. "And upon my soul I don't see why I shouldn't accept it asa sign. In any case"--all the pent-up bitterness of his soul found ventin the words--"in future what I do can have no interest for IrisCheniston!"

As if the sound of the name, premature as it was, had put the finishingtouch to his reckless cynicism, he hesitated no longer. 

With an almost savage gesture he struck a match and lighted a candle onhis writing-table; and as the little yellow flame sprang up, and strove, vainly, to enlighten the encompassing gloom, he set about hispreparations with a sudden energy in striking contrast with his previouslethargy. 

When all was ready there came a last second of hesitation. With thesyringe in his hand, his arm bared, he paused, and for a last poignantmoment Iris' face rose before him in the flickering light. But now hereyes had no power to move him from his purpose. Rather they maddened himwith their steadfast radiance, and with a muttered oath he looked asidefrom that appealing vision and turned the key, recklessly, in the doorwhich led to the Paradise of Fools. 

 * * * * *

Nearly an hour later the telephone bell rang, sharply, insistently inthe hall. It went on ringing, again and again, a curiously vital soundin the quiet house; but Anstice did not hear it, and at length theringing ceased. 

It was nearly half an hour later when another bell rang, this time thebell of the front door; but again no answer came to the imperativesummons. And now the bell rang on, so continuously, so persistently, that at last its sound penetrated the dulled hearing of the man whohuddled in a corner of the big couch, mind and body alike dazed andincapable of making any effort to understand the meaning of this oddlyinsistent noise. 

He was only conscious of a desire for it to cease; of a longing, notsufficiently vivid to be acute, but the strongest emotion of which hewas at the moment capable, for a return to the silence which hadhitherto prevailed; and although the noise disturbed and angered him itnever occurred to him that to answer the summons would be the best wayof ending the irritating sound. 

So that bell too went unanswered; and in due course it also ceased toring. 

But that was not to be the end. 

Dimly he heard the sound of voices, of footsteps in the hall, of thestriking of a match and the hissing of the gas. Then there was aconfused noise which was like and yet unlike a rapping on the panels ofthe door of the room in which he sat; but he felt no inclinationwhatever to move or make any response; and even when at length the dooritself opened, slowly and tentatively, he merely looked up with languidcuriosity to see what these phenomena might imply. 

 * * * * *

And in the doorway stood Iris Wayne, her face very pale, one handholding a flimsy scarf about her, with Bruce Cheniston by her side. 

CHAPTER XII

Chloe Carstairs had not been among the guests at Greengates thatafternoon. In vain had Sir Richard and Lady Laura invited her, in vainhad Iris added her entreaties. On this point Chloe was adamant, andalthough her brother argued with her for an hour or more on theadvisability of making her reappearance in Littlefield society under theaegis of the Waynes, she merely shook her head with an inscrutablesmile. 

"If I cared to re-enter Littlefield society, " she said calmly, "I shouldhave done so long ago. But I am really so indifferent to those peoplethat I have no desire to meet them, even as a guest at Greengates. "

"I didn't suppose you wanted to meet them--for your own sake, " retortedher brother, "for a duller and more stupid set of people were neverborn; but as Iris is to be your sister-in-law I think you might stretcha point and go with me to Greengates this afternoon. "

But Chloe shook her head. 

"No, Bruce. I am sorry to disappoint you, but it cannot be done. As youknow, I am fond of Iris"--knowing his sister Bruce was quite satisfiedwith this moderate expression of her affection--"but I won't go toGreengates to-day, nor to the wedding to-morrow. If you like to bringIris down to say good-bye this evening when all the people are gone Ishall like to see her. "

"All right. " Bruce gave up the contest. "I'm staying on--quietly--todinner; but I'll bring her down for half an hour afterwards. "

"Very well. " Chloe rose from the breakfast-table as she spoke, andsauntered to the window, from whence she looked over the prettygarden with appreciative eyes. "It is lucky the weather is sobeautiful--Greengates will look at its best on a day like this. "

And Bruce agreed heartily as he stepped on to the lawn to enjoy hisafter-breakfast pipe. 

 * * * * *

True to his promise Bruce motored his _fiancée_ over to Cherry Orchardin the gloaming of the September evening, after a somewhat protractedargument with Lady Laura, whose sense of propriety was, so she averred, outraged by the project. 

Sir Richard, however, to whom the loss of his only daughter was a deepthough hidden grief, gave his consent readily enough when he saw thatIris really wished to bid her friend good-bye; and making Bruce promiseto bring her back in good time he himself went to the door to pack themsafely into the motor. 

"Take care of her, Bruce--she is very precious to me!" He laid his handon the young man's arm, and his voice held an appeal which Bruceinvoluntarily answered. 

"Trust me, sir!" There was a note of rather unusual feeling in his tone. "She can't be more precious to you than she is to me!"

And with the words he got his car in motion and glided away down thedusky, scented avenue beneath the tall trees which had not, as yet, putoff their summer tints for their autumn livery of scarlet and gold. 

Somehow they did not talk much as they sped on through the cool, perfumed night. Both, indeed, felt a sense of shyness in each other'scompany on this last evening; and it was with something like relief thatthey realized they were at Cherry Orchard in less time than theygenerally allowed for the little journey. 

The hall door, as usual, stood hospitably open; but there was no sign ofChloe, waiting for them with her gracious welcome; and as they crossedthe threshold both felt instinctively that something was wrong. 

A moment later their suspicions were confirmed, for Hagyard, themanservant, who adored both his mistress and her small daughter, cameforward to meet them with an air of relief which did not conceal theanxiety in his whole bearing. 

"Mr. Cheniston--sir--there's been an accident--Miss Cherry--she'sburnt----"

"Burnt!" Iris and Bruce echoed the word simultaneously; and the manhurried on. 

"Yes, sir, yes, miss--Miss Cherry got playing with matches--Tochattileft her alone for a moment when she did not ought to have done"--in hisdistress his usual correctness of speech and deportment fell away fromHagyard, leaving him a mere human man--"and Miss Cherry's dress--alittle flimsy bit of muslin it was, caught fire, and before it was putout she'd got burned----"

"Where is Mrs. Carstairs?"

"Upstairs with Miss Cherry, sir. We've been ringing up the doctor--butwe can't get no answer----"

Bruce cut him short without ceremony. 

"Come, Iris, let's see what's to be done. We can go ourselves and fetchthe doctor, anyway. "

Together they ran up the broad staircase, and Bruce led the way toCherry's little room, where, as he guessed, the child was lying. 

As they entered Chloe Carstairs looked round; and her eyes appearedalmost black, so dilated were the pupils. 

"Bruce!" Her deep voice held a note of relief. "You have come atlast--now perhaps we can do something for the child. "

"Is she badly burnt?" Iris approached softly and stood looking down atthe moaning little figure in the bed. 

"Yes. " Chloe's manner was impressive by reason of its very quietness. "She is--very badly burnt, and until the doctor comes we can do solittle. .. . "

"You have done _something_ for her?"

"Oh, yes--Tochatti and I have done all we can, but"--for a secondChloe's face quivered--"we can't do anything more, and I'm afraid ifsomething isn't done soon----"

The child on the bed gave a sudden convulsive cry, and Chloe's whiteface grew still paler. 

"You see--she's in horrible pain, and--oh, why doesn't the doctor come?We've rung up again and again, and they've never answered!"

"Shall we go and fetch him, Chloe? The car's here, and we'll bring himback in no time!" He turned to Iris. "You'll come?"

She hesitated. 

"Won't you go--and I'll stay here?"

Chloe looked up at that. 

"No, Iris. I don't want you to stay--yet. Go with Bruce, and when youcome back you shall stay--if you will. "

"Very well. " Iris deemed it best to do as she was requested. "We willgo--immediately--we shall soon be back. "

They ran downstairs together as swiftly as they had run up a few minutesearlier; and in an incredibly short space of time the car was flyingthrough the sweet night air once more. 

Arriving at the Gables they could win no response to their ringing; butit was imperative they should gain an entrance; and so it came aboutthat the first time Iris entered Anstice's house she entered itunheralded, and unwelcomed by any friendly greeting. 

So, too, it came about that when Anstice at last awoke to the fact thatthere were other human beings in the house beside himself he realized, with a pang of consternation and amazement sufficiently sharp to pierceeven through the fog which clouded his spirit, that one of his uninvitedguests was the girl from whom, a few short hours earlier, he had parted, as he thought, for ever. 

He half rose from the couch on which he crouched, and stared at theadvancing figures with haunted eyes. 

"I . .. I . .. " His voice, husky, uncertain, brought both his visitors toa halt; and for a wild moment he fancied that after all they were noreal beings, only more than usually vivid shadows, projected visionsfrom the whirling phantasmagoria of his brain. The light behind them, streaming in through the open door, confused him, made him feel asthough this were all a trick of the nerves, a kind of chaotic nightmare;and with a muttered curse at his own folly in imagining for one momentthat Iris Wayne herself stood before him, he fell back on the couch andclosed his aching eyes wearily. 

"Anstice--I say, you're wanted--badly--at Cherry Orchard. " Surely thatwas Bruce Cheniston's voice which beat upon his ears until it reachedhis inner sense. Yet what was that he was saying . .. Something about anaccident . .. To Cherry . .. But the time of cherries was over . .. Surelynow the summer was dead . .. He was cold, bitterly cold, the fire must beout, his teeth were chattering . .. There was a mist before his eyes. .. . 

"Dr. Anstice, is anything the matter? Are you ill?"

That voice belonged to no one on earth but Iris Wayne, yet thatinsubstantial grey shadow which seemed to speak was only another ghost, a figment of his overwrought brain. He wished--how he wished--that theseghosts would leave him, would return to the haunted place whence theycame and allow him to sink once more into the blessed oblivion fromwhich they called him with their thin, far-away voices. .. . 

"It's no use, Iris!" Cheniston spoke abruptly, puzzled by the otherman's strange behaviour, to which as yet he could assign no cause. "Theman's asleep--or dazed--or--or"--suddenly a suspicion swept into hisbrain--"or perhaps there's a less creditable cause for thisextraordinary behaviour. "

"What do you mean, Bruce?" Iris' grey eyes dilated and her faceblanched. "Is he--ill--or----"

"I am not--ill, Miss Wayne. " Somehow he had caught her words, her dearvoice had penetrated through the fog which enveloped his senses. "Don't, please, be afraid. .. . I . .. I am only . .. "

"Anyway you're not fit to speak to a lady, " cut in Cheniston incisively. "We came to fetch you to Cherry Orchard; there's been on accident, mylittle niece is badly hurt and Mrs. Carstairs wanted you--but it'sevident you're not in a fit state to come. .. . "

Once more the fog lifted for a moment; and although he felt everythingto be whirling round him Anstice rose unsteadily to his feet and facedhis accuser. 

Through the open door the light streamed on to his haggard face; and asshe saw the ravages which suffering had wrought in him Iris uttered anexclamation. 

"Don't be afraid, Miss Wayne. " He could only, it seemed, repeat himself. "I . .. I didn't expect any one coming here. " He spoke slowly, a pausebetween each word. "I . .. If there's anything--I can do----"

"There isn't--unless you can pull yourself together sufficiently to cometo Cherry Orchard, " said Cheniston coldly. "And judging from yourappearance you can't do that. "

The contempt in his voice stung Anstice momentarily into self-defence. 

"What are you implying?" He spoke a little more clearly now, "I . .. Ibelieve after all I'm ill--but----"

At that moment Bruce's eyes, roving here and there, caught sight of asmall decanter of brandy which stood on the table at his elbow. As amatter of fact it had been brought there for a patient whose nerves hadfailed him, earlier in the day, on hearing what practically amounted toa sentence of death; but to Cheniston the innocent object appeared asthe confirmation of his suspicions, and his lip curled. 

"Come along, Iris. " His disdain was cruel. "We must go and find some oneelse--some one who hasn't fuddled his wits like our friend here. "

Iris' eyes, following his, had seen the brandy; and in a flash ofinsight she knew what he meant. But before she could speak, could utterthe denial which trembled on her lips, Anstice himself interposed. 

"You are mistaken, Cheniston. " He still spoke haltingly, but his eyeslooked less dim than they had done a moment ago. "That"--he pointed tothe decanter--"is not my particular vice. I confess I am not myselfto-night; and I fear I'm not capable of attending any one for thepresent; but it is not brandy which is responsible, I assure you ofthat. "

He stopped, feeling suddenly that the effort of speech was too much forhim. A terrible dizziness was overwhelming him . .. He had only onedesire on earth, that Iris Wayne would leave him, that he might sinkdown on to the couch again, and let the fathomless sea which was surginground him drown his soul and senses in its rolling flood. .. . 

Yet by a great effort he stood upright, steadying himself by the edge ofthe table; and through all his mental and physical misery he saw Iris'grey eyes fixed upon his face with a great pity in their depths. 

"Dr. Anstice"--regardless of Bruce's presence she took up the hypodermicsyringe which lay on the table, gleaming in a strong beam of light whichstreamed through the open door--"you have been trying _this_ wayout--again?"

Her voice, which held no condemnation, only an overwhelming compassion, drove back for a moment those cruel waves which surged around him; andwhen he answered her his voice was almost steady. 

"Yes, Miss Wayne. I . .. I could find no other way, and so--I took thisone. "

Iris placed the syringe down gently on the table, and her eyes were fullof tears. 

"Dr. Anstice, I'm sorry, " she said in a low tone; and the pity in hervoice nearly broke his heart. 

"Miss Wayne--I----"

What he would have said she never knew; for Bruce Cheniston broke inangrily, annoyed by a scene to which he held no key. 

"Look here, Iris, we mustn't waste time. Cherry's badly hurt, and sinceDr. Anstice can't come someone else must be found. Come along, we'll beoff and find another doctor--one who can be relied upon. "

The mists were closing in on Anstice once more, the hungry sea whichbillowed round him threatened to engulf him body and soul. Yet hethought he heard Iris striving to silence Cheniston's cruel words, hecould have sworn he saw her eyes, big with tears, shining through themist which kept him from her; and with a mental effort which turned himcold he spoke once more to her before she left him. 

"Miss Wayne . .. Please don't condemn me altogether . .. I did not give inat once . .. But this seemed--before God, I thought it was the only wayout--to-night. .. . "

And then the miracle happened. Regardless of the man who stood fuming byher side, Iris laid her soft hand on Anstice's arm and spoke one lastgentle word. 

"Dr. Anstice, I believe you--and good-bye! But--oh, do, do remember--formy sake let me ask you to remember that this is _not_ the true way out!"

And then, as Cheniston took her arm impatiently to lead her away, shesmiled through the tears which threatened to blind her, and went outfrom his presence without one reproachful word. 

 * * * * *

When she had gone he stood gazing after her for a long moment, and thelook in his face would have broken the heart of a woman who had lovedhim. Then, with a despairing feeling that now nothing mattered in allthe world, he sank down again on the couch and let the flood overwhelmhim as it would. 

CHAPTER XIII

As the clocks were striking ten on the following morning, the morning ofIris Wayne's wedding day, Anstice came slowly down the garden to wherehis car waited by the gate. 

It was a glorious September morning, the whole world bathed in a floodof golden sunshine, and the soft, warm air was heavy with the scent ofsweet-peas, of stocks, of the hundred and one fragrant flowers whichdeck the late summer days. Away over the fields hung an enchanting bluehaze which promised yet greater heat when it too should have dissolvedbefore the mellow rays of the sun; and if there be any truth in the oldsaw that happy is the portion of the bride on whom the sun shall shine, then truly the lot of Iris Wayne should be a happy one. 

But in Anstice's face there was no reflected sunshine on this auspiciousmorning. Rather did he look incredibly haggard and worn, and hiscolourless lips and purple-shadowed eyes were in strangest contrast tothe smiling face of Nature. 

It was only by a very strong effort of will that Anstice had drivenhimself forth to embark upon his day's work. The horrible night throughwhich he had passed had left traces on both body and soul; and thethought of that which was to happen to-day, the thought of the ceremonyin the little flower-decked church by which the girl he adored would begiven as wife to another man was nothing short of torture to this manwho loved her. 

He would have given half he possessed to be able to blot out this dayfrom his calendar--to pass the whole of it in a state of oblivion, offorgetfulness, to cheat life of its fiercest suffering for a few hoursat least; but Iris herself blocked the way to that last indulgence. Shehad bidden him remember--for her sake--that the way he had taken was notin truth the way out; and although every nerve in his body cried out forrelief, nothing in the world could have persuaded him to mar Iris'wedding-day by an act whose commission would have grieved her had sheknown of it. 

And since to sit at home, brooding over the dimly-remembered events ofthe preceding night, would be fatal, there was nothing for it but to goout and strive to forget his own mental agony in an attempt to alleviatethe physical suffering of those who trusted him to relieve their bodilywoes at least. 

He was about to enter his car when he heard the hoot of a motor-hornbehind him; and turning round, one foot on the step, saw his friendlyrival, Dr. Willows, driving up to intercept him. 

"Hallo, Anstice, glad you're not out. I wanted to see you. "

Anstice moved forward to meet him, but Dr. Willows, an agile little manof middle age, hopped out of his car, and taking Anstice's arm movedwith him out of ear-shot of the waiting chauffeur. 

"Well?" Anstice's voice was not inviting. 

"It's about that affair at Cherry Orchard. " Involuntarily Anstice's armstiffened, and the other man dropped it as he went on speaking. "I wascalled in last night, and hearing you were ill--by the way, are youbetter now?" He broke off abruptly and peered into Anstice's face withdisconcerting keenness. 

"Quite, thanks. It was only a temporary indisposition, " returned Ansticecoldly; and Dr. Willows relaxed his gaze. 

"Glad to hear it--though you look pretty seedy this morning. You knowyou really work too hard, Anstice. I assure you your predecessor didn'ttake half the trouble with his patients that you do----"

"You'll excuse me reminding you that I have not begun my round yet. "Anstice interrupted him impatiently. "You were saying you were called into Cherry Orchard----"

"Yes. The little girl was badly burnt--owing to some carelessness on thepart of the servants--and since you were not available----"

"Who told you I was not available?" His tone was grim. 

"Why, Miss Wayne, of course. You know she and Mr. Cheniston came on tosee me after finding you weren't able to go owing to being seedyyourself"--even Anstice's sore spirit could not doubt the little man'sabsolute ignorance of the nature of his supposed illness--"and theyasked me to go in your place. So as it was an urgent case of course Idid not hesitate to go. "

"Of course not. " Anstice strove to speak naturally. "Well, you went?"

"Yes, and treated the child. As you know, she is only a kiddie, and theshock has been as bad as the actual burns, though they are severeenough. "

"Have you been there to-day?"

"No--that's what I came to see you about. I stayed pretty late lastnight, and left the child asleep; but now, of course, you will take overthe case. Mrs. Carstairs understood I was only filling your place, youknow. "

"Do you think"--Anstice hesitated oddly, and Dr. Willows told himselfthe man looked shockingly ill--"do you think Mrs. Carstairs would preferyou to continue the case?"

"Good Lord, no!" Dr. Willows stared. "Why, what bee have you got in yourbonnet now? I told you Mrs. Carstairs knew I was only representing youbecause you were ill, and couldn't come, and I told her I would run overfirst thing this morning and see if you were able to take on the caseyourself. "

"What did Mrs. Carstairs say to that?"

"She agreed, of course. And if I were you"--Dr. Willows felt vaguelyuncomfortable as he stood there in the morning sunshine--"I'd go roundpretty soon. " He looked at his watch ostentatiously. "By Jove, it'safter ten--I must get on. Then you'll go round to Cherry Orchard thismorning?"

"Yes. " Anstice accepted the inevitable. "I'll go round almostimmediately. Thanks very much for coming, Willows. I . .. I'm grateful toyou. "

"Oh, that's all right!" Dr. Willows, relieved by the change in Anstice'smanner, waved his hand airily and returned to his car; and as soon as hewas out of sight Anstice entered his own motor and turned in thedirection of Cherry Orchard. 

After all, he said to himself as the car glided swiftly over the hardwhite road, there was no reason why Mrs. Carstairs should find anythingsuspicious in his inability to visit Cherry Orchard on the previousevening. Doctors were only human after all--prone to the same ills towhich other men are subject; and although the exigencies of one of themost exacting professions in the world would seem to inspire acorresponding endurance in its members, there are moments in which eventhe physician must pause in his ministrations to the world, in order, asit were, to tune up his own bodily frame to meet the demands upon it. 

Of course it was possible that Cheniston had divulged to his sister thetrue reason of Anstice's non-arrival; but Anstice did not think itlikely; for although there was, and always must be, a strong antagonismbetween the two men, Cheniston was an honourable man; and the secretupon which he had stumbled was one which a man of honour wouldinstinctively keep to himself. 

That his secret was safe with Iris, Anstice knew beyond any question;and as his car swept up the drive to the jasmine-covered door of CherryOrchard he told himself that it was only his conscience which made himfeel as though his absence on the previous evening must have looked odd, unusual, even--he could not help the word--suspicious. 

The door was opened to him by Hagyard, and there was no doubting thesincerity of his welcome. 

"Good morning, sir. I was looking out for you. .. . Miss Cherry'sawakened, they say, and is in a sad state. "

His unusual loquacity was a proof of his mental disturbance, and Ansticespoke sharply. 

"Where is she? Shall I go upstairs?"

"If you please, sir. Here is Tochatti come for you, sir. " And he stoodaside to allow the woman to approach. 

"Will you come this way, signor?" Her foreign accent was more markedthan usual; and looking at her worn and sallow countenance Ansticeguessed she had not slept. 

He followed her without asking any questions, and in another moment wasin Cherry's bedroom, the little white and pink room whose wall papersand chintzes were stamped with the life-like bunches of cherries onwhich he had once remarked admiringly, to the little owner'sgratification. 

In the small white bed lay Cherry, her head swathed in bandages, onelittle arm bandaged likewise; and beside her knelt Chloe Carstairs, herface like marble, her silky black hair dishevelled on her brow, asthough she, too, had passed a sleepless night. Cherry's brown eyes werewidely opened with an expression of half-wondering pain in their usuallylimpid depths, and from time to time she uttered little moans whichsounded doubly piteous coming from so self-controlled a child as she. 

"Dr. Anstice--at last!" Chloe rose swiftly from her knees and came tomeet him with both hands outstretched. "I thought you were nevercoming--that Dr. Willows had forgotten to tell you----"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Carstairs. " He knew at once, with a relief which wouldnot be repressed, that Cheniston had kept his miserable secret. "I onlysaw Dr. Willows half an hour ago, and came at once. How is Cherry thismorning--did she have any sleep?"

"Yes, thank God. " Listening to her low voice, Anstice wondered why hehad ever thought her lacking in affection for her child. "Dr. Willowswas most kind--he stayed half the night with us and Cherry slept forsome hours after he left. But now she is awake, as you see, and I'mafraid she is suffering horribly. "

"Let me see what I can do for her, will you?"

He approached the bed and sat down quietly by it, while Cherry ceasedfor a second to moan, and her brown eyes besought him, more eloquentlythan speech, to give her relief from this quite unusual state ofaffairs. At first he was not certain that the child recognized him; butpresently her uninjured hand came gropingly towards him; and as he tookthe tiny fingers in his own Anstice felt a sudden revival of theenergies which had seemed so dead, so burnt-out within him on thisbeautiful September morning. 

"Well, Cherry, this is bad luck, isn't it?" He spoke very gently, studying her little face the while. "But don't lose heart--this painwon't last long, it will soon run away. Is it _very_ bad?"

"It's _rather_ bad, thank you, my dear. " Even in the midst of hertribulation Cherry strove heroically for her own gracious tone, and thefamiliar term of endearment sounded strangely pathetic to-day. "Butyou'll send it quite 'way, won't you?"

"Yes. I send away all pains, " returned Anstice, lying nobly. "But firstof all you must let me see just what sort of pain this one is, and thenI shall know how to get rid of it. You don't mind me touching you, doyou?"

"N-not much, my dear. " Cherry's lips quivered, and Chloe Carstairsturned away as though unable to bear the sight of her little daughter'ssuffering any longer. 

Quickly and tenderly Anstice made his examination without disturbingmore of the dressings than was absolutely necessary; and by dint ofquestioning Mrs. Carstairs found that the child's brow had been badlyscorched where her brown curls had caught fire, and that one little armhad suffered a grievous burn. These were the only outward signs of theaccident, but the child had undergone a severe shock; and Anstice felt asudden misgiving as he looked at the pinched little face, and noted therenewal of the pitiful moans which even Cherry's fortitude could notaltogether repress. 

The woman Tochatti had hovered in the background while he bent over thebed; and now, at a sign from him, she came forward silently. 

"Just look after the child a moment or two, will you?" he said. "Mrs. Carstairs, may I have a word with you? Oh, don't be alarmed--I only wantto hear a little more about the affair. "

Tochatti shot a quick look at him from her beady black eyes; and Ansticewas momentarily puzzled by her curious expression. She looked almost asthough she resented his presence--and yet she should have welcomed him, seeing that he was there to do his best for the child she adored. But asshe moved to the side of the bed, and took Cherry's unhurt hand in herown brown fingers with a touch of almost maternal tenderness, he toldhimself impatiently that he was fanciful; and turned to Mrs. Carstairswith a resolute movement. 

"Will you come into my room, Dr. Anstice?" Chloe's spacious bedroom ledout of her little daughter's pink and white nest; and as Ansticefollowed her she pulled the door to with a nervous action curiouslyunlike herself. 

"Dr. Anstice, will she die?" Her lips were ashy, and in her white faceonly the sapphire eyes seemed alive. "If she dies, I will never forgiveTochatti--never!"

"Tochatti?" Anstice was surprised. "Was she to blame for this?"

"Not altogether. " Chloe could be just, it seemed, even in the midst ofher sorrow. "I will tell you what happened. As perhaps you know, Cherrywas to have been one of Iris Wayne's bridesmaids, and at her own requestTochatti had made her dress, a flimsy little thing all muslin and lace. She had spent days over it--she embroiders wonderfully, and when it wasdone it was perfectly exquisite. She finished it last evening, andCherry insisted on a dress rehearsal. She was to pay me a surprise visitin the drawing-room just before dinner, and it seems that when she wasquite ready Tochatti slipped downstairs to find Hagyard and admit him toa private view, leaving Cherry alone in the room--against allrules--with two candles burning on the dressing-table. "

She paused. 

"I think I understand, " said Anstice quietly. "Cherry took up a candleto get a better view of her pretty frock, and----"

"Not exactly, " Chloe interrupted him. "She leaned forward, it seems, inorder to look at herself more closely in the glass--you know childrenare fond of seeing themselves in pretty clothes--and, as you mightimagine, she leaned too close to the candle and her sleeve caught fire. "

"She cried out?"

"Yes--luckily we all heard her. " Through all her marble pallor Chloeflushed at the remembrance of that poignant moment. "We rushed in andfound her shrieking, and Tochatti beat out the flames with her hands. "

"With her hands? Is she burnt, too, then?"

"Yes--I believe so. " Chloe's tone expressed no pity. "She tied up herhand--the left one--herself, and says it is nothing much. "

"I see. " Privately Anstice determined to investigate the woman's hurtbefore he left the house. "Well--and what then?"

"When we got the flames under we found that Cherry had fainted, and wetelephoned at once for you. " She stopped short, taken aback by thestrange expression on his face. 

"Yes--and I wish to God I'd heard your call!" Anstice bit his lipsavagely; and Chloe, uncomprehending but compassionate, hastened on withher story. 

"You couldn't help being ill! Iris told me how your maids were all inthe Park watching the fireworks--and then when my brother and Iris camedown you were too ill to come. Are you better now?"

"So they went for Willows and brought him back with them?" Hedisregarded her question--possibly did not hear it. 

"Yes, and as I have told you he was most kind. But of course Cherry didnot know him, and she kept on crying for you----"

Chloe, who had intended the last words kindly, thinking to please him bythis proof of the child's affection for him, was aghast at the result ofher speech. 

"Mrs. Carstairs, for God's sake don't tell me that!" Anstice's voicealmost frightened her, so bitter, so full of remorse was it. "It onlywanted _that_ to make the horror complete--the knowledge that I failed alittle child in her need!"

"The horror?" She stared at him. "I don't understand. "

"No, and there's no reason why you should. " With a great effort heresumed his ordinary tone. "Mrs. Carstairs, forgive me. I . .. As youknow--I was--ill--last night, and I'm not quite myself this morning. But"--he turned the subject resolutely--"what I want to say is this. Cherry will need very careful nursing for some days, and I think it willbe well for me to send you a nurse. "

Chloe received the suggestion rather dubiously. 

"Do you think it is really necessary?" she said at length. "I'm asstrong as a horse, and as for Tochatti, I'm afraid she wouldn't like tofeel herself superseded. She is devoted to Cherry, you know, and she isa very jealous woman. "

"Yes, " he said, "but even although you and Tochatti are ready to giveyourselves up to the child, in a case of this sort skill is wanted aswell as affection. " He smiled to soften the harshness of his words, andChloe inconsequently thought that he looked very weary this morning. 

"Of course, and if we don't prove competent you are at liberty to sendus a nurse. But"--she spoke rather wistfully--"mayn't we try, Tochattiand I? I would a thousand times sooner nurse Cherry myself than let astranger be with her. "

Touched by something in her voice, remembering also the peculiarposition in which this woman stood--a wife without a husband, with noone in the world, apparently, to care for her save her child--Ansticeyielded the point for the moment. 

"Very well, then. We will try this arrangement first, and if Cherry goeson well there will be no need to call in other help. Now I should liketo see Tochatti, and give you both instructions. "

Without a word Chloe led him back to the smaller bedroom where Cherrylay uneasily dozing; and Anstice beckoned to Tochatti to approach thewindow. 

She came forward rather sullenly; and Anstice, irritated by her manner, spoke in rather a peremptory tone. 

"Let me see your hands, please. I understand you were burnt last night. "

Unwillingly the woman held out her left hand, which was wrapped roundwith a roughly constructed bandage; and as Anstice took it and began tounwind the folds he heard her draw in her breath with an odd littlehiss. 

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, surprised, and the woman answered stolidly. 

"No, thank you, sir. You did not hurt me at all. "

Her manner struck him as peculiar; it almost seemed as though sheresented his efforts on her behalf; and as he unwrapped the last of thebandage Anstice told himself she was by no means an attractive patient. 

But when he saw her hand he forgave her all her peculiarities; for shemust have suffered untold pain during the hours which had elapsed sincethe accident. 

"I say--why didn't you show your hand to the doctor last night?" Hespoke impetuously, really shocked to see the extent of her burns. "Youhave given yourself a lot of unnecessary pain, and it will take muchlonger to heal. You must let me dress the place at once. "

Assisted by Chloe, who fetched and carried for him deftly, he dressedand bound up the burnt hand; and though the woman never flinched, therewas a look in her eyes which showed him she was enduring great pain. 

"There. " He finished his work and looked at her closely. "That will feeleasier soon. But you know you should lie down and try to sleep for anhour or two--and that hand will be quite useless for some days. Really, Mrs. Carstairs"--he turned to Chloe--"I think you will have to let mesend for a nurse, after all. You can't do everything, and Tochatti ismore or less disabled----"

He was surprised by the effect of his words. Tochatti turned to hermistress eagerly, and began pouring out a stream of Italian which wasquite incomprehensible to Anstice, who was no better at modern languagesthan the average public school and University product. And Chloe repliedin the same tongue, though without the wealth of gesture employed by theother woman; while Anstice waited, silently, until the colloquy wasconcluded. 

Finally Chloe turned, apologetically, to him and explained the subjectof the woman's entreaties. 

"Tochatti is so terribly upset at the idea of a strange woman coming tonurse Cherry that I have promised to try to persuade you to reverse yourverdict, " she said. "Do you mind? Of course if we can't manage you mustdo as you think fit--but----"

"We will try, by all means. " In spite of himself, he was touched by thewoman's fierce devotion to her charge. "And now I'll tell you exactlywhat I want you to do until I come again this afternoon. "

He proceeded to give them full instructions how to look after the child, and when he had assured himself that they understood exactly what was tobe done, he took his leave, promising to call again in the course of afew hours. 

As he drove away he mused for a moment on the Italian woman's peculiarmanner towards him. 

"Seems as if she hated me to speak to her . .. She's never been like thatbefore--indeed, when Cherry broke her arm she used to welcome me quitedemonstratively. " He smiled, then grew grave again. "Of course the womanwas in pain to-day--she was a queer colour, too--looked downright ill. Iexpect the affair has been a shock to her as well as to the child. "

And with that conclusion he dismissed Tochatti from his mind for thetime being, his thoughts reverting to the one subject which filled hismental horizon to-day. 

 * * * * *

All through the bright September afternoon he sat alone in hisrarely-used drawing-room. The consulting-room was haunted ground to himsince the episode of the previous evening, and he could not bear to goout into the village lest he might perhaps behold some signs of thegreat event which was agitating peaceful Littlefield to-day. 

But his imagination, unmercifully awakened from the stupor which hadtemporarily lulled it to repose, showed him many visions on that goldenSeptember afternoon. 

He saw the old grey church decked with flowers, saw the sunlightfiltering through the famous Burne-Jones window in a splash of gorgeousblue and crimson, staining the white petals of the big lilies in thechancel . .. He heard the peals of the organ as the choristers broke outinto the hymn which heralded the bride . .. Saw the bride herself, alittle pale, a little serious, in her white robes, in her eyes the graveand tender look whose possibility he had long ago divined. .. . 

Oh, he was a fool to let his imagination torment him so . .. And hesprang to his feet, determined to put an end to these maddening visionswhich only unfitted him for the stern and hopeless battle which was allthat he could look forward to henceforth. .. . 

As he moved impatiently towards the door a sudden peal of bells rang outgaily, exultantly on the soft and balmy air; and his face turned grey ashe realized that this was the signal which betokened that Iris was nowthe wife of Bruce Cheniston, his to have and to hold, irrevocably hisuntil death should intervene to end their dual existence. .. . 

 * * * * *

With a muttered oath he strode out of the house, and making his wayround to the garage ordered his car to be brought forth immediately. 

When it came he flung himself into the steering seat and drove away atsuch a pace that Andrews, his outdoor man and general factotum, lookedafter him anxiously. 

"Looks like getting his licence endorsed, " he observed to the prettyhousemaid, Alice, who was watching her master's departure from aconvenient window. "Never saw him drive so reckless--he's generally whatyou might call a very considerate driver. "

"Considerate? What of?" asked Alice ungrammatically. "The dogs andchickens in the road, d'you mean?"

"Dogs and chickens! Good Lord, no!" Andrews was a born mechanician, andit was a constant source of regret to him that Anstice generally drovethe car himself. "They're nothing but a nuisance anyway. No, I meant heconsidered the car--but he don't look much like it to-day. "

"Oh, the car!" Alice was openly scornful. "Well, from the pace he wentoff just now, I should think he'll smash up your precious old car beforehe goes far. And no loss either, " said Alice, who was engaged to asoldier in a cavalry regiment, and therefore disdained all purelymechanical means of locomotion. 

 * * * * *

But once out on the road Anstice moderated his pace somewhat, since torun over an unwary pedestrian would only add to the general hopelessnessof the situation; and he reached Cherry Orchard without any such mishapas his servants had prophesied for him. 

Here he found things less satisfactory than he had hoped. Cherry was nobetter; indeed, to his experienced eye, the child was worse, andalthough Mrs. Carstairs showed no signs of fatigue, and was apparentlyprepared to nurse her little daughter indefinitely, it was evident thatthe woman Tochatti was worn out with pain, anxiety, and, possibly, remorse. 

Although she pulled herself together sufficiently to answer Anstice'squestions intelligibly, it was plain to see that she was in reality halfdazed by the shock she had experienced and by want of sleep, and Ansticerealized that if Cherry were to be properly nursed some other help mustbe obtained at once. 

"See here, Mrs. Carstairs. " His face was grave as he examined thechild's condition. "I'm not going to beat about the bush--I'm going tosend you a nurse to help you with Cherry. "

"A nurse? But--can't Tochatti and I----?"

"You're all right, " he said shortly. "You look good for any amount ofnursing, though I can't imagine how you do it, seeing you had no sleeplast night. But Tochatti is no use at present. " He judged it best tospeak frankly. "It is evident she is in pain with that hand of hers, andshe will be fit for nothing to-night, at any rate. "

Chloe did not contest the point further. 

"Very well, Dr. Anstice. You know best; and if you think it necessary, will you find us someone at once?"

"Yes. I think I know just the person for you. " He turned to Tochatti, who was standing by, her face full of smouldering resentment. "I'm sureyou want me to do the best thing for Miss Cherry, don't you?"

She did not answer; and he repeated his question rather sharply. 

This time she answered him. 

"_Si, signor. _" She spoke sulkily, and a flash of something like actualhatred shot from her black eyes as he watched her; but he had no time tospare for her vagaries, and turned back to Chloe Carstairs forthwith. 

"Then I will try to find Nurse Trevor and bring her along. She will situp to-night, and then you can both get some rest. " He spoke kindly, including Tochatti in his smile; but the woman merely glowered, and hefelt a spasm of sudden annoyance at her ungracious behaviour. 

 * * * * *

Luckily Nurse Trevor was at hand and disengaged; and Anstice had thesatisfaction of finding her safely installed and apparently completelyat home in her new surroundings when he paid his last visit to CherryOrchard late that night. 

She was a pretty girl of twenty-seven, who had had a good deal ofexperience in nursing children, and although poor little Cherry was bythis time too ill to pay much attention to any of the people around her, it really seemed as though Margaret Trevor's soft voice, with itscooing, dove-like notes, had a soothing influence on the sufferingchild. 

Anstice stayed some time in Cherry's room, doing all his skill couldsuggest for the alleviation of his little patient's pain, and when atlength he took his departure Chloe herself came downstairs with him. 

"What a lovely night!" She had opened the big hall door quietly while hesought his hat. "The moon must be nearly at the full, I think. "

Together they stood on the steps looking out over the dew-drenchedgarden. The white stars of the jasmine which clustered thickly round thehouse sent out a delicious fragrance, and there were a dozen otherscents on the soft and balmy air, as though the sleeping stocks andcarnations and mignonette breathed sweetly in their sleep. 

A big white owl flow, hooting, across the path, and Chloe shivered. 

"I hate owls--I always think them unlucky, harbingers of evil, " shesaid, and her face, as she spoke, was quite pale. 

In an ordinary way Anstice would have deemed it his duty to scoff atsuch superstition; but to-night, his nerves unstrung, by the happeningsof the last few days, his bodily vigour at a low ebb, his mind a chaosof miserable, hopeless memories and fears, Chloe's words woke a quiteunexpected response in his soul. 

"Don't say that, Mrs. Carstairs!" He spoke sharply. "Don't let us talkof bad luck--to-night of all nights!"

In the moonlight her narrow blue eyes studied his face with suddenkeenness, and she felt an unusual desire to bring comfort to the soulwhich she felt with instinctive certainty stood in need of some help. 

As a rule Chloe Carstairs, like Anstice himself, was too muchpreoccupied with the thought of her own private grudge against fate tohave any sympathy to spare for others who might have known that Deity'sfrown; but to-night, owing possibly to some softening of her mentalfibres induced by the sight of her child's suffering, she felt oddlypitiful towards this man, and her inward emotion found vent in wordswhich surprised her as much as they startled the man to whom they wereaddressed. 

"Why to-night, Dr. Anstice? Has this day been to you what it has been tome--a day of the bitterest suffering I have ever known?"

The tone of her deep voice, so oddly gentle, the compassionateexpression in her usually cold blue eyes, were too much for Anstice, whose endurance was nearly at the breaking point; and he turned to herwith a look in his face which dismayed her, so tragic was it. 

"Mrs. Carstairs, this day I have been in--_hell_!" The word soundedcruelly out of place in the quiet moonlit night. "Once before I fanciedI had reached the point at which a man may turn his back on life and itshorrors without thinking himself a pitiful coward. I suffered then--myGod, how I suffered!--but the torture I have endured to-day makes mefeel as though I have never known what suffering is until now. "

Her answer came quickly. 

"But you know now that no man can turn his back on life and yet escapethe allegation of cowardice!" It was an assertion rather than aquestion. "Dr. Anstice, I don't ask to know what your suffering hasbeen--I don't want you to tell me--but one thing I do know, that you, and men like you, are not the ones who give up the battle when the fightis fiercest. "

He delayed his answer so long that Chloe had time to feel curiouslyfrightened by his silence. And when his reply came it was hardlyreassuring. 

"I thought you were too wise a woman to indulge in generalities, Mrs. Carstairs. " His tired voice robbed the words of offence. "And don't youknow that it is never safe to prophesy what a man will do in a battle?The bravest may turn coward beneath a hail of fire--the man who isafraid may perform some deed which will entitle him--and rightly--to thecoveted Victoria Cross. "

"Yes. " She spoke steadily, her eyes on his face. "But that's thebattlefield of the world, Dr. Anstice, the material, earthlybattlefield. It's the battlefield of the soul I was thinking of justnow; and if I may use a quotation which has been battered out of nearlyall its original fine shape by careless usage, to me the truly brave manis he who remains to the end the--'captain of his soul!'"

Her voice sank on the last words; but Anstice had caught her meaning, and he turned to her with a new light in his tired eyes. 

"Mrs. Carstairs, thank you for what you've just said. Captain of hissoul--yes, I've heard it often enough, but never stopped to ponder itsmeaning. And as the captain mustn't lose his ship if mortal man canprevent the loss, so a man must bring the ship of his soul safely intoport. Is that what you meant just now?"

She smiled faintly in the moonlight, and for once there was no mockeryin her smile. 

"We have wandered from our original metaphor of a battlefield, " she saidgently, "but I like your simile of a ship better. Yes, I suppose that iswhat I was trying to convey--in a confused fashion, I'm afraid. We eachhave our voyage to complete, our ship to bring into harbour; and eventhough sometimes it seems about to founder"--he knew she alluded to thecatastrophe of her own life--"we must not let it sink if we can keep itafloat. "

For a moment there was silence between them; and again they heard themelancholy hoot of the owl, flying homewards now. 

Then Anstice said slowly:

"You are right, of course. But"--at last his pent-up bitterness burstits bounds and overflowed in quick, vehement speech--"it's easy enoughfor a man to handle his ship carefully when he has some precious thingon board--or even when he knows some welcoming voice will greet him ashe enters--at last--into his haven. But the man whose ship is empty, whohas no right to expect even one greeting word--is there no excuse forhim if he navigate the seas carelessly?"

"No. " In the moonlight she faced him, and her eyes looked oddlyluminous. "For a derelict's the greatest danger a boat can encounter onthe high seas . .. All our boats cross and recross the paths of others, you know, and no man has the right to place another's ship in peril byhis own--carelessness. "

"By God, you're right, " he said vehemently; and she did not resent hishasty speech. "Mrs. Carstairs, you've done more for me to-night than youknow--and if I can repay you I will, though it cost me all I have in theworld. "

"You can repay me very easily, " she said, holding out her hand, all themotherhood in her coming to the surface. "Save Cherry--she is all _I_have--now--in the world; and her little barque, at least, was meant todance over summer seas. "

"God helping me, I will save her, " he said, taking her hand in a quick, earnest clasp; and then he entered his waiting car and drove awaywithout another word, a new courage in his heart. 

 * * * * *

And as Chloe gently closed the heavy door on the peaceful, fragrantworld without and returned to the little room where Cherry lay in anuneasy slumber, she knew that a faint suspicion which had crossed hermind earlier in the summer had been verified to-night. 

"He too loved Iris, " she said to herself, with a rather sad littlesmile. "And I thought--once--that she was ready to love him in return. But, I suppose she preferred Bruce. Only"--Chloe had no illusions on thesubject of her brother--"I believe Dr. Anstice would have made her ahappier woman than Bruce will ever be able to do. And if he"--she didnot refer to Cheniston now--"has lost his chance of happiness to-day, nowonder he feels that he has been in hell. For there is no hell soterrible as the one in which a soul who loves wanders alone, without itsbeloved, " said the woman whose husband had left her because of a crueldoubt. "From the bottom of my heart I pity that man to-night!"

And then, re-entering Cherry's little room, pathetic now in its verybrightness of colouring, Chloe forgot all else in the world save thechild who slept, in the narrow bed, watched by Margaret Trevor's soft, brooding eyes. 

BOOK II

CHAPTER I

On a cold and frosty morning in November Anstice was sitting over hissolitary breakfast when the telephone-bell rang; and he left his coffeeto grow cold while he answered the summons. 

It was Sir Richard who was speaking; and even over the wire Ansticethought he detected an unusual note in the older man's voice. 

"That you, Anstice? Are you busy, or can you spare me a few minutes thismorning?"

"I'll come to Greengates, of course, if you want me, Sir Richard, " saidAnstice immediately. "But I hope you are not ill--nor Lady Laura?"

"No, my sister's all right--so am I. " There was a pause. "But I--well, I'm rather worried, and I want to see you. "

"Very well, sir. I'll be round at eleven. Will that suit you?"

"Yes, eleven will do well. _Au revoir_ till then, " and Sir Richard rangoff with a promptitude which forbade further discussion for the moment. 

As he went back to his cooling coffee Anstice wondered vaguely what SirRichard could have to say; but since speculation was mere idle waste oftime he dismissed the matter from his mind and finished his breakfast inhaste. 

It was nearly noon when he drove his car up to the great hall door ofGreengates; but the words of apology for his tardy arrival died on hislips when he caught sight of Sir Richard's face. 

"I say, I'm afraid you're ill, after all!" Anstice was genuinelyconcerned; and Sir Richard's strained features relaxed into a smile. 

"No, I'm perfectly well. Only, as I told you, I have been upset thismorning; and--well, I'll explain and you will see there _is_ somethingto worry about. "

Without more ado he walked over to his substantial roll-top desk, andunlocking a drawer took from thence an envelope which he handledgingerly as though it were unpleasing to him. 

From the envelope he drew a sheet of thin paper; and Anstice, watchinghim closely, felt still more mystified by his distasteful expression. 

For a moment Sir Richard hesitated, still holding the sheet by the tipsof his fingers. Then, as though he had taken a sudden resolve, he turnedto Anstice abruptly. 

"Look here, Anstice, this abominable thing reached me this morning. Nowof course I don't need you to tell me that the proper place for it isthe fire, and if it had not been for one circumstance connected with it, it would have been in the flames by now. But as things are"--he brokeoff suddenly and held the thin sheet out to the other man--"well, readit, and then tell me what you think is the best course to pursue. "

With a premonition of evil for which he could not account, Anstice tookthe paper from Sir Richard and, turning to the window so that the paleautumn sunlight might fall upon the letter, he read the few linesscrawled in the middle of the sheet. 

 "Dr. Anstice is a murderer he killed a woman in India by shooting her because she was in the way when he wanted to escape. "

That was all. There was no heading, no signature, not even the cynicalassurance of well-wishing which is the hall-mark, so to speak, of thetypical anonymous letter; and as Anstice read the ill-written words hisfirst sensation was of wonder as to who his secret enemy might be. 

When he had finished he turned the sheet over in his hands to see ifperchance the writer might have more to say; but the other side of thepaper was blank; and he looked at Sir Richard with an expression ofutter bewilderment. 

"Well?" Sir Richard interrogated him with interest. "Pretty sort ofdocument, eh? I suppose the writing conveys nothing to your mind?"

"Nothing at all. " Holding the paper to the light, Anstice examined theill-formed characters more closely. "It does not resemble anyhandwriting I know. But I suppose"--he smiled rather grimly--"the testof a successful anonymous correspondent is to disguise his writingefficiently. "

"Yes. " Sir Richard stretched out his hand for the paper and Ansticeyielded it to him without regret. "Well, it is pretty evident thatsomeone has--to put it vulgarly--got his knife into you. The questionis, who can it be?"

"Well, it's a question I'm not clever enough to answer, " returnedAnstice, with assumed lightness. "All men have enemies, I suppose, and Iwon't swear I've never made any in my life. But I can't at the momentrecall one who would stoop to fight with such dirty weapons as these. "

"Dirty--that's just the word for it, " said Sir Richard disgustedly. "Butyou know, Anstice, this sort of thing can't be allowed to go on. Foryour own sake, and for the sake of others"--he paused, then repeatedhimself deliberately--"for the sake of others it must be stopped--atonce. "

"I quite agree with you that it must be stopped, " said Anstice slowly, "though I hardly see how the matter affects anyone except myself. Ofcourse"--he looked Sir Richard squarely in the face as he spoke--"it isno use denying there is a certain amount of truth in this accusationagainst me. I wonder if you have the patience to listen to a story--thestory of a great mistake made, unfortunately, by me some years ago. "

For a moment Sir Richard seemed about to speak; yet no word crossed hislips. Then he said, with a very kindly inflection in his voice:

"Don't trouble to tell me the story, Anstice. I think I know italready. "

"You do?" Anstice stared at him. "But who told it to you? Wasit--Cheniston?"

"No, no. " Sir Richard spoke hurriedly. "Cheniston never mentioned theaffair to me. As a matter of fact I heard it, at the time, from hisuncle, a contemporary of mine; but I confess I did not, at first, associate you with the man who was brave enough--and unfortunateenough--to carry out that poor girl's wish----"

"On my honour, sir, I could not have done anything else. " Anstice'svoice was full of pain, and Sir Richard put his hand kindly on theyounger man's shoulder. 

"Of course you couldn't--no one but a fool could imagine that for amoment! But as I say, at first I did not connect your name with that ofthe hero of the story. It was only on seeing you and Cheniston togetheron one or two occasions that I guessed you might, after all, be theman. "

"Yes--to my everlasting remorse I am the man, " said Anstice ratherbitterly. "But since you know the facts of the case, and yet are goodenough to welcome me to your house, I gather this wretched lettercarried no weight with you, Sir Richard. And if that is so, why not tearit up, and make an end of the thing?"

"Wait a moment, Anstice. As you say, I know the facts of the case andeven if I were ignorant of them this contemptible _canard_"--he flickedthe paper angrily--"wouldn't rouse my curiosity to the extent of settingme searching for some crime in your past. " He smiled, but the smile costhim an effort. "But you see the mischief may not rest here. It is quitepossible other people may have been--victimized--by this morning'spost. "

"By Jove, I hadn't thought of that. " Anstice stood biting his lip andstaring thoughtfully ahead of him; and the old man watched the thin, fine-drawn face with a regard which was full of anxiety. "Naturally astory of this sort is not calculated to enhance one's popularity; andone's patients might quite well look askance at a doctor who was reputedto be a murderer!"

He paused; then threw back his head impetuously. 

"After all, if they are weak-minded enough to believe an anonymousstatement, they aren't worth bothering with. As it is, I've beenthinking for some time that I've had enough of general practice. I neverintended to go in for it, you know; and if I had a quiet year or two forresearch----"

He broke off suddenly, for Sir Richard had raised his hand almostentreatingly. 

"Anstice, don't speak of giving up your practice here--not at thisjuncture, anyway. You see this vile story may spread; and to quitLittlefield now would look almost like"--he hesitated--"like cowardice. "

For a second Anstice stared at him, a flash of anger on his brow. Then, as though dismayed by the effect of his words, Sir Richard spoke again. 

"Besides, there is another aspect of the matter which has evidently notyet struck you. It is very natural for you to look on this letter as aloathsome, but quite unimportant, act of spite, on the part of somesecret enemy; and I understand your desire to assume that it does notmatter in the least. But"--his eyes sought the younger man's faceanxiously--"there is another person in this neighbourhood who might beaffected by a fresh flood of anonymous communications. You know to whomI refer?"

Suddenly Anstice saw, with a most unwelcome clarity of vision, what SirRichard intended to convey; and his eyes grew hard as he replied:

"You mean----"

"I mean that once again that unfortunate girl at Cherry Orchard might besuspected of having recourse to this most degrading, most underhand formof crime. And for her sake the matter must not be allowed to rest here. "

"Sir Richard"--Anstice came a step nearer his host, and Sir Richardheard, with satisfaction, the ring of steel in his voice--"you areright. I did not see, at first, how peculiarly fatal this coincidencemight be. I mean that should these letters, as you suggest, becirculated through the district, the old scandal would be revived. Andthough no sane person could ever believe Mrs. Carstairs guilty of such avile action, I suppose there _are_ a good many lunatics about who wouldput these atrocious things down to her. "

"Well, you know what people are, " said Sir Richard deprecatingly, "andnaturally a woman who has once been convicted, by whatever unfair means, of the same offence, is liable to be looked on with suspicion. And Ishouldn't like"--for a second Sir Richard, who loved Chloe Carstairs asthough she had been his daughter, faltered, and cleared his throatrather huskily--"I shouldn't like that poor, pretty creature over yonderto suffer any further indignity. "

"Of course not!" Anstice's eyes flashed, and he pulled himself togetherresolutely. "And if I can help it, she shan't suffer! Just look here, Sir Richard, the first thing to do is to find out if anyone else hasbeen, as you say, victimized. "

"Yes. " Sir Richard spoke rather dubiously. "And it will be rather hardto find out that, I fear. You see, naturally a decent man wouldn'tspread the fact abroad; and we can hardly go about making openinquiries. "

"I suppose not. " For a second Anstice was nonplussed, then his facecleared. "But after all, if anyone--one of my patients, for instance, has received one of these charming letters, don't you think I shall findit out? You see, although the average 'decent man, ' as you call him, holds firmly to the theory that the place for an anonymous communicationis the fire, I'm afraid nine out of ten people can't help wondering, even while they burn it, how much truth there was in the accusation!"

"Just so--but even then----"

"Well, something of that rather uncomfortable wonder, not to saysuspicion, is pretty sure to show itself in the manner of the man who'sread the letter. Seriously, Sir Richard, if anyone beside yourself hasreceived a testimonial to my character" He spoke ironically now--"I'llguarantee to discover the fact in the course of ten minutes'conversation with him!"

"You may be right, Anstice. " Sir Richard did not speak with muchconviction. "But for all our sakes I wish we could make certain of thefacts either way. You see, should this lie be circulated through thedistrict by means of letters or postcards it is inevitable that the oldscandal should be raked up. And in that case Mrs. Carstairs _will_suffer. "

A thought struck Anstice suddenly and he gave it utterance forthwith. 

"Sir Richard, I suppose you don't remember whether the handwriting inany of those other letters resembled this in any way? It is not likely, so long afterwards, but still----"

Sir Richard uttered an impatient exclamation. 

"By Gad, what an old fool I am! I've got one of the original letterslocked away in that desk now--one of the half-dozen or so which reachedme when the scandal was at its height. I don't know why I kept it--Godknows I hated the sight of it--but somehow I could never bring myself todestroy the thing, hoping against hope that it might some day afford aclue to the identity of the writer. "

He busied himself with a bunch of keys for a moment, and finallyselected one, with which he unlocked a small drawer at the back of hisdesk. At first his eagerness prevented him finding what he sought, butpresently he brought to light another and rather worn sheet of paper, which he handed to Anstice triumphantly. 

"Yes, read it, read it!" He had marked Anstice's hesitation. "Theaffair's been public property too long for any secrecy now. And that, after all, was a fairly innocuous screed. "

Thus encouraged, Anstice ran his eye over the sheet of paper, and thereread a veiled, but none the less malignant, attack on the character ofMrs. Ogden, the wife of the man who had held the living of Littlefieldat the time the letter was written. In his anxiety to compare thehandwriting of the two epistles Anstice barely stopped to take in themeaning of what he read; and when, in answer to his request, Sir Richardhanded him the second letter he carried them both eagerly to the windowand examined them carefully in the stronger light. 

"Well?" Sir Richard's tone was full of sympathetic interest. 

"One moment--I've got a pocket magnifying glass somewhere. " He put theletters down and plunged his hand into various pockets in eager search. "Ah--here it is--and we'll jolly soon see if the game hand has been atwork in both. "

Watching him as he pored over the two papers Sir Richard told himselfthat with this man for her champion Chloe Carstairs need not fearfurther condemnation at the hands of a censorious or jealous world. Heknew instinctively that what made Anstice so suddenly keen ondiscovering the authorship of the letters was not a selfish desire torid himself of the annoyance such letters might bring upon him, butrather a determination to prove Chloe Carstairs innocent in the firstinstance by bringing home the guilt for both letters--or series ofletters--to the right quarter. 

Sir Richard made no mistake in his estimation of Anstice's chivalrousdesire to right the wrong which had been done to Mrs. Carstairs. He knewquite well that to Anstice the righting of the wrong appeared in thelight of a duty to the woman whom he called his friend; and that nowarmer emotion animated him in regard to Chloe Carstairs than that samechivalry. 

For Iris' father had not been blind to the significance of the events ofthe summer. Although Anstice had never betrayed his secret by word orlook the other man had all along had a suspicion that Cheniston was notalone in his love for his pretty daughter; and although naturally he wasignorant of the compact entered into by the two younger men he hadsometimes wondered, with just the least possible tinge of regret, whyAnstice had apparently been content to leave the field to his rival. 

Although he admitted to himself that he had absolutely no grounds forbelieving that Anstice had been in love with Iris he could never ridhimself of the notion; and in any case he felt quite certain thatAnstice had no warmer feeling for Mrs. Carstairs than a very genuine andchivalrous friendliness. 

Watching the younger man as he stood with bent head examining the papersSir Richard was struck by the change in Anstice's face during the lastfew months. Always thin, it was now positively haggard, and the blackhair which clustered round his brow was touched, here and there, withgrey. Yet the effect was not one of age. He could hardly be said to lookolder than his years; but there was a look of something more painfulthan a premature ageing would have been--a look of suffering, of bitterexperience impatiently borne, of a mental conflict which had drawn linesround the fine lips, and given an air of hopeless weariness to thedeep-set eyes. 

And Sir Richard, watching, wondered again--this time uneasily--whetherthe marriage of his beloved little daughter to Bruce Cheniston hadproved yet another trouble for this man's already burdened spirit tobear. 

Sir Richard had, of course, no idea of the remorse with which Ansticeremembered that terrible scene on the eve of Iris' wedding day, whenCheniston and the girl he was to marry on the morrow had come to him forhelp; and had found him in no fit state to render aid to any humanbeing. 

That fact alone, the fact that, as he had said bitterly to ChloeCarstairs, he had failed a child in her need, would have been sufficientto fill Anstice with a very real and deep regret for his own mostlamentable failure; but added to that was the other and still moredeplorable fact that it had been Iris Wayne who had seen his condition;and although she had uttered no word of reproach he told himselfhopelessly that now he must have fallen very low in her estimation. Andthe idea that Iris must scorn him in her heart, however charitably shemight strive to think of him, was a terrible one to the man who hadfought so heroically for her sake to overcome his weakness, and hadfailed only when it had seemed to him that his failure--now--could meannothing to the girl he loved. 

 * * * * *

As Sir Richard watched him, rather uneasily, Anstice turned to himsuddenly. 

"I say, Sir Richard, I'm pretty sure these letters are both written byone hand! Look, these two 'a's are identical, and the capital 'D' isabsolutely similar in both. "

Oddly thrilled, Sir Richard bent over the papers; and saw that Ansticehad spoken the obvious truth. 

"By Gad, Anstice, you're right!" For a moment he did not know whether tobe disturbed or relieved by the discovery. "It looks uncommonly asthough the same hand were at work again; and in that case----"

"In that case the mischief-maker shall be brought to book. " A new lookof resolution drove away the weary lines from the speaker's face. "Ihope with all my heart it _is_ the same person who's at the oldgame--and I'll find out who it is if it costs me every penny I've got!"

"Quite right, quite the right spirit, " said Sir Richard, watching himkeenly the while. "It's damnably unfair that a story of that sort shouldbe circulated about you--and the blackguard who's responsible deserves aheavy punishment for the lie. "

In an instant the vivacity died out of Anstice's face; and again itshopeless expression struck Sir Richard with a sense of pain. 

"Of course the thing is not exactly a lie, " he said. "I mean, I did acttoo hastily, though God knows I did it for the best. But if the wholestory is to be raked up again--by Jove, I believe after all it would bebetter to let sleeping dogs lie!"

"You forget--this is not the first letter which has fallen like abombshell into Littlefield, " Sir Richard reminded him quietly; andAnstice flushed a dull red. 

"Of course not . .. What a fool I am! Thinking of the past, of thathorrible morning, I forgot Mrs. Carstairs. But"--he squared hisshoulders aggressively--"I shall not forgot again. This thing is goingto be sifted now, and the mystery solved. May I take these letters withme?"

"Certainly. " Sir Richard felt Anstice had the better right to thedocuments. "You will take care of them, of course; and if you follow myadvice you will not show them to anyone--yet. "

"Quite so. " Anstice put the two letters carefully away in hispocket-book. "Now I must go, Sir Richard; but please believe I amgrateful for your kindness in this matter. "

He shook hands with Sir Richard, and hurried away to his waiting car;and as he drove from the house his lips were firmly set together, andthe look in his eyes betokened no good to the wretched creature who hadpenned this latest communication. 

And Sir Richard, watching him from a side window, felt a sharp pang ofregret that this man, whom he liked and trusted, had not managed, apparently, to win his daughter's affection. 

"Damme if I wouldn't rather have had him for a son-in-law than theother, " he said to himself presently. "Cheniston's a decent fellowenough, brainy and a thoroughly steady sort of chap, but there issomething about this man that I rather admire. It may be his pluck, orhis quiet tenacity of purpose--I'm hanged if I know what it is; but onmy soul I'm inclined to wish I'd been called upon to give my little girlinto his keeping. As for that affair in India, it's not every man whowould have had the pluck to shoot the girl, and precious few men wouldhave lived it down as he has done. I believe I'd have put a bulletthrough my brain if it had been me, " said Sir Richard honestly, "but Ican quite realize that it's a long sight finer to see the thing through. And if there's to be fresh trouble over these confounded anonymousscrawls, well, I'll stick to the fellow through thick and thin!"

And with this meritorious resolve Sir Richard went back to hiscomfortable fire and the paper which he had not, as yet, had the heartto peruse. 

CHAPTER II

On the day following Sir Richard's interview with Anstice the latterreceived an unexpected call from the Vicar of Littlefield parish. 

The two men were on fairly intimate terms. For the clergyman, as ascholar and a gentleman, Anstice had a real respect, though thereligious side of Mr. Carey's office, as expressed in his spiritualministrations, could hardly be expected to appeal to the man who couldnever rid himself of the feeling that God had deliberately failed him ata critical moment. 

Mr. Carey, on his side, had a genuine liking for Anstice, whose skill headmired with the impersonal admiration which a specialist in oneprofession accords to an expert in another vocation. But mingled withhis admiration was an uneasy suspicion that all was not well with thespiritual health of this most indifferent of his parishioners, and hewas grieved, with the charity of a large and generous nature, by thegloom, the melancholy, which at times were written only too plainly onthe other's face. 

The two men were brought into contact now and again by the very natureof their respective callings. Soul and body are after all so closelyrelated that the health of the one depends largely on that of the other;and at times both priest and physician must take their share in thegracious task of healing. And on the occasions when their work broughtthem together the mutual liking and respect between the two was sensiblystrengthened. 

So that it did not cause Anstice more than a passing sensation ofsurprise when on this cold and raw November evening the Reverend FraserCarey was announced as a visitor. 

"Mr. Carey here? Where have you taken him, Alice?"

"Into the drawing-room, sir. The fire's not lighted, but I can put amatch to it in a moment. "

"No, don't do that. " Anstice hated the little-used drawing-room. "TakeMr. Carey into my room, and bring up some coffee directly, will you?"

"Yes, sir. " The maid, who in common with the rest of the householdregarded Anstice with an admiration not unmixed with awe, withdrew tocarry out her instructions; and hastily finishing an important letter, Anstice went in search of his rare visitor. 

"Hallo, Carey--jolly good of you to look me up on a beastly night likethis. " He poked the fire into a brighter blaze, and drew forward acapacious leather chair. "Sit down and light up. We'll have some coffeepresently--I know you don't care for anything stronger. "

"Thanks, Anstice. " Mr. Carey sank down into the big chair and held histransparent-looking hands to the flames. "It is a bad night, as you say, and this fire is uncommonly cosy. "

Fraser Carey was a man of middle age who, through constitutionaldelicacy, looked older than his years. His features, well-cut inthemselves, were marred by the excessive thinness and pallor of hisface; and his eyes, beneath their heavy lids, told a story of unrestfulnights spent in wrestling with some mental or physical pain whichforbade the refreshment of sleep. He had never consulted Ansticeprofessionally, though he had called upon his services on behalf of alittle niece who sometimes visited him; and Anstice wondered now andthen what scruple it was which prevented his friend making use of suchskill as he might reasonably claim to possess. 

To-night Carey looked even more tired, more fragile than ever; andAnstice refrained from speech until he had poured out two cups ofdeliciously fragrant coffee and had seen that Carey's pipe was in fullblast. 

Then: "It is quite a time since you dropped in for a chat, " he saidcheerfully. "Yet this isn't a specially busy season of the year for youparsons, is it? _We_ are run off our legs with influenza and all therest of it, thanks to the weather, but you----"

"We parsons are generally busy, you know, " returned Carey with a smile. "Human nature being what it is there is no close-time for sin--nor forgoodness either, God be thanked, " he added hastily. 

"I suppose not. " Having satisfactorily loaded his pipe Anstice lay backand puffed luxuriously. "In any case I'm glad you've found time to dropin. By the way, there is a woman down in Blue Row about whom I wanted tosee you. I think you know the family--the man is a blacksmith, Richardsby name. "

He outlined the needs of the case, and Carey took a few notes in thelittle book he carried for the purpose. After that the conversationranged desultorily over various local matters mildly interesting toboth; and then there fell a sudden pause which Anstice at least felt tobe significant. 

It was broken, abruptly, by the clergyman, who sat upright in his chair, and, laying his empty pipe down on the table, turned to face his hostmore fully. 

"Anstice. " His thin, rather musical voice held a new and arresting note. "My visit to you to-night was not of, a purely social nature. I camebecause--I may have been wrong--because I felt it to be both anobligation and an act of friendship to come here to discuss with you apeculiar situation which has arisen within the last day or two inLittlefield. "

Instantly Anstice guessed what was to follow; and he knocked the ashesout of his pipe with a rather impatient gesture which was not lost onthe other man. 

"If you will listen to me for one moment, " said Carey hastily, "you maythen refuse to discuss the subject if you wish. But I think it willreally be better if you can bring yourself to listen to me first. "

Even Anstice's annoyance was not proof against the other man'smoderation; and he spoke with creditable mildness. 

"I think I know what you want to say, Carey. Is it--this interestingsubject--concerned with certain statements which are being made aboutme--anonymously--in the parish?"

Carey's face lost a little of its uneasiness. 

"Yes, " he said, "since you appear to be already acquainted with the factthere is no use in denying it. Indeed, I don't wish to do so, seeingthat is what I came to say to you. "

"You have received such a letter yourself?"

"Yes. I received a letter this morning. "

"I see. " For a moment Anstice sat in silence, his lips set firmlytogether; and the other man, watching, was struck, as Sir Richard hadbeen on the previous day, by the look of suffering in his face. "Well, Carey, is it asking you too much to let me know exactly what form theaccusation against me took? Or have you the letter with you?"

"No. I burnt the letter immediately, " Carey answered. "Naturally suchcommunications are best destroyed--and forgotten--at once. But"--hehesitated--"the fact is I have since discovered that I am not the onlyperson to be addressed by the unknown correspondent. "

"Indeed?" Anstice's eyes flashed. "Is it permissible to ask who else hasbeen thus--honoured?"

The clergyman paused a moment before replying, and it was evident aconflict was taking place in his mind. The struggle was, however, soonterminated, and he answered Anstice's question resolutely. 

"Yes, it is quite permissible. Indeed, I had already gained the consentof the other--victim"--he smiled deprecatingly--"to tell you, ifnecessary, what was being said behind your back. "

"Well?" Anstice's tone was peremptory, but his friend did not resent it. 

"The other anonymous letter--the only other one of which I have anyknowledge--was addressed to the wife of your colleague--I don't thinkhe's your rival--Dr. Willows. "

"Oh!" Anstice opened his eyes; he had not expected this revelation. "Poor little woman! What a shame to victimize her!"

"Yes--as you know, she's quite a girl, they've only been married threemonths; and the letter worried her considerably--so much so, in fact, that as Willows is away on a week's holiday she sent for me to adviseher in the matter. "

"What advice did you give her?"

"Well, in the first flush of indignation she was all for sending thehorrid thing on to you--a pretty sure sign that any accusation againstyou had missed its mark, " said Carey with a smile. "However, her heartfailed her at the critical moment and she sent for me instead. She wasat school with some young cousins of mine and we are on quite friendlyterms; so she confided her perplexity to me at once. "

"I see. " Anstice was thinking hard. "And I suppose you returned herconfidence by giving her yours?"

"Yes. " Carey looked at him frankly. "I requested her to keep myconfidence as I would keep hers--save to you--and I am sure she will doso. But"--he spoke gravely now--"I am afraid, Anstice, there is someonein the neighbourhood who wishes to work you ill. "

"By the way"--Anstice was not listening very closely--"you have not yettold me the nature of the accusation. I presume it was the same in bothcases?"

"Practically, yes. It was a statement, made very plainly and directly, that you--you----"

He broke off, his thin cheeks flushing; and Anstice smiled rather dryly. 

"Don't let it distress you, " he said, with an attempt at jocularity. "Suppose I save you the trouble of repeating the contents of theletters. I daresay the writer stated that I once, in order to get myselfout of a tight place in India, wantonly sacrificed the woman who was mycompanion?"

"Yes, " said Carey slowly, "that was the substance of bothcommunications. The idea was, I gather, to prevent the recipients havingconfidence in you by pointing to you as one who would save himself atthe expense of a woman. Of course"--he spoke more fluently now--"no onewho knew you would dream of attaching any weight whatever to that sortof cruel and senseless lie; and as I told Mrs. Willows, such a baselessslander is better left to die for want of notice. She quite agreed withme, " he added hastily, and Anstice's face cleared. 

"Thanks, Carey. " He held out his hand, and Carey's transparent, fingersclasped it with a strength which would have been surprising to one whodid not know the indomitable spirit which dwelt in the wasted frame. "You are a true friend, and your friendship deserves some return. Unfortunately the only return I can make is to tell you the miserablestory which is perverted by the anonymous writer into something lesscreditable than--I hope--you will judge it to be. "

He sprang up suddenly and leaned against the mantelpiece, hands inpockets as usual; and in that position, looking down on his friend as hesat in his capacious chair, he outlined once again the happenings ofthat bygone Indian dawn. 

He related the affair shortly--it was not a subject on which he cared todwell; and the clergyman listened thoughtfully, his sunken eyes fixed onthe pale face beneath the clustering black hair with an intentness ofregard which would have disturbed anyone less engrossed than thenarrator of the sad little story. 

When he had finished Anstice moved abruptly. 

"Well, that's the truth--and now you see that those statements madeabout me are the most insidious form of lying--with a good foundation ofhalf-truths. That's what makes it so infernally hard to refute them. "

"I see. " Carey loaned forward thoughtfully, shielding his face from theflames with his thin hands. "It is a pitiful story, Anstice; and if youwill allow me to say so I admire and respect a man who can live down thememory of a tragedy as you have done. "

"I have lived it down--yes, " said Anstice, rather grimly. "But it's beenjolly hard at times not to throw up the sponge. Several people havesuggested--discreetly--that suicide is quite justifiable in cases ofthis sort, but----"

"Suicide is _never_ justifiable. " The clergyman's delicate featuresstiffened. "From the days of Judas Iscariot--the most notorious suicidein the history of the world, I suppose--it has been the refuge of thecoward, the ingrate, the weak-minded. People talk of the pluck requiredto enable a man to take his own life. What pluck is there indeliberately turning one's back on the problems one hasn't the courage, or the patience, to solve? Believe me, suicide--self-murder--is anunthinkable resource to a really brave man. "

He stopped; but Anstice made no reply, though a rather cynical smileplayed about his lips; and presently Carey went on speaking. 

"It always seems to me such sheer folly, such egregious lunacy, toprecipitate one's self into the unknown, seeing that one can hardlyexpect the Giver of Life to welcome the soul He has not called. And Ihave often wondered what depths of misery, of shame, must overwhelm theuninvited soul in what someone has called 'the first five minutes afterDeath. '"

His voice sank to a whisper on the last words; and for a moment the roomwas very still. Then Carey leaned forward and laid one hand on theother's arm with a rather deprecating smile. 

"Forgive me, Anstice! The subject we were discussing is one on which Ifind it difficult to hold my peace. But knowing you, I know that suicideis not, would never be, the way out to one of your disposition. "

Anstice moved restlessly. 

"Odd you should use that expression, " he said quickly. "Others haveemployed it in connection with this miserable story of mine. No, suicideis not the way out--nor is another expedient to which I have hadrecourse. But"--suddenly his face lost its quietness and grew keen, alert--"this slander has got to be stopped. You see this is not thefirst time the neighborhood has been infested with this plague. "

"You refer to the unhappy circumstances connected with my predecessor'swife?"

"Yes. You know the story, of course?"

"Yes. I am also acquainted--but very slightly--with Mrs. Carstairs. "

"Then you know a much-maligned woman, " said Anstice. "And it is in orderto save her from further unhappiness that I intend to sift this matterto the bottom. "

"I am delighted to hear you say so, " said Carey earnestly. "And if I canhelp you in any way my services are yours. First of all, how do youpropose starting on the sifting process?"

"I have already made a start, " rejoined Anstice. "Through the goodoffices of Sir Richard Wayne, who has also been pestered with a letter, I have discovered that the writing of those communications and of thoseearlier ones you mentioned just now is in many respects identical. "

Carey sat upright, his face alight with interest. 

"Really? You think the writer of both is the same?"

"Yes. Of course until I have studied the two letters in my possession alittle more closely I can't be positively certain on the point; but Iintend to submit them both to an expert at the first opportunity. "

"I can help you there, " said Carey quite eagerly. "I mean, if you do notknow of a reliable expert I can give you the name of the cleverest manin England. "

"Can you?" Anstice's notebook was out in a second. "Thanks very much--Iwill write to him to-morrow. But in my own mind I have not a shadow ofdoubt that the same person wrote them both. "

"By the way"--Carey spoke slowly--"how many people about here would belikely to know the story you have told me to-night? Out in India, ofcourse, there might be some who would remember such a tragic episode. But it's a far cry from Alostan to Littlefield. "

"The only people in the neighbourhood who have heard the true story are, so far as I know, Sir Richard Wayne and"--he hesitated--"and hisdaughter, who is now Mrs. Cheniston. "

"I see. " Fraser Carey's eyes had noted the change of tone as Ansticespoke the last name; and his quick humanism was stirred by the pitifulidea which crossed his mind. "Sir Richard's daughter knew the story?And--may we conclude that her husband would naturally share herknowledge?"

"Naturally--yes. " He emphasized the word. "You see I omitted to tell youthat the girl I--the girl who was with me in the hut was engaged to thisvery man, Bruce Cheniston, whom Miss Wayne eventually married. "

"Was she, indeed?" Carey was really surprised. "What a strangecoincidence that you should meet again--as I suppose you met--inLittlefield. "

"We met, yes, " said Anstice, his eyes growing fierce at the remembranceof their meeting. "But--well, as you will readily see, none of thosepersons is in the least likely to have anything to do with the letterswe are discussing. I daresay Mrs. Carstairs may possibly know thestory--if her brother saw fit to hand it on to her. But so far as I knowthey are the only people who do know it, and naturally we can write allof them off the list of suspects at once. "

"Quite so. I wonder"--Carey rose as he spoke--"I wonder if anyone elsehas received one of those shameful letters? Of course should the mattergo no further there is not much real harm done, though of course----"

"Whether there are other letters or not the matter is going to bethoroughly investigated, " said Anstice resolutely; and Carey experienceda disturbing and quite unusual pang of regret for his own vanished youthand strength as he heard the ring of determination in the other man'svoice, noted the firm set of his lips and the proud and dauntlessgesture with which he threw back his head, his black eyes sparkling. 

"Well, I shall follow the course of events with deep interest, " he said, striving as he spoke to fight down that unworthy sensation of envy ofanother's superior equipment for the battle of life. "Of course I willkeep my own counsel; and in a few days at latest you should know whetheryour enemy intends to strike again. "

"It is very good of you to take an interest in the horrible affair. "Anstice was really grateful. "Must you go? You haven't given me much ofyour company to-night. "

"I must go--yes. " His smile robbed the words of any discourtesy. "Butdon't forget to call upon me if you want any help. And for the sake ofall concerned, but especially, if I may say so, for the sake of the poorlady at Cherry Orchard, I trust you may be able to clear the matter upfor all the world to see. "

"It is chiefly for Mrs. Carstairs' sake that I intend to do so, "returned Anstice briefly. "Personally I don't care what may be saidabout me; but I don't mean Mrs. Carstairs to be victimized further. Andif it costs me every penny I've got in the world the writer of theseletters shall be brought to book!"

And Fraser Carey agreed, mentally, with Sir Richard's estimation of Mrs. Carstairs' new champion. But he went further than Sir Richard, in thathe found occasion to wonder whether after all this unexpected andunwelcome repetition of the former anonymous campaign which hadconvulsed Littlefield might not in the end prove the salvation of theman against whom it was presumably directed. 

Unlike Sir Richard, Carey was an observer of men, a student of humannature, and he had not failed to notice the increased alertness whichhad characterized Anstice this evening as he discussed the situation. The rather bitter, indifferent look which generally clouded his face hadlifted, giving way to a brighter, more open expression; and the halfmelancholy cynicism which Carey had deplored had vanished before theeager determination to see an innocent and wronged woman righted in theeyes of the world. 

"The man has brooded so long over what he considers to be an injusticeof God that he has lost, temporarily, his sense of proportion, " saidCarey to himself as he trudged, rather wearily, homeward. "But if hedevotes himself, as he seems anxious to do, to the service of a womanwho has suffered an equal injustice, though at the hands of man thistime, possibly he will forgot his own bitterness in the contemplation ofher marred life. And God, who is the God of Justice, whatever scoffersmay say, will bring the truth to light in His own good time. So the twotragedies may react on one another; for the lives of all of us are boundtogether by mysterious and undreamed-of links; and in the effort to freethe soul of a woman from its bondage his own soul may well find itsfreedom. "

But Fraser Carey was a mystic; and since the materialistic world lookswith suspicion on mysticism, it is probable that even Anstice, who knewand respected him, would have heard his last speech with a passingwonder that a man should hold so unpractical and untenable a view ofexistence as the words would seem to imply. 

CHAPTER III

Before he went to bed on the night of Carey's visit to him Anstice wrotea letter to the expert recommended by his friend, inquiring whether anappointment could be made for the following Friday afternoon; and onThursday night a laconic telegram arrived fixing three o'clock on Fridayfor the suggested interview. 

It had seemed to Anstice that a personal interview with the expert wouldbe far more satisfactory than a prolonged correspondence; and he hurriedthrough his work on Friday morning and caught the noon express to Londonwith a minute to spare. 

He had the carriage to himself; and during the quick journey to town hepored over the two specimens of handwriting which he was taking up forexamination until he was more than ever convinced that both were writtenby the same hand. 

Mr. Clive, the noted handwriting expert, had a flat in Lincoln's Inn;and thither Anstice hastened in a taxi, arriving just as the clocks ofLondon were striking three; a feat in punctuality which possiblyaccounted for the pleasant smile with which Mr. Clive greeted hisvisitor. 

The expert was a tall and thin person, with deep-set and brilliant eyeshidden more or less by a pair of rimless eyeglasses; and Anstice wassuddenly and humorously reminded of the popular idea of a detective asexemplified in Sherlock Holmes and his accomplished brethren. 

When he smiled Mr. Clive lost his somewhat austere expression; and asAnstice obeyed his invitation to enter his sitting-room the latter feltthat he had come to the right person with whom to discuss the problem ofthese annoying letters. 

"Now, Dr. Anstice. " Clive pushed forward a chair for his visitor andsank into another one himself, leaning back and joining his finger-tipsin a manner which again reminded Anstice involuntarily of thesuper-detective. "I expect your time is as valuable as mine--probablymore so--and we won't waste it in preliminaries. I gather you have somespecimens of handwriting to submit to me?"

"Yes. I have two letters to show you. " He drew them carefully from hisnotebook. "What I want to know is, whether they were both written by thesame hand or not. "

Mr. Clive unlaced his finger-tips and took the papers carefully from hisvisitor; after which, rather to Anstice's amusement, he removed hiseyeglasses and proceeded to study the letters without their aid. 

For several minutes he pored over them in silence, the letters spreadout on the table before him; and Anstice, watching, could make nothingof the inscrutable expression on his face. Presently he rose, went to alittle cabinet at the end of the room, and took from it a smallmagnifying glass, with whose aid he made a further study of the twodocuments; after which he resumed his eyeglasses and turned to Ansticewith a smile. 

"Your little problem is quite simple, Dr. Anstice, " he said amiably. "Assoon as I looked at these letters I guessed them to be the work of onehand. With the help of my glass I know my guess to be correct. "

For a moment Anstice could not tell whether he were relieved ordisappointed by this confirmation of his own suspicions; but the expertdid not wait for his comments. 

"If you will look through the glass you will see that the similaritiesin many of the letters are so striking that there is really no possiblequestion as to their being written by one hand. " He pushed the papersand glass across to Anstice, who obediently bent over the table andstudied the letters as they lay before him. "For instance"--Clive movedto Anstice's side and, leaning over his shoulder, pointed with a slimfinger--"that 'I' in India is identical with the one with which thisletter opens; and that 's' with its curly tail could not possibly havebeen traced by any hand save that which wrote this one. There are otherpoints of resemblance--the spaces between the words, for instance--whichprove conclusively, to my mind at least, that the letters are the workof one person; but I expect you have already formed an opinion of yourown on the subject. "

"Yes, " said Anstice. "To be frank, I have. I was quite sure in my ownmind that they were written by one person; but I wanted an expertopinion. And now the only thing to be discovered is--who is thatperson?"

Clive smiled. 

"That is a different problem--and a more difficult one, " he saidquietly. "These anonymous letters are very often exceedingly hard nutsto crack. But probably you have someone in your mind's eye already. "

"No, " said Anstice quickly, moved by a sudden desire to enlist thisman's sympathy and possible help. "I'm completely in the dark. But Iintend to find out who wrote these things. I suppose"--for a second hehesitated--"I suppose it isn't in your province to give me any possibleclue as to the identity of the writer?"

The other laughed rather dryly. 

"I'm not a clairvoyant, " he said, "and I can't tell from handling aletter who wrote it, as the psychometrists profess to be able to do. ButI will tell you one or two points I have noted in connection with thesethings. " He flicked them rather disdainfully with his finger. "They arewritten by a woman--and I should not wonder if that woman were aforeigner. "

"A foreigner?" Anstice was genuinely surprised. "I say, what makes youthink that? The writing is not foreign. "

"No. You are right there inasmuch as the regulation writing of aforeigner, French, Italian, Spanish, is fine and pointed in character, while this is more round, more sprawling and clumsy. But"--he frownedthoughtfully, and Anstice thought he looked more like Sherlock Holmesthan ever--"there is one point in connection with this last letter whichhas evidently not struck you. Suppose you read it through carefully oncemore, and see if you can discover something in it which appears a trifleun-English, so to speak. "

Anstice took the second letter as desired, and read it throughcarefully, while Clive watched him with an interest which was notfeigned. Although Anstice had no suspicion of the fact, Clive, who hadtravelled in India, had in the light of that letter identified hisvisitor directly with the central figure in that bygone tragedy inAlostan; and although, owing to his absence from England, Clive had notbeen one of the experts consulted in the Carstairs case, it was not hardfor him to place the first letter as belonging to that notorious seriesof anonymous scrawls which had roused so much interest in the Press acouple of years before this date. 

Just where the connection between the two cases came Clive could notdiscover, but he had always felt a curiously strong sympathy with theunknown man who had carried out a woman's wish just ten minutes toosoon, and he would willingly have helped Anstice to solve this problemif he could have seen his way to find the solution. 

Presently Anstice looked up rather apologetically. 

"I'm awfully stupid, but I don't see what you mean about aforeigner. .. . "

Clive smiled. 

"Don't you? Well, I'll explain. And after all I may be wrong, you know. However, here goes. " He bent down again and pointed to the word India, which for some reason was set in inverted commas. "Don't you notice anypeculiarities about these commas? Think of the usual manner in which anEnglish writer uses them--and note the difference here. "

Anstice studied the word with suddenly keen attention, and instantlynoted the peculiarity of which Clive had spoken. 

"The first double comma, so to speak, is set below the line, and theother one above. But English writers and printers use both above theline. Isn't that so?"

"Yes. Whereas in the majority of French or Italian printing the commasare set as they are here--a trick which, to my mind, points to thestrong probability, at least, of the writer of this letter being aforeigner of sorts. "

"Italian! Why----" Suddenly a vision of the woman with the Italian name, Tochatti, Mrs. Carstairs' personal attendant, flashed into Anstice'smind, and Clive's eyes grew still keener in expression as he noted theeager tone in his visitor's voice. 

"Well?" As Anstice paused the expert spoke quickly. "Does the suggestionconvey anything to your mind?"

"Yes, " said Anstice. "It does. But the only Italian--orhalf-Italian--person I know, a woman, by the way, is absolutely the lastone I could suspect in the matter. "

"Really?" As he spoke Clive removed his eyeglasses once more and staredwith his brilliant eyes at the other man's face. "Don't forget that incases like these it is generally the last person to be suspected whoturns out to be the one responsible. Of course I don't know the facts ofthe case, and my suggestions are therefore of little practical value. Atthe same time the very fact that you are able at once to identify anItalian in the case----"

"She is not altogether Italian, " said Anstice slowly. "She's ahalf-breed, so to speak--and I really can't in fairness suspect her, devoted as she is to Mrs. Carstairs----"

He broke off abruptly, annoyed with himself for having betrayed so much;but Clive's manner suddenly became more animated. 

"See here, Dr. Anstice. " He sat down again, and handed his cigarettecase to his visitor. "May I be frank with you?"

"Certainly. " He accepted a cigarette and Clive resumed immediately. 

"I think I am correct in assuming that the first letter is one of thosesupposed--by some people--to have been written by Mrs. Carstairs, wifeof Major Carstairs of the Indian Army?"

"Yes. " It would have been folly to deny the correctness of theassumption. 

"Well, I was not professionally interested in the case, but all along Ihave had very grave doubts as to the course of justice in that unhappyaffair. And I have always thought the sentence was unjustifiablysevere. "

Anstice's face cleared, and his manner lost its first stiffness. 

"I am glad to hear you say so, " he said heartily. "For my own part I amperfectly convinced Mrs. Carstairs was absolutely innocent in thematter. You see, I have the privilege of her acquaintance, and it wouldbe quite impossible for her to stoop to so low and degrading an action. "

"Just so. " For a second the expert wondered whether Dr. Anstice'sinterest in Mrs. Carstairs arose from a purely personal dislike to seean innocent woman unjustly accused or from some warmer feeling; butafter all it was no concern of his, and he dismissed that aspect of thecase from his mind for the present. "But I should like to ask you toexplain one thing to me. Would it have been possible for this Italianwoman of whom you speak to have written those former letters? I gatherthat it is not altogether impossible, though I daresay improbable, forher to be connected with this last one; but of course, if she must beacquitted of any hand in the first, the clue drops to the ground atonce. "

"Well"--for a second Anstice hesitated, then resolved to speak plainly. "To tell you the truth, it would have been quite possible for her to bemixed up in both affairs--save for one thing. The woman, is a servant inthe household of Mrs. Carstairs; but she's not only absolutely devotedto her mistress, but is also unable to write even her name. "

"What proof have you of that?" The question shot out so abruptly thatAnstice was genuinely startled. 

"Proof? Well, the woman herself admits it, and certainly she has neverbeen seen to write so much as a word----"

"That does not prove she could not write quite well if she wished to, "said Clive quietly. "People do strange things in this queer world ofours, Dr. Anstice, as I expect you know considerably better than I do. Have you never had an hysterical patient who declared she could not walkand after being carried about for months has been discovered dancing afandango in her bedroom on the sly?"

He laughed and threw away his cigarette. 

"Perhaps that's not quite a typical case, but you must have known ofmany people who declare they have lost the use of one or more of theirfaculties--possibly in order to gain sympathy from their friends?"

"Quite so. " Anstice could not but admit the fact. "But as you say, inthese cases there is generally some definite object to be gained, evenif it is only the desire for sympathy. In this case, however, the motiveappears to be lacking, for I gather that long before the anonymousletters began to arrive this woman had admitted her inability to handlepen or pencil. "

"Really? That complicates matters a little, " said Clive thoughtfully. "Though, of course, if the woman were a schemer it is possible she mightprepare the way, so to speak, for some time beforehand. In any case itis an interesting problem. But I don't quite see why thiswoman--supposing it to be she--? should start another campaign, directed, this time, against you. Surely she can't want her mistress, towhom you say she is devoted, to be suspected once more?"

"I don't know--I confess it is a problem beyond my powers to solve, "said Anstice rather hopelessly; and Clive answered at once, with a kindnote in his voice. 

"Don't say that, Dr. Anstice. All sorts of mysteries have come to lightsooner or later, you know, and it is quite on the cards this one may beeasier to solve than you think at present. At any rate, if I may giveyou a word of advice, keep your eye on the Italian woman. I'll swearthose inverted commas are of foreign origin, and as a doctor you oughtto be able to find some way of penetrating through any imposition in theway of pretence. "

"Thanks, " said Anstice, rather amused at this tribute to his powers. "I'll do my best. Anyway, you have given me valuable help, and I'llfollow up this clue at once. "

"Do--and let me know the result. " Clive followed his visitor to thedoor. "I really am genuinely interested in the case, and I shall bepleased to hear from you how things progress. "

They parted on mutually cordial terms, and an Anstice walked away hebegan to feel as though, after all, this mystery might yet be solved;though he was bound to confess that at present the introduction ofTochatti's name merely complicated matters. 

He had a couple of hours to fill in before repairing to the station, andfeeling in the mood for exercise, he set out for a brisk walk, carelessof whither his steps led him while he pondered over his recent interviewwith Clive. 

After the quiet and pastoral solitude of Littlefield London seemedunpleasantly crowded and noisy. The reek of petrol was a poor substitutefor the clean country air, and the hoot of innumerable motors and 'busesstruck on his ear with new and singularly disagreeable force as he tookhis way along Piccadilly. 

Suddenly a noise considerably louder and more ominous than the restpenetrated his hearing, and looking hastily round he saw that acollision had taken place between a taxi-cab and a motor-van bearing thename of a well-known firm in Oxford Street--with apparently tragicresults to the taxi-cab, which lurched in the road like a drunken manvainly attempting to steer a straight course, and eventually toppledhalf over on to the pavement, where it struck a lamp-post with aterrific crash as it came to rest. 

With the rapidity peculiar to the life of cities a crowd instantly beganto assemble; and as a burly policeman, notebook in hand, pushed throughthe people, a middle-aged gentleman stepped, with some difficulty, outof the wrecked cab, and stumbled forward on to the kerb, almost into thearms of Anstice, who reached the spot at the same moment and caught himas he staggered and seemed about to fall. 

"Hold up, sir!" Anstice involuntarily gripped the gentleman's shoulderto support him; and his friendly tone and prompt help apparently assuredthe other man, who pulled himself together pluckily. 

"Thanks, thanks!" He was white, and evidently had been somewhat upset, for the taxi had swerved half across the road to the discomfort of itsoccupant. "You are most kind. I am really not hurt, only a littleshaken. The driver of the van was entirely to blame--I hope, constable, you will make all possible inquiries into the matter. "

As a first step towards doing so the policeman stolidly requested thespeaker's name and address, and these having been furnished he proceededto interrogate the van-driver and the taxi-man, both of whom were onlytoo ready to pour out voluble explanations, each accusing the other ofcarelessness with a freedom of language only known, apparently, to thosewho have intimate acquaintance with the dark ways of motors and theiraccompanying vices. 

In the meantime the middle-aged gentleman turned to Anstice with a wordof gratitude for his timely support. 

"You're sure you're not hurt?" Anstice thought the other man lookedoddly white. "I'm a doctor--and if I can do anything for you----"

"No, I'm really all right, thanks. " He relinquished Anstice's arm, whichhe had been unconsciously holding, and looked round him. "By good luckI'm opposite my club, and if this fellow has finished with me I'll go inand sit down. "

The constable intimated that he had no further need of him for themoment; and having asserted his readiness to appear in court inconnection with the case he turned back to Anstice. 

"Will you come in and have a peg with me?" His invitation was cordial. "I'm all alone--just back from India, and if you can spare five minutes, I'll be glad of your company. "

"Thanks. " Anstice was curiously attracted towards the man. "I'm killingtime, waiting for a train, and I'll come with pleasure. "

They went up the steps of the building outside which the accident hadoccurred; and five minutes later his new friend, brushed and tidied, every speck of dust removed from his well-cut suit, led him to acomfortable corner of the smoking-room and invited him to take a seat, calling to a waiter as they sat down. 

"What will you drink--whisky-and-soda? Right--I'll have the same--alarge whisky for me, " he said, as the man moved away. "I really feel asthough I want a stiff drink, " he added, rather apologetically, toAnstice. 

"I expect you do--your taxi came a fearful bump on the kerb, " saidAnstice, "You were lucky not to get shoved through the window. "

"Yes--it was down, fortunately, or I might have got in quite a nastymess with cut glass. " He hesitated a moment. "By the way, shall weexchange cards? Here's mine, at any rate. "

He laughed and pushed the slip of pasteboard over to Anstice, whoreturned the courtesy before picking it up. But as the latter glanced atit perfunctorily, with no premonition of the surprise in store for him, the name he read thereon sent a sudden thrill through his veins; and heuttered a quite involuntary exclamation which caused his companion tolook up in amazement. 

For by one of those strange coincidences which happen every day, yetnever lose their strangeness, the man who sat opposite to Anstice onthis murky November afternoon was Chloe Carstairs' husband, MajorCarstairs. 

CHAPTER IV

For a moment his _vis-ŕ-vis_ regarded him with a very natural surprise. Then:

"You seem a little astonished, " he said, with a hint of stiffness in hismanner. "May I ask if my name is familiar to you? I don't think Iremember yours--though"--he stole another glance at the card, and hisbrows drew together a little thoughtfully--"Now that I come to look atit I do seem to have heard it before. "

"I daresay you have, if you have lived in India. Unfortunately, my namewas pretty well known in that country once, for the proverbial ninedays. " His voice was a little savage. "But don't trouble about _my_name--let me admit at once that yours is perfectly familiar to me. "

He broke off as the waiter approached with their glasses; and until hehad vanished Anstice said no more. Then he continued steadily:

"You see I am living at present in Littlefield; and I have the honour ofbeing acquainted with a lady bearing the same name as yourself. "

"You mean my wife?" He spoke calmly; and Anstice found himself admiringthe other's composure. "Then you will be able to give me the latest newsof her and of my little daughter. Has she--Cherry, I mean--quiterecovered from that serious burning accident in September?"

"Quite, I think. " For a second Anstice's heart was sick within him as heremembered the night on which that accident had taken place; but hestifled the memory and continued steadily. "She got over it splendidly, and she is not marked by even the tiniest scar. "

"That's a good thing. " Major Carstairs took a drink from the contents ofhis glass, and then, setting it down, looked Anstice squarely in theface. "See here, Dr. Anstice, by a strange coincidence you and I havebeen brought together this afternoon, and I should be very much obligedif you will be kind enough to answer me one or two questions. "

"I am quite ready to answer any questions you may care to ask, MajorCarstairs. " Anstice sat upright and pushed aside his glass, and MajorCarstairs began at once. 

"First of all, how long have you been in Littlefield?"

"A little over twelve months. I went there, to be exact, in September oflast year. "

"I see. And you have been acquainted with Mrs. Carstairs during thewhole of that time?"

"Not quite. I first met Mrs. Carstairs in the spring, when I was calledin to attend her professionally. "

"I see. As a doctor you will naturally be acquainted with many people inthe neighbourhood; and that being so"--Major Carstairs moistened hislips and went heroically on--"you are of course familiar with my wife'sstory--you know all about those damned anonymous letters--and theirsequel?"

"Yes. " Anstice met his gaze fully. "I know the story, and I am glad ofthis opportunity to assure you of my unswerving belief in Mrs. Carstairs' innocence of the charge brought against her. I hope you don'tconsider my assertion uncalled-for, " he added hastily. 

For a long moment Major Carstairs said nothing, gazing ahead of himthoughtfully, and Anstice studied the face of Chloe Carstairs' husbandwith deep interest. 

He said to himself that this man was a gentlemen and a man of honour. There was something about him, something dignified, reserved, a littlesad, which won Anstice's usually jealously-withheld sympathy at once;and although he had hitherto pictured Major Carstairs as harsh, unforgiving, narrow-minded, inasmuch as he could not bring himself tobelieve his wife innocent of a degrading charge, now that he saw the manhimself, traced the lines in his face which spoke of tragedy, noted thesadness in his eyes, and heard the gentle note in his voice as he spokeof Chloe, Anstice was ready to swear that this man had not lightlydisbelieved his wife. 

If he had left her, it had not been done easily. He had surely acted inaccordance with his lights, which would permit no compromise in a matterof honour; and as he now sat opposite to Major Carstairs, Anstice felt astrange new respect springing up in his heart for the man who had hadthe courage to stand by his inward convictions, however terribly, tragically mistaken those convictions might have been. 

When at length that long pause ended, Anstice was surprised by themanner of its ending. 

Major Carstairs leaned across the little table and laid hissquare-fingered hand, brown with the suns of India, on Anstice's arm. 

"From the bottom of my heart I thank you for those words, " he saidearnestly. "I am glad to know my wife has one friend, at least, inLittlefield, who is able to believe in her innocence. "

"She has more than one, sir, " returned Anstice significantly, asCarstairs withdrew his hand. "Sir Richard Wayne is as firmly convincedas I that Mrs. Carstairs has been the victim of a cruel injustice. And----"

"Sir Richard? Ah, yes, he was always a true friend to Chloe. " He spokeabsently and for a second said no more. Then he suddenly bent forwardresolutely. "Dr. Anstice, I see you are to be trusted. Well, you havedoubtless heard that I left my wife because I could not bring myself toacquit her of the charge brought against her. I don't know how much youmay have learned, but I give you my word the evidence against herwas--or appeared to be--overwhelming. "

"So I have heard. " Anstice's tone was strictly non-committal, and aftera glance at his impassive face Carstairs went on speaking. 

"You must forgive me for reminding you that Mrs. Carstairs nevercategorically denied the charges made. That is to say, she implied thatany such denial was, or should be, unnecessary; and it seemed as thoughher pride forbade her realizing how unsatisfactory her silence was--toothers. "

"Forgive me, Major Carstairs. " Anstice took advantage of a momentarypause. "May I not just suggest that a categorical denial wasunnecessary? Surely to anyone who knew her, Mrs. Carstairs' silence musthave been sufficient refutation of the charge?"

He was almost sorry for his impulsive words when he noted their effect. Major Carstairs' naturally florid complexion turned grey; and his wholeface grew suddenly aged. In that moment Anstice felt that his speech, with its implied rebuke, had been both impertinent and unjust; yet hehardly knew how to repair his error without committing still anotherbreach of good taste. 

Accordingly he said nothing; and after a moment had passed MajorCarstairs spoke with something of an effort. 

"I am glad to see my wife has found a champion in you, " he said, with asmile which Anstice felt to be forced. "And even although as a partisanof hers you naturally think me cruel and unjust, may I ask you tobelieve that I would give years--literally years--of my life to be ableto think myself mistaken in my first judgment of that unhappy affair!"

The note of passion in the last words moved Anstice powerfully; and heforgot his own delicate position in a sudden quite unusual desire tojustify himself. 

"Major Carstairs, forgive me if I seem to you impertinent, meddlesome. Iknow quite well that this is no business of mine, but--but I know Mrs. Carstairs, and I know she has been made bitterly unhappy by thiswretched misunderstanding. And I am sure, as sure as I am that you and Isit here to-day, that she never wrote one word of all those beastlyletters--why, I can almost prove it to you, if you really care for suchproof--and then----"

He stopped short, arrested by the change in Carstairs' face. His eyessuddenly blazed with a new and startling fire; and the hand which hadbeen idly playing with a glass clenched itself into a determined fist. 

"My God, man, what are you saying? If you can prove my wife to beinnocent, why in God's name do you let me sit here in Purgatory?"

"I . .. I said almost----" Anstice positively stammered, so taken bysurprise was he. 

"Well, that's enough to be going on with. " Carstairs spoke resolutely. "Look here, I'll tell you something I meant to keep to myself. For thelast two months--ever since I received my wife's short and formal lettertelling me of Cherry's accident--I've been haunted by the thought thatperhaps after all I was mistaken--frightfully, appallingly mistaken, inthe conclusion I came to at the time of the trial. At first I wasconvinced, as you know, that the verdict was the only possible one; and, although it nearly killed me, I could do nothing but leave her andreturn to India alone. But in the last few weeks I have asked myselfwhether after all I have not made a terrible mistake. Supposing my wifewere innocent, that her silence were the only possible course open to aproud and honourable woman . .. Supposing that a grievous wrong had beendone, and the real writer of those letters allowed to escape scot-free. Oh, there were endless suppositions once I began to dwell on thepossibility of my wife's absolute ignorance of the vile things . .. Andwhen at last I was able to sail for England I came home with the fulldetermination to go into the matter once more, to rake up, if necessary, the whole sad affair from the beginning, and see whether there were notsome other solution to the mystery than the one I was forced to acceptat the time of the trial. "

"You mean that, sir?" Anstice spoke eagerly, and the other man nodded. "Then I'm bound to say I think it is something more than coincidencethat has brought us together to-day. I'm not a religious fellow, and Ialways feel that if there be a God He went back on me years ago in a wayI had not deserved, but I do think that there is something more thanchance in our meeting; and if good comes out of it, and the truth isbrought to light, well"--he laughed with a sudden gaiety that surprisedhimself--"I'll forget my old grudge against the Almighty and admit thereis justice in the world after all!"

"Dr. Anstice, " said Carstairs, "I don't understand you. Would you mindexplaining a little more clearly just what you mean? Why should ameeting between you and me be anything more than the prelude--as I hopeit may be--to a very pleasant friendship? I honour your belief in mywife, but when you speak of proof----"

"Look here, Major Carstairs. " With a sudden resolve Anstice pulled hisnote-case out of his pocket and extracted two sheets of thin papertherefrom. "You will probably be surprised when I tell you that thoseinfernal letters have started again, and this time I am the personhonoured by the writer's malicious accusations. "

"The letters have started again? And you are the victim? But----"

"Well, look at this charming epistle sent to a certain gentleman inLittlefield a day or two ago. " Anstice handed across the letter he hadreceived from Sir Richard Wayne, and Major Carstairs took the sheetgingerly, as though afraid of soiling his fingers by mere contact withthe paper. 

He read the letter through, and then looked at Anstice with a newexpression in his eyes, which were so oddly reminiscent of Cherry'sbrown orbs. 

"Dr. Anstice, were you the hero of that unfortunate episode in the hillsa few years ago?"

Anstice nodded. 

"I was the hero, if you put it so. Personally I should say I feel morelike the villain of the piece. That, anyway, is how the writer of thisletter regards me. "

"Oh, that's nonsense. " He spoke authoritatively. "You could have donenothing else, and I think myself you showed any amount of pluck incarrying out the girl's request. You and I, who have been in India, knowwhat strange and terrible things happen out there; and I tell youplainly that if I had been that unfortunate girl's brother, or father, Ishould have thanked you from the bottom of my heart for having thecourage to do as you did. "

Now it was Anstice's turn to change colour. These words, so heartilyspoken, spoken, moreover, by a man who knew the world, whosecommendation carried weight by reason of the speaker's position, fellwith an indescribably soothing touch on the sore places in Anstice'ssoul, and in that moment his inward wound received its first impetustowards healing. 

He threw back his head with something of the old proud gesture which wasnow so rarely seen, and his voice, as he replied, held a new note ofconfidence. 

"Thanks awfully, sir. " His manner was almost boyish. "You have no ideawhat it means to me to hear you say that. Of course I acted as I did, meaning it for the best, but things turned out so tragically wrong----"

"That was not your fault. " Major Carstairs' reply was decisive. "Andanyone who ventures to criticize your action proclaims himself a fool. As for the stupid accusations in this letter, well, I should say no onewould give them a second's credence. "

"Well, I did venture to hope that my few friends would not believe it, "returned Anstice, smiling. "And if I had only myself to consider Ishould not bother my head about it. But you see there is someoneelse----"

"You mean Mrs. Carstairs?" His manner was suddenly brisk. "Quite so. Ofcourse a second series of letters would remind the neighbourhood of thefirst. Well, if you can bring yourself to allow me to have that letter Iwill submit it to one of those handwriting fellows----"

Anstice interrupted him abruptly. 

"I've already done so. And the report of the expert I consulted--awell-known man of the name of Clive--is that both these letters werewritten by the same hand. "

"Ah! And did the expert utter any further authoritative dicta on thematter?"

"He gave me two--possible--clues. " Anstice spoke slowly. "The lettersare, he says, probably written by a woman, and there is a strongpresumption in favour of that woman being a foreigner--for instance"--hepaused--"an Italian. "

"An Italian?" For a second Major Carstairs looked blank. Then a ray oflight illumined his mental horizon. "I say, you're not thinking of mywife's maid, old Tochatti, are you?"

"Well"--he spoke deliberately--"to tell you the truth, ever since Clivesuggested a foreigner, I _have_ been wondering whether the womanTochatti could have anything to do with the letters. "

"But old Tochatti! Why, she is absolutely devoted to my wife--been withher for years, ever since she was a child. No, believe me, Dr. Anstice, you must write Tochatti off the list. "

"Very well. " Anstice mentally reserved the right to his own opinion. "Asyou say, the woman certainly appears devoted both to Mrs. Carstairs andthe child. But I'm sure you will agree it is wise to leave no clueuninvestigated in so serious a matter?"

"Quite so. And you may rest assured the matter shall be thoroughlyinvestigated. By the way, you said something about a train. Are youreturning to Littlefield to-night?"

"Yes. And it's time I was moving on, " said Anstice, glancing at hiswatch. "Shall I have the pleasure of your company on the journey?"

"Not to-night. I have one or two matters to attend to in town, and Imust write and prepare Mrs. Carstairs for my visit. But I shallcertainly be down shortly, and I hope I may have the pleasure of meetingyou again before very long. "

"I hope we may meet soon, " said Anstice heartily, and Major Carstairsescorted his guest to the steps of the Club, where he took a cordialfarewell of him and stood watching the tall figure swing alongPiccadilly with the stride of an athlete. 

"So that's the fellow there was all the '_gup_' about. " Major Carstairshad heard the story of Hilda Ryder's death discussed a good many timesduring his sojourn in India. "A thoroughly decent chap, I should say, and it's deuced hard luck on him to go through life with a memory ofthat sort rankling in his soul. Ah, well, we all have our privatememories--ghosts which haunt us and will not be laid; and at least thereis no disgrace in that story of his. At the worst it could only becalled a miscalculation--a mistake. But what if my mistake has been amore grievous one--what if Chloe is innocent and I have misjudged hercruelly? If that should be so, " said Major Carstairs, "then my ghostwill never be laid. The man who shot Hilda Ryder will be forgiven forhis too hasty deed. But for a mistake such as mine there could be noforgiveness. "

And as he turned to re-enter the club his face looked suddenly haggardand old. 

CHAPTER V

The more Anstice pondered over the matter of the anonymous letters, themore inclined he was to believe that the woman Tochatti was one of theprime movers, if not the sole participator, in the affair. 

Leaving the subject of motive out of the question for the moment, it wasevident that Tochatti, of all the household, would have the most freeaccess to her mistress' writing-table or bureau; and Anstice knew, through a chance word, that on the occasion of Mrs. Carstairs' fatalvisit to Brighton, she had been accompanied by her maid. 

True, the woman was supposed, by those around her, to be incapable ofwriting, even to the extent of signing her name; but, as the export hadpointed out in the course of the interview, it was not unknown for aperson to deny the possession of some faculty, either from a desire togain sympathy or from some other and less creditable reason. 

The question of motive, however, was a more complicated one. Why shouldthis woman seek to injure her mistress in the first place, and havingdone her an irrevocable wrong--always supposing Tochatti to be theculprit--why should she seek now to bring dishonour on a man who hadnever, to his knowledge, done her any harm?

The thing seemed, on the face of it, absurd; yet somehow Anstice couldnot relinquish his very strong notion that Tochatti was in reality atthe bottom of the business, and on the Sunday following his visit to Mr. Clive he walked over to Greengates to discuss the matter with SirRichard Wayne. 

Sir Richard was almost pathetically pleased to see his visitor, for hemissed his pretty daughter sorely, and he welcomed Anstice cordially onthis foggy November afternoon. 

Over their cigars in Sir Richard's cosy sanctum Anstice gave him anoutline of his visit to the handwriting expert and the conclusions to bedrawn therefrom--a narrative to which Sir Richard listened with closeattention; and when Anstice had finished his story the older man took upthe subject briskly. 

"You really think this woman may be implicated? Of course, as you say, she would have opportunities for tampering with Mrs. Carstairs'belongings; but still--the question of motive----"

"I quite realize that difficulty, Sir Richard. But I confess to a verystrong feeling of distrust for the woman since visiting Clive. Hesuggested almost at once that the writer was a foreigner, and Tochattiis about the only foreign, or half-foreign, person in Littlefield, Ishould say. "

"Quite so. " Sir Richard leaned back in his chair and placed hisfinger-tips together in a judicial attitude. "Well, let us consider thequestion of motive a little more fully. If the writer really wereTochatti, we must suppose her to be actuated by some strong feeling. Thequestion is, what feeling would be sufficiently strong to drive her to adeed of this nature?"

He paused; but Anstice, having no suggestion to make, kept silence, andSir Richard went on with his speech. 

"Generally speaking, in the character of a woman of a Southern nature, we find one or two strongly-marked attributes. One is a capacity forlove, equalled only by a capacity for hatred. Of course Tochatti is onlyhalf Italian, but personally I distrust what we may call half-breedseven more than the real thing. You know the old proverb, 'An EnglishmanItalianate He is a devil incarnate'--and I believe there is some truthin the words. "

"I share your distrust for half-breeds, " said Anstice fervently. "And inthis case, although she speaks excellent English as a rule, it alwaysseems to me that Tochatti is more than half Italian. Do you agree withme?"

"I do--and that's why I distrust her, " returned Sir Richard grimly. "Iconfess I don't like the women of the Latin races--those of the lowerclasses, anyway. A woman of that sort who is supplanted by a rival isabout the most dangerous being on the face of the earth. She sticks atnothing--carries a knife in her garter, a phial of poison in herhandbag, and will quite cheerfully sacrifice her own life if she maymutilate or destroy the aforesaid hated rival. "

"So I have always understood. But in this case, if you will excuse mepointing it out, there is no possibility of love entering into it. Tobegin with, Tochatti is a middle-aged woman; and of course there couldnot be any question of rivalry between her and her mistress. "

"Oh, of course not. I was speaking generally, " Sir Richard reminded him. "But there are other reasons for jealousy besides the primary reason, love. You know, in the case of these last letters, which are certainlyactuated by some very real spite against you . .. Why, what's the matternow?" For Anstice had uttered an exclamation which sounded almostexultant. 

"By Jove, sir, I believe I've got it--the reason why the woman shouldfeel spiteful towards me!" In his excitement he threw away his cigar, half-smoked, and Sir Richard, noting the action, guessed that animportant revelation was at hand. 

"You've got it, eh?" Sir Richard sat upright in his chair. "Well, may Ihear it? It's no secret, I suppose?"

"Secret? Heavens, no--but how intensely stupid I've been not to think ofit before!"

"Go on--you're rousing my curiosity, " said Sir Richard as Anstice cameto a sudden stop. "Tell me how on earth you have managed to rouse thewoman's spite. Personally, seeing how cleverly you pulled her adoredCherry through that illness of hers, I should have thought she wouldhave extended her devotion to you. "

"That's just how the trouble began, " rejoined Anstice quickly. "Youremember how the child set herself on fire one night in September?"

"Yes--on the night before Iris' wedding day. " In spite of himselfAnstice winced, and the other man noted the fact and wondered. "Set fireto herself with a candle, didn't she?"

"Yes--and Tochatti put out the flames somehow, burning one of her handsin the process. "

"Did she? I had forgotten that. "

"Yes--with the result that she was not able to take her fair share ofnursing the child, and I accordingly installed a nurse. "

"Yes, I remember--a bonny girl, with a voice as soft as the coo of awood-pigeon. "

"Just so. Well, I--or rather Mrs. Carstairs--had a pitched battle withTochatti before she would consent to Nurse Trevor being engaged; and thegirl herself told me that the woman did her very best to make her lifeunbearable while she was at Cherry Orchard. "

"The deuce she did! But if she were really incapacitated----"

"She was; but with the unreasonableness of women--some women, " hecorrected himself hastily, "she resented her enforced helplessness, andlooking back I can recall very well how she used to scowl at me when Ivisited Cherry. "

"Really! You're not imagining it?"

"I'm not an imaginative person, " returned Anstice dryly. "I assure youit was no fancy of mine. She used to answer any questions I put to herwith a most irritating sullenness; and once or twice even Mrs. Carstairsreproved her--before me--for her unpleasant manner. "

"You think that would be sufficient to account for the animus againstyou displayed in these letters?"

"Honestly, I do. You see, luckily or unluckily, the child took a greatfancy to Nurse Trevor; and being ill and consequently rather spoilt, shebehaved capriciously towards her former beloved Tochatti--with theresult that the woman hated the nurse--and hated me the more for havingintroduced her into the household. "

Sir Richard nodded meditatively. 

"Yes. I see. It hangs together, certainly, and it is quite a feasibleexplanation. But what about the nurse? She would be the one against whomTochatti might be expected to wreak her spite----"

"Yes, but you see Nurse Trevor was only a bird of passage, so to speak. She had come down here from a private nursing home in Birmingham, andhad just finished nursing a case when I wanted her; and after Cherry wasbetter she returned to Birmingham; so that the woman would probably havehad a good deal of trouble in getting on her track. "

"Quite so. You, being at hand, were a more likely victim. Upon my soul, it almost looks as though you were right. Still, even this does notexplain why she should ruin Chloe's life. "

"No, I admit that. But don't you think if we could bring this lastcrime--for it is a crime--home to the Italian woman we could wring aconfession out of her concerning the first series of letters?"

"Yes, that is quite possible. The question is, How are we going to bringit home to her? At present we have no clue beyond the specialist'sopinion that the writer is a foreigner. "

"No, and it's going to be a hard nut to crack, " said Ansticethoughtfully. "But it shall be cracked all the same. What do you say totaking Mrs. Carstairs into our confidence, Sir Richard? Of course theidea will be a shock to her at first; but if the matter could be clearedup, think what a difference it would make to her!"

"Yes, indeed!" Sir Richard agreed heartily. "And to her husband as well. You know, Major Carstairs is a man with a rather peculiar code ofhonour; and you must not run away with the idea that because he refusesto believe in his wife's innocence he is necessarily a narrow-mindedor--or callous person. "

"I don't, " said Anstice quickly. "By the way I've not told you all thathappened the day I was in town. By a curious coincidence I met MajorCarstairs----"

"What, is he in England again?"

"Yes. " Anstice related the particulars of the meeting between them, andrepeated, so far as he could remember it, the substance of thesubsequent conversation in the club. "So you see, Sir Richard, MajorCarstairs is not only ready, but longing, to be convinced of his wife'sinnocence in the matter. "

"Good! That's capital!" Sir Richard beamed. "If once Chloe can be led tounderstand that her husband will believe in her one day she will beready to help us to prove her innocence. You know I have sometimesthought that if she had taken up a rather more human, more feminineattitude, had relinquished the pride which forbade her to protest loudlyagainst the injustice which was done her, she might have been better offin the end. It is very hard fighting for a woman who won't fight forherself; and that idea of hers that if her own personal character werenot enough to prove her blameless of so vile a charge nothing else wasworth trying--well, it was the attitude of conscious innocence, nodoubt, but it was certainly above the heads of a conscientious, butparticularly unintelligent jury!"

He put down the stump of his cigar, which unlike Anstice he had smokedto the end, and looked at the other man with a kindly eye. 

"Look here, Anstice, why shouldn't we go--you and I--to visit Mrs. Carstairs now?"

"Now?" Anstice was somewhat taken aback at the proposal. 

"Yes. Why not? There's no time like the present. It is barely sixo'clock, and she will certainly be at home. "

"But--won't she be at church?" Anstice felt suddenly unwilling to gointo the matter with the mistress of Cherry Orchard. 

"Not she! Don't you know Chloe only goes to church once in a blue moon?"Sir Richard laughed breezily. "I don't blame her--I expect she feels sheowes Providence a grudge--but anyway she will be at home to-night. And--another inducement--Tochatti will almost certainly be at _her_church. Those Catholics are a queer lot, " said Sir Richard, who was aProtestant of the old school. "They will cheat you and lie to you--aye, and half murder you, on a Saturday night--and turn up at Mass withoutfail on Sunday morning!"

"Yes, I know Tochatti does go to the Roman Catholic chapel at night, "owned Anstice rather reluctantly. "Well, sir, if you really think themoment is propitious let us go by all means. After all, it is justpossible Mrs. Carstairs may have had suspicions of Tochatti herself. "

"Yes. I remember Iris often used to say she distrusted the woman--don'tknow why. I never paid much attention to her caprices, " said Sir Richardwith a smile; and Anstice made haste to seize the opportunity thusoffered. 

"Ah--by the way, what news have you of your daughter?" He could not callher by the name he hated. "She is still in Egypt, I suppose?"

"Yes. She and Bruce are somewhere in the Fayoum at present--he has beenengaged on some irrigation job for a rich Egyptian of sorts, and he andIris have been camping out in the desert--quite a picnic they seem tohave had. "

"Really?" For the life of him he could not speak naturally; but SirRichard was merciful and ignored his strained tone. 

"They sent me some photographs--snapshots--last week, " said Sir Richard. "Would you care to see them? I have them here somewhere. "

He opened a drawer as he spoke, and after rummaging in the contents fora few moments drew out half a dozen small prints which he handed toAnstice, saying:

"Amateur, of course--but quite good, all the same. Oh, by the way"--hespoke with elaborate carelessness--"how did you come? Are you walking, or have you the car?"

"The car? No, I walked--wanted exercise, " said Anstice rather vaguely;and Sir Richard nodded. 

"Then we'll have out the little car, and you shall drive us over if youwill. And if you'll excuse me for a moment I'll just go and order itround. "

He waited for no reply, but bustled out of the room as though in suddenhaste; and left to himself Anstice turned over the little photographs heheld and studied them with eager eyes. 

Four of them were of Iris--happy little studies of her in delightfullynatural poses. In one she was standing bare-headed beneath a talldate-palm, shading her eyes with her hand as though looking for someoneacross the expanse of sunny sand before her. In another she stood by theedge of the Nile, in converse with a native woman who bore a _balass_ onher head; and even the tiny picture was sufficiently large to bring outthe contrast between the slim, fair English girl in her white gown andPanama hat and the dusky Egyptian, whose dark skin and closely-swathedrobes gave her the look of some Old Testament character, a look borneout by the surroundings of reed-fringed river and plumy, tufted palms. In the third photograph Iris was on horseback; but it was the fourth andlast which brought the blood to Anstice's brow, made his heart beatquickly with an emotion in which delight, regret, wild happiness andover-mastering sorrow fought for the predominance. 

It was a photograph of Iris' head, nothing more; but it brought outevery separate charm with an art which seemed to bring the living girlbefore the man who pored over the print with greedy eyes. 

She was looking straight out from the photograph and in her face wasthat look of half-laughing, half-wistful tenderness which Anstice knewso well. Her lips were ever so slightly parted; and in her wholeexpression was something so vital as to be almost startling, as thoughsome tinge of the sitter's personality had indeed been caught by thecamera and imprisoned for ever in the picture. It was Iris as Ansticeknew--and loved--her best: youth personified, yet with a womanliness, agracious femininity, which seemed to promise a more than commonlyattractive maturity. 

And as he looked at the little picture, the presentment of the girl heloved caught and imprisoned by the magic of the sun, Anstice felt thefull bitterness of his hopeless love surge over his soul in a floodwhose onrush no philosophy could stem. To him Iris would always be theone desired woman in the world. No other woman, be she a hundred timesmore beautiful, could ever fill the place held in his heart by thisgrey-eyed girl. With her, life would have been a perpetual feast, alingering sacrament. Her companionship would have been sufficient toturn the dull fare of ordinary life into the mysterious Bread and Winewhich only lovers know; and with her beside him there had been noheights to which he might not have attained, no splendour ofachievement, of renown, even of renunciation, which might not have beenreached before the closing cadence which is death had ended, irrevocably, the symphony of life. 

But not for him was this one supreme glory, the glory of an existencespent with her. She had chosen otherwise--for one fiercely rebelliousmoment he told himself he had been a fool, and worse, to enter on thatinfamous bargain with Bruce Cheniston--and henceforth he must put awayall thoughts of her, must banish his dreams to that mysterious regionwhere our lost hopes lie--never, so far as we can see, to come tofruition; unless, as some have thought, there shall be in another worlda great and marvellous country where lost causes shall be retrieved, forlorn hopes justified, and the thousand and one pitiful mistakes wemake in our earthly blindness rectified at last. 

 * * * * *

The door opened suddenly, and Sir Richard's voice smote cheerily on hisears. 

"I've got the car, Anstice, and if you are ready----"

Anstice hastily replaced the photographs, face downwards on the table, and turned to Sir Richard with a trace of confusion in his manner. 

"The car there? Oh, yes, I'm ready. You would like me to drive?"

"If you will--then Fletcher can stop at home. You'll come back to dinnerwith me, of course. "

With some haste Anstice excused himself; and after a courteousrepetition of the invitation Sir Richard did not press the matter. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Carstairs was at home, and alone; and in a moment the two men wereushered into her pretty drawing-room, where she sat, book in hand, overa dancing wood-fire. 

She looked up in some surprise as the door opened to admit visitors; buton seeing Sir Richard she rose with a welcoming smile. 

"Sir Richard! How good of you to take pity on me on a day like this!"She greeted the old man with almost daughterly affection; and thenturned to Anstice with a rather forced expression of cordiality. 

"You, too, Dr. Anstice! How sorry Cherry will be to have missed you!"

"Is she in bed, then?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to say she was a naughty girl and was put to bedimmediately after tea!" She laughed a little, and Anstice asked, smiling, what had been the extent of Cherry's latest misdemeanour. 

"Oh, nothing very serious, " said Chloe lightly. "It was really to sootheTochatti's wounded feelings that I had to banish the poor child. Itseems that one day last week, while out walking with Tochatti, Cherrynoticed a house in the village with all its blinds down; and oninquiring the reason Tochatti informed her that someone was dead in thehouse; further entering, so I gather, into full details as to the mannerin which Catholics decorate the death-chamber. "

"Oh?" Anstice looked rather blank. "But I don't see----"

"Well, it seems the idea fired Cherry's imagination; and this morning, when Tochatti returned from High Mass about noon, she found the blindspulled down in all the front windows of the house!"

"The little monkey!" Sir Richard laughed. "I'll wager the woman got afright!"

"She certainly did, and matters were not improved by Cherry coming tomeet her with her face quite wet with tears--you know Cherry is a bornactress--and begging her, between sobs, to come upstairs softly assomeone was dead!"

"Someone? She did not specify who it was?"

"No--or if she did Tochatti did not understand; but when she got intothe nursery she found an elaborately conceived representation of aCatholic death-bed--flowers, bits of candle, and so on; and Cherry'svery biggest doll--the one you gave her, by the way, Dr. Anstice--enacting the part of the corpse!"

Even Anstice's mood was not proof against the humour of the smallchild's pantomime; and both he and Sir Richard laughed heartily. 

"And Tochatti took it amiss?" Sir Richard put the question amid hislaughter. 

"Yes. It seems she had really had a bad fright; and on finding Cherry intears she never doubted that some tragedy had occurred!"

"So you had to punish the poor mite for her realism!"

"Yes. Tochatti waited for me to return--I was out motoring--and thenhauled the culprit before me; and although I really didn't see much harmin poor little Cherry's joke I was obliged, in order to pacify Tochatti, to sentence her to go to bed early--a special punishment on Sunday, when, as a rule, she sits up quite late!"

"I almost wonder, " said Anstice slowly, "that Tochatti, devoted as sheis to Cherry, could bring herself to give the child away. One would haveexpected her to hush up any small misdeeds, not dwell upon them to thepowers that be. "

Chloe looked at him with a hint of cynicism in her eyes. 

"Even Tochatti is human, " she said, "and when one has had a fright one'snatural impulse, on being reassured, is to scold somebody. Besides, Tochatti, in her way, is implacable. She never forgives what she reallyconsiders an injury. "

These words, fitting in so curiously with their conversation a littleearlier, caused the men to glance surreptitiously at one another; butChloe, whose eyes were as sharp as her wits, intercepted the look. 

"Sir Richard, why do you and Dr. Anstice look at one another?" She putthe question directly, with her usual frankness; and Sir Richard metcandour with candour. 

"I will tell you in a moment, Chloe. First of all, I will admit that ourvisit here to-night was made with a purpose. We came here to ask you oneor two questions which I feel sure you will answer as fully aspossible. "

"Certainly I will. " Her manner had lost its animation and once more shewore the marble mask which as a rule hid the real woman from the world'sgaze. "But won't you sit down? And if a cigarette will help you in yourcross-examination----"

She sat down herself as she spoke, and Sir Richard followed her example;but Anstice remained standing on one side of the fireplace; and after aglance at his face Chloe did not repeat her invitation. 

Rather to Sir Richard's surprise Chloe did not wait for him to beginquestioning her; but put a question to him on her own account. 

"Sir Richard, has your visit anything to do with certain lettersreceived lately by several people in Littlefield?"

Both the men, genuinely taken aback, stared at her in silence; and witha faint smile she proceeded quietly. 

"Well, _I_ have heard of those letters, anyway. In fact"--she pauseddramatically before making her _coup_--"I've received one myself!"

"You have?" Anstice's voice was full of dismay. 

"Yes. And I gather, from a short conversation I had with Mr. Carey lastevening, that there have been several more of the things flying aboutthis week. "

"Well"--Sir Richard looked rather helplessly at Anstice--"in that casethere is no need to make a mystery of it. Yes, Chloe, we did call hereto-night to talk over those abominable letters, and to see if you canpossibly help us to follow up a rather extraordinary clue. "

"A clue!" Chloe's eyes suddenly blazed. 

"Yes. That is to say--possible clue. " Sir Richard hedged a little. "ButAnstice can tell you the story better than I can. "

"Will you, please, tell me, Dr. Anstice?" She turned to him, grave againnow; and he complied at once, giving her a full account of his visit toClive, and relating at length the expert's opinion on the letters. 

She heard him out in silence; her almond-shaped eyes on his face; andAnstice omitted nothing of the happenings of that day in town, save hisunexpected meeting with her husband in Piccadilly. 

When he had finished Chloe sat quite still for a moment, saying nothing;and neither of the men dreamed of hurrying her. 

At last:

"But, Dr. Anstice--_Tochatti_! Why, she has been with me for years--eversince I was a child like Cherry!"

Her voice was so full of incredulity that for a moment both her hearerswondered suddenly how they could have accepted the possibility ofTochatti's guilt so readily. But Anstice's common sense reasserteditself immediately; and he knew that the mere fact of Mrs. Carstairs'unbelief did not really materially alter the main issue. It was naturalshe should be surprised, unwilling to believe evil of the woman who, whatever her faults, had served her faithfully; but this was no time forsentimentality; and he replied to Chloe's last speech ratheruncompromisingly. 

"Even the fact that she has been with you for years does not precludethe possibility of her doing this thing, " he said. "Of course I canunderstand you would hesitate to believe her capable of such wickedness, but----"

"But why should Tochatti wish to work me harm?" Her blue eyes were fullof a kind of hurt wonder. "And these last letters directed against you, Dr. Anstice--why on earth should she have any spite against you?"

"Dr. Anstice tells me she much resented the presence of the hospitalnurse in the house, " chimed in Sir Richard. "Of course she has alwaysbeen absurdly jealous of any claim to Cherry's affection--even Irisnoticed that and used to say she hardly dared to pet the child beforeTochatti. "

"Yes. " Chloe assented reluctantly. "That is quite true. She has alwaysbeen jealous; and I confess I once or twice saw her look at Dr. Ansticewith a--well, rather malignant expression. But I thought it was only apassing jealousy; and judged it best to take no notice. "

"Of course all this is very largely conjectural, " said Anstice slowly. "Such evidence as we have is purely circumstantial; and wouldn't hang acat. But I admit that Mr. Clive's suggestion carries weight with me; andit is certainly odd that he should have mentioned an Italian as thepossible author of the letters when there is a person of thatnationality--more or less--in the house. "

"Yes. I can see that for myself. " Chloe's voice was low. "But to bequite candid, I don't see how it would be possible to bring the lettershome to Tochatti. To begin with, she can't write. "

"Or pretends she can't. You must remember, Mrs. Carstairs, we have onlythe woman's own word for that. "

"I certainly never remember seeing her with a pen in her hand, " saidChloe, "though of course that's no real proof. But if this horrible ideais correct how are you going to prove it? You don't intend to tackleTochatti herself, I suppose?"

"Not for the world, " said Anstice hastily. "That would be a fatalmistake. A woman who is clever enough to carry on an intrigue of thiskind without incurring suspicion is sufficiently clever to answer anydirect questioning satisfactorily. No. If Tochatti is the culprit--mindyou I only say if--she must be caught with guile, made to commit herselfsomehow, or be taken red-handed in the act----" He broke off suddenly;and the other two looked at him in surprise. 

"Well, Anstice, what's struck you now?" Sir Richard's tone was eager. 

"Only this. Is your writing-table always open to access, Mrs. Carstairs?I mean, you don't lock up your ink and pens, and so on?"

"No, " she said, catching the drift of his questions at once. "Anyone inthe house could sit down here to write and be sure of finding everythingat hand. "

"Just so--and unless the person who wrote was considerate enough to usethe blotting-paper you would not know anyone had touched your things. "

"No--unless they were left strewn untidily about. "

"Which they would not be. Now, Mrs. Carstairs, to speak quite plainly, what is there to prevent Tochatti, or any other member of yourhousehold, creeping downstairs at the dead of night and making use ofthose pens and sheets of paper which you so obligingly leave about foranyone to play with?"

"Nothing, " she said with a smile. "But unless you propose that I shouldsit up behind the curtains all night to see if some mysterious persondoes creep down----"

"That's just what I was going to propose, " he said coolly. "At least Iwasn't suggesting that you should be the person; but you might allowsomeone else to sit there on your behalf. You see, if Tochatti is reallythe mysterious writer she would not like to run the risk of keeping pensand ink in her own room where some prying eyes might light upon themsooner or later. It would be much less incriminating to use anotherperson's tools, and it is quite possible many, if not all, of thosebeastly letters were written at this very table!"

The conviction in his tone brought forth a protest from Chloe. 

"Dr. Anstice, have you really made up your mind that my poor Tochatti isthe criminal? It seems to me that your evidence is very flimsy--afterall some uneducated person might quite easily put those inverted commaswrong without being a foreigner; and I still disbelieve in Tochatti'spower to write. Besides"--she paused a moment--"she has always served mewith so much devotion. She is not perfect, I know, but none of us isthat; and I have never, never seen anything in her manner which wouldlead me to suppose her to be the hypocrite, the ungrateful, heartlesscreature you seem to imply she is. "

Listening to Chloe's words, watching the clear colour flood the marblewhiteness of her cheeks, Anstice was struck by the curious contrastbetween this generous championship of a woman who had served her and herutter indifference and lack of all protest when it was her own innocencewhich was in question. In defence of her servant she spoke warmly, vehemently, unwilling apparently, to allow even mere acquaintances tolook upon the woman as unworthy; yet she had rarely expressed in wordsher own entire innocence of the disgraceful charge which had been madeagainst her; and had suffered the cruel injustice meted out to herwithout allowing its iron to enter into her soul. 

And as he watched and listened Anstice told himself that there wassomething of nobility in this reluctance to accept her own acquittal atthe cost of another's condemnation; yet his determination to see herrighted never wavered; and he answered her impassioned speech in a cooland measured tone. 

"Mrs. Carstairs, I think you will agree with me that the person who wascapable of carrying out such a gigantic piece of deceit, carrying itthrough to the extent of allowing an innocent person to be found guiltyfor her offence, must be capable of a good deal more in the way ofhypocrisy. I don't say for certain that your maid has written theseletters; I don't yet know enough to convict her, or anyone else; but Ido say that if it were she who stood by and allowed you to suffer forher wickedness, well, she is fully capable of living with you on termsof apparently, the most respectful devotion--and hating you in her heartall the while. "

"But why should she hate me?" Chloe's tone expressed an almost childishwonder; and Sir Richard, who had been watching her uneasily, rose fromhis seat and patted her shoulder reassuringly. 

"There, there, don't distress yourself, my dear!" His tone was fatherly. "After all, we only want to clear up this mystery for your sake. Idaresay Anstice would be quite willing to let the matter drop if healone were concerned----"

"Ah! I had forgotten that!" She turned to him with contrition in herblue eyes. "Dr. Anstice, please forgive me! In my selfishness I wasquite forgetting that you were a victim of this unknown person's spite!Of course the matter must be sifted to the very bottom; and if Tochattiis indeed guilty she must be punished. "

"I think you are quite right, Chloe. " Sir Richard spoke with unexpecteddecision. "For all our sakes the matter must be cleared up. You see"--hehesitated--"there are others to be considered besides ourselves. "

"My husband, for one, " said Chloe unexpectedly. "I heard from him thismorning--he is back in England again now. "

"Mrs. Carstairs"--Anstice, feeling desperately uncomfortable, broke intothe conversation abruptly--"may I go upstairs and say good-night toCherry? You know I got into serious trouble for not going up the lasttime I was here. "

She turned to him, smiling. 

"Of course you may, Dr. Anstice. I know Cherry would be heart-broken tohear you had gone without seeing her. You know the way?"

"Yes, thanks. " He had grown familiar with the house during the weeks ofCherry's illness. "I won't stay long--and I'll not wake her if she'sasleep. "

She was not asleep, however; and her face lighted with pleasure asAnstice stole quietly in. 

"Oh, do come in, my dear!" She sat up in bed, a quaint little figurewith two thick brown plaits, tied with cherry-coloured ribbons, over hershoulders. "I'm just about fed up with this stupid old bed!"

She thumped her pillows resentfully; and Anstice, coming up, sat downbeside her, and beat up the offending pillows with the mock professionaltouch which Cherry adored. 

"That better, eh?"

"Rather!" She leaned back luxuriously. "Wasn't it a shame sending me tobed to-day? And I hadn't really done nothing!" The intensity of thespeech called for the double negation. 

"Well, I don't know what you call nothing, " returned Anstice, smiling. "Apparently you'd given poor Tochatti a terrible fright----"

"Serve her right, " said Cherry placidly. "She shouldn't have been sosilly as to think any _real_ person was dead. She might have known allthe servants would have been howling on the doorstep _then_!"

The tone in which she made this remarkable statement was too much forAnstice's gravity; and he gave way to a fit of unrestrained laughterwhich mightily offended his small friend. 

"I don't see anything to laugh at, " she observed icily. "Seems to mepeople being dead ought to make you cry 'stead of laugh. "

"Quite so, Cherry, " returned Anstice, wiping his eyes ostentatiously. "But you see in this case there wasn't anybody dead--at least, so Iunderstood from Mrs. Carstairs. "

"Yes, there was, then, " returned Cherry, still unforgiving. "I'd goneand killed my best-b'loved Lady Daimler"--christened from her mother'scar--"on purpose to make a pretty death-bed for Tochatti--and then shesimply flew into a temper--oh, a most _dreadful_ temper, my dear!" Atthe thought of Tochatti's anger she forgave Anstice's lesser offence, and took him once more into her favour. 

"That was too bad, especially as I'm sure Tochatti doesn't, often loseher temper with you, " said Anstice with some guile; and Cherry looked athim gravely, without speaking. 

"Not with me, " she announced presently. "But Tochatti gets awful crosssometimes. She used to be fearful angry with Nurse Marg'ret. Where'sNurse Marg'ret now, my dear?"

"Don't know, Cherry. I suppose she is nursing someone else by this time. Why do you want to know?"

"'Cos I like Nurse Marg'ret, " said Cherry seriously. "Tochatti didn't. She made a wax dollie of her once, and she only does that when shedoesn't like peoples. "

"A wax dollie?" Anstice was honestly puzzled. "My dear child, what doyou mean?"

"She did, " said Cherry stoutly. "She maded an image like what they havein their churches, because I saw her do it--out of a candle, and thenshe got a great long pin and stuck it in the gas and runned it into thelittle dollie. " As Cherry grew excited her speech became slightlyunintelligible. "And I know it was Nurse Marg'ret 'cos she wrote a greatbig 'M' on a bit of paper and pinned it on to show who it was meantfor. "

Her words made an instant and very unexpected impression on her hearer;not alone as a revelation of Tochatti's medićval fashion of revengingherself upon an unconscious rival--though this method of revenge wasamazing in the twentieth century--but as a strangely apt confirmation ofthose doubts and suspicions which had been gathering round the Italianwoman in Anstice's mind during the last few days. 

If Cherry had spoken truly--and there was no reason to think the childwas lying--then Tochatti's supposed inability to write was an error; andonce that fact were proved it should not, surely, be difficult tounravel the mystery which had already caused so much unhappiness. 

But first he must make sure. 

"Tell me, Cherry"--he spoke lightly--"how did you see all this? SurelyTochatti didn't show you what she was doing?"

"No. " For a second Cherry looked abashed; then her spirit returned toher and she spoke boldly. "It was one night when Nurse Marg'ret hadgone to bed--she was awful tired, and Tochatti said she'd sit up withme . .. And I was cross, 'cos I didn't want her, I wanted Nurse Marg'ret, "said Cherry honestly, "so I wouldn't speak to her, though she tried everso hard to make me, and she thought I'd gone to sleep, and I heard hersay something in 'talian. .. . I 'spect it was something naughty, 'cos shesort of hissed it, like a nasty snake once did at me when I was a teenybaby in Injia, " said Cherry lucidly, "and then she looked up to be sureI was asleep, so I shutted my eyes ever so tight, and then she made thewax dollie and I watched her do it. " Wicked Cherry chuckled gleefully atthe remembrance. 

"But the letter 'M'--how do you know she wrote that?" Anstice put thequestion very quietly. 

"'Cos she couldn't find nothin' to write with, so she crept into NurseMarg'ret's room next through mine and came back with her pen--one ofthose things what has little ink-bottles inside them, " said Cherry, referring, probably, to the nurse's beloved "Swan. " "And I watched herever so close, 'cos I wanted to see what she was going to do, and shewrote a big 'M' on a bit of paper and pinned it into the dollie----"

"Into?" For a moment Anstice was puzzled. 

"Yes, 'cos you see the dollie was all soft and squeezy, " explainedCherry obligingly, "and it hadn't got no clothes on to pin it to, so ithad to go into the soft part of the dollie. "

"I see. But"--Anstice was still puzzled--"why do you say the dollie wasmeant for Nurse Margaret? Mightn't it have been somebody else?"

"No--'cos when Tochatti hates anyone she makes wax dollies end stickspins into them, " returned Cherry calmly. "I know, 'cos she once told meabout a girl she knew what wanted somebody to die, and she did that andthe person died. "

"Oh, my dear little Cherry, what nonsense!" Anstice, whose mother hadbeen an Irishwoman, had heard of the superstition before, had even knownan old crone in a little Irish cabin high up in the mountains who had, so it was said, practised the rite with success; but to hear the unholygospel from Cherry's innocent lips was distinctly distasteful; andinstinctively he tried to shake her faith in Tochatti's teaching. 

"'Tisn't nonsense--at least I don't think so, " said Cherry, ratherdubiously. "Of course Nurse Marg'ret didn't die. .. . I don't think sheeven got ill--but p'raps Tochatti didn't stick the pins in far 'nuff. "

"Well, I'm quite sure if she stuck in all the pins out of yourcherry-tree pincushion it wouldn't affect Nurse Margaret or anybodyelse, " said Anstice, putting his arm round her shoulders as he spoke. "And you really mustn't get such silly notions into your head, CherryRipe!"

"That's what Iris used to call me, " said Cherry, burrowing her headcontentedly into his neck. "I wish she was back, don't you, my dear?Somehow things don't seem half such fun without Iris--I can't think whatshe wanted to go and marry Uncle Bruce for, can you?"

"There are many things I can't understand, little Cherry, " said Ansticewith a smile whose sadness was hidden from the child. "But I agree withyou that it was much nicer when Iris"--he might venture here to use thebeloved little name--"was at home. But we can't always have the peoplewe like with us, can we?"

"No--or I'd always have you, my dear, " said Cherry with unexpectedthough rather sleepy affection; and as Anstice, touched by the words, kissed her upturned little face, her pretty brown eyes closedirresistibly. 

"Good-night, Cherry! Pleasant dreams!" He laid her back deftly on herpillows and the child was asleep almost before he had time to reach thedoor. 

But as he went back to the drawing-room, eager to tell Mrs. Carstairsand Sir Richard of the revelations so innocently made by Cherry, hewondered whether at last the mystery were really within reach of asolution. 

Cherry's story, although fragmentary and confused, was sufficientlycoherent to rank as evidence; and although he could hardly creditTochatti with a genuine belief in the old superstition of the wax imagehe reminded himself she was half a Southerner; and that in some of themedićval Italian towns and cities superstitions still thrive, in spiteof the teaching of the modern world. 

And if Cherry's story were true----

"Out of the mouths of babes"--he murmured to himself as he went down theshallow oak stairs--"strange if, after all, the child should be the oneto clear up the whole mysterious affair! At any rate, we are a stepfurther on the way to elucidation; and from the bottom of my heart Ihope Mrs. Carstairs may be righted at last!"

And with this aspiration on his lips he entered the drawing-room andrelated the substance of his unexpectedly profitable interview with theunsuspicious Cherry to an interested and enthralled audience of two. 

CHAPTER VI

It did not take Anstice long to discover that the accusation againsthim--an accusation all the more difficult to refute because of thehalf-truth on which it was based--had been disseminated throughoutLittlefield with a thoroughness which implied a determination on thepart of the anonymous writer to leave no prominent resident in theneighbourhood in ignorance of Anstice's supposed cowardice on thatbygone day in India. 

He could not help noticing as he went here and there on his dailybusiness that some of his patients looked askance at him, although theydid their best to hide their new and rather disconcerting interest inhim. So far as he knew, none of his patients forsook him for another andless notorious doctor, but he was keenly alive to the altered manner ofsome of those whom he attended, and although at present it was evidentthat he was not yet condemned--after all, no fair-minded person condemnsanother solely on the evidence of a tale-bearer who is ashamed to puthis name to the stories he relates--yet Anstice felt with a quickgalling of his pride that he was on probation, as it were, that thosewith whom he came in contact were considering what verdict they shouldpass upon him. And although his indifference to that verdict equalledMrs. Carstairs' former indifference to the opinion of these sameneighbours, his soul was seared with the thought that his unhappystory--or rather a garbled version of it--was common property amongthose men and women whom he had served faithfully to the best of hisability during the eighteen months he had spent in Littlefield. 

On one thing he was fully determined. So soon as this mystery should besolved--and he fancied a solution was no longer impossible--he wouldleave the place, resign the position which had become tedious, unbearably tedious in its cramped monotony, and seek some other place, in England or abroad, where he might have leisure to pursue thosestudies in research which had been so ruthlessly cut short by his ownmost unhappy miscalculation. 

True, he no longer cared for fame. The possibility of some renowncrowning his toil no longer danced before his eyes with alluringpromises. The part of him which had craved success, recognition, theyouthful, vital part of him was dead, slain by the same bullet which hadended poor Hilda Ryder's happy life; and although he was beginning tolook forward to a new and less cramped career than this which nowshackled him, the joyous, optimistic anticipation of youth was sadlymissing. 

It was impossible that once at work the old interest in his subjectmight awake; but now he would work for the work's sake only, for thesake of the distraction it might afford him; and though through all histroubles he had preserved, at bottom, the quick humanity which had ledhim to choose medicine as his career, he was thinking less now of hisold ambition to find a means of alleviation for one of the greatest illsof mankind than of the zest which the renewed study of the subject mightrestore to his own overshadowed life. 

Yet although he was determined to turn his back as soon as he decentlymight on Littlefield and its people, with the perversity of mankind hewas equally determined to see them brought to confusion before he leftthem--see them impelled to admit that in the case of Mrs. Carstairs theyhad been unjust, prejudiced, and, most galling of all, misled; and thequestion of his own vindication was only a secondary matter after all. 

One day he heard, casually, that Major Carstairs was expected at CherryOrchard, and when he entered his house at lunch-time he found a notefrom Chloe asking him to call upon her between tea and dinner andremain, if possible, for the latter meal. In any case she asked him tocome for half an hour, at least, and he rang her up at once and fixedsix o'clock for the time of his call upon her. 

At six accordingly he entered the drawing-room, and found MajorCarstairs in possession, as it were, standing on the hearth-rug with theair of a man at home in his own house. Before Anstice had time to wonderhow this situation had arisen Chloe advanced, smiling, and held out herhand. 

"Good-evening, Dr. Anstice. I think you and my husband have metalready. "

In these words she announced her cognizance of that meeting inPiccadilly a few days earlier, and Anstice acknowledged the suppositionto be correct, relieved to see by her smile that she did not grudge hisformer secrecy. 

"Yes, by Jove! Dr. Anstice came to the rescue or I'd have had a nastyfall on the pavement, " said Major Carstairs genially. "And by the way, Ideclare I'm quite jealous of your supremacy with Cherry! She doesnothing but talk of you, and I hear she infinitely prefers your car toher mother's!"

"Yes, Cherry and I are very good friends, " said Anstice with a smile. "We had a slight difference last week because I wouldn't allow her todrive that same car; but Cherry is always amenable to reason, and when Ipointed out to her that she had no licence, and might possibly bereported by some interfering police-constable and get us both intotrouble she gave in like a lamb. By the way, Mrs. Carstairs, where isshe to-night? Not in disgrace again, I hope?"

"No, she's as good as gold to-day because she is to sit up to dinnerto-night, " said Chloe, smiling--Anstice thought her smiles came morereadily than usual this evening. "I believe she is making an elaboratetoilette upstairs just now; and I admit I was glad to have her occupied, for I wanted, if you and my husband agree, to talk over the matters ofthe letters--and Tochatti. "

For a second Anstice felt uncomfortable, but Major Carstairs probablynoted his discomfort, for he turned to him with a sincerity there was nodoubting. 

"Look here, Dr. Anstice, you have been--luckily for us, if I may sayso--mixed up in this most unsavoury affair, and from what my wife tellsme I believe you are going to be the means of clearing it up--aconsummation most devoutly to be wished. "

Anstice's embarrassment vanished before the soldier's frankness. 

"I only hope you may be right, Major Carstairs, " he said, looking theother man squarely in the face. "Personally, since I intended to leaveLittlefield before long in any case, these wretched slanders don'taffect me much. The few friends I have made in this place are not likelyto give credence to the rumour which has been spread broadcast in thelast week or two--and for the rest----"

"I understand your indifference to the opinion of 'the rest, '" saidMajor Carstairs, smiling, "but I think it will be more satisfactory forall of us when the affair is really cleared up. But won't you sit down?Chloe tells me it is too late for tea--but you'll have a peg?"

"Not for me, thanks. " Anstice was too intent on the matter in hand toturn to side issues. "If you don't mind giving me your opinion on thesubject--do you think it possible that the woman Tochatti is the one toblame?"

"Well----" Major Carstairs sat down as he spoke, and since Chloe hadalready taken her accustomed seat in a corner of the big couch, Ansticefollowed their joint example. "Personally I have never been able toconquer a dislike, which I always put down as absolutely unjust anduncharitable, for the woman. I know she has served my wife faithfully, and her devotion to our little daughter has been beyond praise. But"--hesmiled rather deprecatingly--"even ten years in India haven'tapparently cured me of British insularity, and I have never likedforeigners--especially half-breeds such as Tochatti, Italian on oneside, English on the other. "

"Then you think it possible, at least, that she may be the culprit?"

"I do, quite possible. And I thank God from the bottom of my heart forthe bare possibility, " returned Major Carstairs deliberately, and hiswords and manner both served to assure Anstice that at last this man hadbeen brought to believe, wholeheartedly, in his wife's innocence. 

Anstice never knew, either then or afterwards, exactly how the miraclehad come about. Indeed, so subtle are the workings of a man's heart, socomplex and incomprehensible the thoughts and motives which touch a soulto finer issues, that it is quite possible Major Carstairs himself couldnot have told how or when he first began to realize that his judgmentmight well be at fault, that his own stern honesty and unflinchingintegrity, which would not permit him to subscribe outwardly to a beliefwhich inwardly he did not hold, might after all have beenstumbling-blocks in the way of true understanding rather than therighteous bulwarks which he had fancied them. 

Probably the conviction that he had misjudged his wife had been stealingimperceptibly into Major Carstairs' mind during many lonely days spenton the Indian Frontier; and though he could never have stated with anydegree of certainty the exact moment in which he understood, at last, that his wife, the woman he had married, the mother of his child, wasincapable of the action which a censorious and unkind world had beenready to attribute to her, when once that conviction entered his honest, logical, if somewhat stubborn mind, it had found a home there for ever. 

His chance meeting with Anstice, whose belief in Mrs. Carstairs was toogenuine to be doubted for an instant, had come at an opportune moment, setting, as it were, the seal on his own changed judgment; and beingessentially a man of honour, upright and just to a fault, he deemed itnot only a duty but a privilege to come directly to his wife, and whileasking her pardon for his unjustifiable suspicions, assure her of hisfirm determination to see her innocence made manifest before all theworld. 

 * * * * *

Something of this Anstice guessed as he watched the interchange ofglances between husband and wife on this bitter November evening, and hetold himself that few women would have accepted their husband's tardyreparation as this woman had done. It did not need a magician to knowthat husband and wife were truly reunited, and though some might havebeen inclined to label Chloe Carstairs poor-spirited in that she hadapparently forgiven her husband's mistrust so easily, Anstice toldhimself that Chloe was a woman in a thousand, that this very forgivenessand lack of any natural resentment showed the unalloyed fineness, thepure gold of her character, as nothing else could have done. 

 * * * * *

It was Chloe who broke the silence which followed Major Carstairs' lastwords, and as he looked at her Anstice was struck suddenly by the changein her appearance this evening. Where she had hitherto been cold, impassive, indifferent, now she was warm, glowing, responsive. In herpale cheeks was a most unusual wild-rose colour and her blue, almond-shaped eyes held a light which made them look like two beautifulsapphires shining in the sun. 

When she spoke her rich, deep voice lost its undertone of melancholy, and rang joyously, with the soft beauty of a 'cello's lower notes. 

"You see, Dr. Anstice, your faith in me--for which I have neverattempted to thank you--is at last within measure of being justified!"She smiled happily. "And although Tochatti has served me faithfully shecannot be allowed to go on with this thing--if she be the oneresponsible. The question is, How is it to be brought home to her?"

Thus encouraged Anstice again outlined the plan he had formerlysuggested--that a watch should be set during the night; but, as he hadhalf expected, Chloe did not give it her unqualified approval. 

"No, Dr. Anstice. " She spoke too gently to cause him offence. "I don'tthink, honestly, I like the idea. Can't I speak openly, ask her quiteplainly why she has done this thing--what perverted notion of--well, resentment she has against me which would lead her to act in thismanner?"

To Anstice's relief Major Carstairs vetoed this plan, unhesitatingly. 

"No, Chloe, that is an absolutely impossible suggestion! As Dr. Ansticesays, guile must be met with guile, and the only way to catch this womanis to take her absolutely red-handed. And if, as you seem to think, sheis likely to creep down in the night--well, it could do no harm to set awatch. "

"There is one reason against that delightfully simple plan of yours, "objected Chloe. "Tochatti would not be likely to write any more of theseletters with you in the house, Leo. You see, it would be very seriousfor her if _you_ encountered her at my writing-table in the night!"

Before Carstairs could reply Anstice spoke rather diffidently. 

"I have just one suggestion to make, Major Carstairs. Am I right insupposing you are staying down here to-night?"

A fleeting embarrassment was visible on the faces of both MajorCarstairs and his wife; but the former answered resolutely:

"Yes. I am certainly hoping to stay here. "

"Well, if I might just make a suggestion, why not give out that you arereturning to town to-night and coming down to stay to-morrow or the nextday? Tochatti would probably, thinking this her last opportunity, makehaste to seize it and write another letter or two--possibly thelast--to-night. "

"You mean give out that I am returning to town to-night; start, in fact, in reality, and come back later, when the house is quiet?"

"Yes, " said Anstice, wondering what the soldier thought of his amateurstrategy. "Then you--and anyone else you choose--could sit up here andwait events. "

"I admire the simplicity of your plan, Dr. Anstice, " returned Carstairswith an irrepressible laugh. "I've been called upon to exercisediplomacy at times myself, but I don't think I ever hit on anything moretelling in the way of a plan than this charmingly simple one of yours!"

"You approve of it, then?" Anstice was in no wise offended by theother's mirth. 

"Highly--it's just the plan to appeal to me, " said Carstairs, stillsmiling infectiously; and Chloe rose from her couch and coming to hischair seated herself on the arm and rested her hand on his shoulder. 

"I know why the plan appeals to you, Leo! It recalls your schoolboydays, when you pretended to go to bed and then stole out to skate bymoonlight!"

"Hush, hush, Chloe! Never tell tales out of school, " commanded the Majorin mock alarm; but Anstice noticed how the man's brown fingers closedround his wife's hand, and suddenly he felt as though this spectacle oftheir reunion was too tantalizing to be pleasant to a sore heart likehis own. 

He rose rather abruptly, and both the others looked at him with a littlesurprise. 

"You're not going, Anstice? Surely you'll stay to dinner? My littledaughter will be sorely disappointed if you run away now!"

"Do stay, Dr. Anstice!" Chloe rose too, and her eyes, like two beautifulblue jewels, shone kindly into his. "Our scheme will have to bediscussed further, won't it? We mustn't take the field with anill-prepared plan, must we, Leo?"

"Indeed we must not, " returned her husband quickly. "Especially as I wasgoing to ask a very big favour of you. Dr. Anstice! Seeing how more thangood you have been in interesting yourself in this affair, I have beenwondering whether you wouldn't conceivably like to be in at the death, so to speak. In plain words, I was going to ask you if you would care tobe my fellow-conspirator in this nefarious plot we have hatched betweenus!"

"You mean--will I sit up with you to-night?" Anstice spoke eagerly, andChloe smiled. 

"Well, you're not annoyed by the suggestion, anyway! I needn't say Ishould appreciate your company--though after all, it is a big thing toask a man of your calling to sacrifice the rest he must need prettybadly!" He spoke rather dubiously. 

"Oh, not a bit of it, Major Carstairs!" Anstice's eyes brightened at thethought of the adventure. "In a matter of this kind two witnesses arebetter than one; and there is always a chance that even a woman may turnnasty when she finds herself cornered--especially one who is half aforeigner, " he added with a smile. 

"Then you'll come? It's awfully good of you----"

"Not at all, sir. You forget I'm an interested party, " said Ansticequickly. "It is as much to my interest to clear the matter up as toyours, now. Well, what about details? Where--and how--shall we meet, andhow do we get into the house without anyone knowing?"

"Ah, yes. That requires thought. "

Major Carstairs rubbed his hands together gaily, and Chloe burst outlaughing. 

"You two are nothing but schoolboys, " she said joyously. "I believe youare both looking forward to this midnight adventure! You'd be quitedisappointed if there were no need for your masterly plot after all!"

Anstice and Major Carstairs looked rather shamefacedly at one another;but Chloe was merciful and restrained further mockery for the time. 

"Well, now I will make my suggestion, " she said. "Leave the house in theusual way, by the front door; and come back, at whatever hour you agreeupon, to the window here. I will let you in myself, and not a soul needknow you have re-entered the house. "

"Very well, " Carstairs nodded. "One suggestion though. Leave the windowopen--no one will see behind those curtains, and go to bed as usualyourself. Depend upon it, if Tochatti is really the culprit, she willtake all means of satisfying herself that you are safely in bed beforeshe begins her work, and it would not do for her to find your room emptyat midnight. "

Chloe paled a little, and when she spoke her voice was uneasy. 

"Leo, do you really think Tochatti is so--so malicious? I can't bear tothink of her being with Cherry--she is with her almost night and day, you know--if she is so dreadful, so dangerous a character----"

"You need not be afraid, Mrs. Carstairs. " It was Anstice who spoke, reassuringly. "The little one is quite safe with her, I am sure of that. If it really does turn out that Tochatti has been to blame, I feelconvinced that we shall find she is not altogether responsible for heractions----"

"But that's worse still!" Chloe's voice was really alarmed. "If she ismad--a lunatic----"

"I did not mean quite that, " said Anstice. "I meant--well, it is rathera difficult subject to enter into at a moment's notice; but--have youever heard of a dual personality?"

"A dual personality?" She repeated the words, her white brow wrinklingwith the effort of concentration. "I think I know what you mean--aperson with two sides to his character, so to speak--of which first oneis in the ascendant and then the other?"

"Kind of Jekyll and Hyde business, what?" Major Carstairs knew hisStevenson, and Anstice nodded. 

"Well, something like that, though not so pronounced. There really aresuch people, you know--it is not only a fantastic tale that a man maylead a kind of double life, speaking in a spiritual and not a physicalsense. You don't call such people lunatics, nor are they, save inextreme cases, criminals. But it is quite possible for a woman likeTochatti to devote one half of herself to your service--and serve youadmirably!--and lead what seems in all respects an open and above-boardexistence; and yet, through some kink in her character, stoop to anaction one would expect to find only in a woman of a thoroughly debasednature. "

He paused, but neither of his hearers spoke. 

"It is as if a lower spirit entered into these people at times, drivingthem to do things which in a normal state they would be quite incapableof doing. You know the old Biblical theory of possession? Well, the samething, under another name, is to be met with to-day; and for my part, when I come across the case of a person whose present behaviourcontradicts all the actions of his previous life, upsets all the data, so to speak, which I have been able to gather of his conduct in thepast, well, I put it down, mentally, to that peculiar theory of'possession' with which the Easterns in the time of Christ wereapparently perfectly familiar. "

"As they are to-day, " said Major Carstairs unexpectedly; and Ansticelooked gratified at the corroboration. "It is a strange theory, I own, but after what I have seen in India I confess I find it perfectlyfeasible. "

"And you think my poor Tochatti may be a victim to this old form ofdemonism?" Chloe addressed the question to Anstice, and he answered itafter a momentary hesitation. 

"Well, it is too soon to make any sweeping statement of that kind, Mrs. Carstairs, but I must acknowledge it is hard to reconcile the woman'sgeneral behaviour with an action of this kind without some such theory. However"--he glanced at the clock--"if you will excuse me I must reallyget home. There will be all sorts of complaints from my surgery patientsif they are kept waiting!"

"One moment, Anstice! I take it you will come back to-night? Thoughreally it is a jolly big thing to ask. .. . " Major Carstairs tone wasapologetic. 

"Of course, and we must settle where we meet. But first, shouldn't welet Tochatti know that you are not staying here to-night?"

"Why, yes. " Chloe moved towards the boll. "I'll send for Cherry--thatwill bring Tochatti--and you can allude to your departure then. "

Three minutes later Tochatti appeared, in charge of the excited Cherry, who flew at Anstice, and, quite regardless of her immaculately frilledmuslin dress, flung herself into his arms and kissed himdemonstratively. 

"Oh, my dear, what _ages_ since I've seen you!" Her tone was a faithfulcopy of the parlourmaid's greeting to a recent visitor to the kitchen. "Are you going to stay to dinner? I do hope so, 'cos I'm going to sit upand there's lovely things--lots of roasted pheasants and meringues allfilled with squelchy cream!"

"Alas, Cherry, I can't stop!" Anstice's comically regretful tone madeChloe smile. "I shall have to go home and see my patients. And if I geta chop----"

"_And_ a chipped potato, my dear, " prompted Cherry. 

"_And_ a chipped potato, " concurred Anstice obediently, "I shall thinkmyself lucky! But I wish you hadn't told me there were to be lots ofpheasants!"

"They're for Daddy, speshully, " said Cherry, "'cos he's got sick ofchickens in Injia--but I like the bready sauce and the little browncrumbs best!"

"And that reminds me, " said Major Carstairs, looking at his watch ratherostentatiously, "I should be glad if you could put forward dinner alittle, Chloe. I must catch the nine-thirty to town. "

"Oh, Daddy, you're not going to-night!" Cherry forsook Anstice for themoment and clambered on to her father's knee. "You said you were goingto stop and you'd come and tell me stories in bed!"

"I did, and I don't like breaking my word to a lady, " said MajorCarstairs seriously, "but I really must go back to town to-night, andI'll come down to-morrow or the next day, and stay a long, long time!"

"You might tell Hagyard Major Carstairs will not be staying to-night, Tochatti, " said Chloe, turning to the woman, and Anstice's quick eyescaught the look of relief compounded with something like surprise whichflashed across Tochatti's swarthy countenance. 

"_Bene, Signora. _" With a strange look at Anstice, a look which did notescape the notice of the person at whom it was levelled, Tochattiwithdrew, and since further conversation was impossible in Cherry'spresence, Anstice made his farewells and went out to the car, escortedby his host, who seized the opportunity to fix the details of theevening's later meeting. 

"You will leave the house about a quarter to nine, I suppose?" askedAnstice. "Well, look here, why not come round to my place to fill in thetime until we can go back? We shall be alone, and unless I'm calledout--which I trust won't happen--we can have a quiet chat and a smoke. "

"Right. I'll be at your place about nine, and if you're busy I can readthe paper, you know. Till then, _au revoir_!"

Anstice nodded and mounted to the steering seat, and Major Carstairswent back into the house, wondering why the younger man's face wore sosad an expression in repose. 

"Of course that Indian affair was rather a facer, but the story's someyears old by now and one would think he'd have got over it. As decent afellow as I've ever met. But he seems altogether too old for his age, and even when he smiles or jokes with the child he doesn't look happy. Iwonder if Chloe knows any reason for his melancholy air?"

And with the question still uppermost in his mind he went back to thedrawing-room in search of his wife and child. 

CHAPTER VII

It was very dark in the window-recess, shut off from the room by theheavy blue curtains which fell to the floor in thick folds. The roomitself was not in complete darkness, for the fire, built up by Chloewith assumed extravagance before she went to bed, had burned down to asteady red glow, now and then illumined by a dancing gleam of light as atiny flame of gas sputtered from some specially charged coal; and asAnstice peeped cautiously through a carefully arranged chink in thecurtains he could see the pretty room with fair distinctness. The chairswere standing about with the peculiarly uncanny effect known to all whoenter a room after it has been finally deserted for the night--an effectas of waiting for some ghostly visitors to fill their pathetic emptinessand hold high revel or stately converse in the place lately peopled bymere human beings. 

On a little table by the fire stood a chess-board, the old carved redand white pieces standing on it in jumbled disarray; for Chloe and herhusband, both inveterate chess-lovers, had begun a game which they wereunable, through lack of time, to finish; and as his eyes fell on theboard Anstice had a queer fancy that if he and Major Carstairswere not present two ghostly chess-players would issue softly fromthe shadows and rearrange the pieces for another and perhaps morestrenuously-contested duel. 

As the fantastic thought crossed his mind Anstice sat up decisively, telling himself he was growing imaginative; and Major Carstairs turnedto him with a whispered word. 

"Getting fidgety, eh? I know the feeling--used to get it when I wassitting in a straw hut in the marshes waiting for the duck toappear----"

He broke off suddenly; for a sound had shattered the silence; but thoughhe and Anstice pulled themselves together in readiness for anythingwhich might happen, both realized at the same moment that it was onlythe whirr of the grandfather clock which always prefaced the striking ofthe hour; and in another second the hour itself struck, with one deep, sonorous note which reverberated through the quiet room. 

"One o'clock, and no result, " Major Carstairs stretched himselfcautiously. "How long is the sitting to continue, eh? It's all right forme, but I'm afraid if you have a heavy day's work in prospect----"

"Oh, I don't mind, " said Anstice indifferently. "I'm used to having mysleep cut short--one's patients seem to think one can exist quitecomfortably without it, though they make a tremendous fuss if they losea night's sleep for any reason!"

"Well, if nothing happens shortly--and I'm inclined to think nothingwill----" began Major Carstairs, but he got no further, for with theextraordinary aptness of conjunction which we are wont to callcoincidence, though another word might more fitly be employed, the dooropened almost noiselessly and a hooded figure crept on soundless feetinto the room. 

Anstice and his companion fairly held their breath as the shrouded formglided softly forward, the light of the dying fire doing little, now, toillumine the scene; and neither of the men could have sworn with anycertainty to the identity of the person who shared their occupation ofthe silent room. 

In the middle of the floor the figure halted suddenly; and for one wildmoment Anstice fancied that some sixth sense had warned the new-comer oftheir presence; but realizing the danger of attracting that new-comer'sthought towards him by any intensity of his own mind--for one thoughtwill draw another as a magnet the steel--Anstice switched off thecurrent of his thoughts, so to speak, and waited with as blank a mind ashe could compass for the thing which must surely happen soon. 

After that involuntary halt the figure moved slowly forward in thedirection of the writing-table; and Anstice would have given a greatdeal to have been able to see the face of this midnight scribe; but asyet the firelit gloom remained undisturbed; and it was impossible to domore than hazard a guess as to this strange visitor's personality. 

There were candles on the writing-table, and for a moment Ansticefancied that the mysterious figure would seek their aid to carry throughthe task confronting her--he was convinced it was a woman who sat at thetable--but he was wrong, for no match was struck, no candle-flamelighted the soft dusk. Instead a small beam of light shot suddenlyacross the table; and Anstice and Major Carstairs both grasped at thesame moment the significance of the ray. 

It was a pocket electric torch, of a kind familiar to thousandsnowadays, whose aid the letter-writer had evoked; and since thisparticular one was fitted with a bulb which enabled it to cast acontinuous light without finger-pressure, it was quite effective for thepurpose to which it was now being put. 

Having placed the torch on the table in such a position that the ray oflight fell directly across the blotting-pad, the figure made search fora sheet of paper which suited its mind; and after a moment, a sheethaving been chosen, a pen was selected, dipped into Chloe's own silverinkstand and a few lines of writing inscribed slowly, and with manypauses, upon the otherwise unsullied paper. 

His heart throbbing wildly, with an excitement quite foreign to hisnature, Anstice watched the performance eagerly through the just-partedcurtains; and so sure was he now of the identity of his quarry that hewas ready to leap from his hiding-place and confront the anonymousletter-writer without further loss of time, had not a gentle pressure onhis arm restrained him at the critical moment. 

It was not safe to speak, since even a whisper might betray theirpresence; but Anstice realized Major Carstairs' intention and heldhimself in check, though he quivered like a greyhound straining at theleash, who fears his quarry may escape him if he be not slippedforthwith. 

After what seemed like an hour, but was probably five minutes, theletter, whatever its nature, was judged complete; and with the samestealthy but unhurried movements the writer sought and obtained anenvelope from the many which lay ready to hand and slipped the missivein with deft fingers. An address added, the abominable thing wascomplete; and having quietly put everything in order, so that even themost acute eyes could discover nothing amiss, the writer rose softlyfrom the chair, and taking up the electric torch extinguished its beampreparatory to making her exit from the room, which was now in almostcomplete darkness. 

This was the moment for which Major Carstairs had been waiting. 

With a whispered word in Anstice's ear: "The light--quick!" he dashedaside the curtains and darted out into the room, while Anstice, hastilyobeying orders, rushed to the wall and turned on the electric switch tosuch good purpose that the room sprang instantly into brilliant light. 

There was a scream from the hooded figure in the middle of the floor--ascream of mingled anger, defiance and terror which rang in Anstice'sears for hours afterwards, and following the scream a mad, wild rush forthe door--a blundering, stumbling rush in which the very garment, thelong, loose cloak which was intended for a disguise, proved itself ahandicap and effectually prevented its wearer making good her escape. Bythe time she had torn herself free of the encumbering folds whichthreatened to trip her up at every step Anstice had reached the door;and now he stood before it with something in his face which warned thepanting creature in front of him that the way of escape was effectuallybarred. 

Still hiding her face in the folds of her garment she turned round asthough to rush towards the window and seek egress thereby; but facingher stood Major Carstairs, and the wretched culprit realized, too late, that she was trapped. 

Yet as a cornered hare will turn and give battle, desperately, to hereager foes, the woman made a frantic rush as though to pass the avengingfigure which stood in her path; and as she did so Major Carstairs movedforward and plucked the black hood with no gentle hand from the face ithad so far partially concealed. 

And as with wildly beating pulses Anstice bent forward to catch aglimpse of the mysterious visitor he knew that his surmise, unlikely asit had seemed, had been correct; that by a stroke of luck the expert, Clive, had been able to point unerringly to the clue which was to solvethe mystery of those vile letters and restore to an innocent woman thefair name which had been so unjustly smirched. 

For the hooded figure was none other than Tochatti. 

 * * * * *

"My God! Then it _was_ you!" Major Carstairs' tone was so full ofdisgust, of loathing, of the just indignation of a righteously angry manthat even Tochatti cowered in his grip; and as Anstice came forward theother man turned to him with an expression of wrath which quitetransfigured his face. "Look at her, Anstice, the miserable, degradedcreature! To think that she has been with my wife all theseyears--hanging over Cherry night and day--and all the time plotting thisinfamous thing . .. By the way, where is that letter?"

He broke off suddenly and Anstice came a step nearer the two. 

"I see it, sir!" He had caught sight of it in the woman's clenched hand, and with a smart and unexpected blow on her wrist forced her fingers toopen and release that which they held. "Here it is--will you take it? Ican look after her all right. "

"No--but just see what the address is, will you?" Major Carstairs hadregained his self-control, and now stood quiet, alert, cool, as thoughon parade. "May as well know who was her chosen victim this time. "

"Oh, my old friend Carey--you know, the Vicar of Littlefield. " Ansticetossed the envelope on to a chair out of reach. "He was the first onehonoured, I believe, and possibly was to have been the last!"

All this time the woman had stood silent, her black eyes snapping, herbreast heaving stormily. Now she turned on Anstice fiercely and pouredout a stream of vituperative Italian which conveyed little or nothing tohis mind. Seeing that she made no impression she redoubled her efforts, and finally her voice rose to a scream. 

"I say, better shut her up, sir, or Mrs. Carstairs will hear!" Ansticeglanced anxiously towards the door and Major Carstairs nodded. 

"Yes. We don't want the whole house about our ears. " He turned to thewoman who now stood sullenly silent in his grasp; though if looks couldkill there would certainly have been a practice for sale in Littlefieldon the morrow. "Now see here, Tochatti, you've been fairlycornered--caught--and you will have to pay the penalty. In the meantimeI shall lock you in your room until the morning, and I warn you it isuseless trying to escape. "

A noise in the doorway cut him short; and turning hastily round Ansticebeheld Chloe Carstairs standing there, the light of the candle shecarried casting queer flickering shadows across her pale face, in whichthe blue eyes gleamed more brightly than ever before. 

"Chloe!" In his surprise Major Carstairs released the woman; and with abound she was across the room, pouring out another wild flood ofprotestations, in which the words "_il dottore_" and "_la bambina_"occurred over and over again. Higher and higher rose her voice, moreshrill and hysterical her outpourings, and Anstice's professionalinstinct warned him that such abnormal excitement must end indisaster--though of the nature of that ending he had at the moment noconception. 

Seeing, however, that the woman, while exhausting herself, was alsodistressing her mistress, he moved forward with the intention of warningTochatti she was endangering her own health; but his word of caution wasnever uttered, for as he approached her she spun round with a lastfierce torrent of words, and, stooping down, with incredible swiftnessplucked a sharp dagger from some secret hiding-place, and lunged atAnstice with all her maddened might. 

Luckily for him her excitement impeded her aim; and while she doubtlessintended stabbing him to the heart she merely inflicted a flesh wound onthe upper part of the arm which he had raised to defend himself. 

The next moment Chloe, with a quite unlooked-for strength, had wrestedthe weapon from the woman's grasp; and then ensued a scene which evenAnstice could hardly bear to look back upon in after days. 

Whether or no his theory of possession were justified, the woman was forthe time being beside herself. Seeing the dagger in Chloe's hand shethrew herself upon her mistress and struggled wildly to regain herproperty, inflicting a series of cuts on her own hand before Chloe couldget free to hurl the deadly thing into a corner of the room; and evenwhen Anstice and Carstairs had overpowered her with their superior mightshe fought for freedom like a mad woman. But this abnormal strengthcould not continue. Suddenly, as Anstice had foreseen, the inevitablecollapse occurred. Nature could stand no more, and with a last wildwrithe the woman slipped through the hands which held her, and utteringa sharp cry fell to the floor in a state of unconsciousness. 

 * * * * *

Half an hour later Anstice came downstairs and re-entered the room whereMajor Carstairs sat alone over the now brightly burning fire. 

"Well!" The soldier's voice was anxious. "How is the woman? Oh, and whatabout your arm? Was it badly hurt?"

"No--only a very slight flesh wound, and Mrs. Carstairs has kindly boundit up for me. " He relinquished the subject of his own injury abruptly. "The woman is asleep now--she grew excited again, so I've given her somebromide, and she will be quiet enough for the rest of the night. "

"My wife is with her?"

"Yes. Mrs. Carstairs insists on staying there for the present. "

Anstice took a cigarette from the case his host held out, and MajorCarstairs made a gesture towards the tantalus on the table. 

"Have a peg--I'm sure you want it!"

"Well, I think I do, " returned Anstice with a smile. "We had rather atough time of it upstairs just now. " He mixed himself a drink as hespoke. "Once a Southerner lets herself go the result is apt to bedisastrous. "

"Will she be quieter in the morning?"

"I expect so. " He stood by the mantelpiece, glass in hand; and in spiteof his evident fatigue it was easy to see he was quietly jubilant overthe events of the night. "The Latin races have a peculiar elasticity, you know. An Englishwoman who had passed through this sort of violentbrain-storm would be absolutely exhausted, worn out for days after it;but an Italian doesn't seem to feel things in the same way. They are sonaturally excitable, I suppose, that a scene like this is merely anepisode in the day's work; and they recover their mental poise much morerapidly than persons of a more phlegmatic temperament would be likely todo. "

"Then you think she may be--more or less--normal in the morning?"

"I daresay--a bit dazed, perhaps, but I don't think you need fear arepetition of to-night's scene. Of course she ought not to be leftalone--in case she tries to scoot; but if you are staying in thehouse----" He paused interrogatively. 

"I am staying, " returned Major Carstairs quietly. "Thanks to you thecloud has lifted from our home; and since my wife is generous enough toforgive me for my unwarrantable doubt of her----"

He broke off, for Anstice was moving forward with outstretched hand; andhe guessed that the younger man was rendered uncomfortable by the turnthe conversation had taken. 

"You're going?" He wrung Anstice's hand with fervent gratitude. "Well, it's late, of course--but won't you stay here for the rest of the night?We can give you a bed in five minutes, and I'm sure my wife will bedistressed if you turn out now. "

"Thanks very much, but I must go. " The decision in his tone wasunmistakable. 

"Well, I'll get out the car and run you over----"

"No, thanks. I'd really rather walk. " He picked up hat and coat from thewindow-seat and turned to the door with an air of finality. "It's a finenight and I shall enjoy it. I'll be round early in the morning--but Idon't think Tochatti will give you any trouble for a good many hoursyet. "

"As soon as she is able to explain matters there will be a good deal tobe done, " said Major Carstairs rather grimly, as they went through thehall together. "Thank God, we have that last letter as a proof of herduplicity, and by its aid we can doubtless get a full confession out ofher. "

"Yes. " Anstice paused a second on the doorstep before plunging into thedarkness of the night. "It will be interesting to hear the whole story. The events are plain enough--but the question of motive is still apuzzling one. "

"Quite so. And yet the affair will probably turn out simple, after all. Well, I mustn't keep you if you want to be off. Good nightagain--and"--the sincerity in his voice was pleasant to hear--"athousand thanks for the part you have played in the unravelling of thistangle. "

"Good-night. Don't let Mrs. Carstairs exhaust herself looking after thewoman, will you? She is splendid, I know, but----"

"I'll go and join her in a moment, " returned Carstairs quietly. "I'm anold campaigner, you know, and I'll see to it that she is properlyfortified for the vigil--if she insists upon it. "

And as he looked into the soldier's square-featured face, the honesteyes agleam with love for the woman he had been fool enough to doubt, Anstice felt instinctively that Chloe Carstairs' ship had come at lastto a safe anchorage, that the barque which had so narrowly escapedcomplete shipwreck on the rock of a terrible catastrophe was now safelyat rest in the haven where it would be. 

CHAPTER VIII

"Well, Chloe, you have discovered the truth at last?"

It was evening again--early evening this time; and Major Carstairs andAnstice were sitting in Chloe's black-and-white room eagerly waiting forthe promised elucidation of the mystery which had so nearly ruined twolives. 

Chloe herself, sitting in a corner of the chintz-covered couch, looked, in spite of the strenuous hours through which she had passed, theembodiment of youth and radiant happiness. 

In all his life Anstice had never seen so striking a testimony to thepower of soul over body as in this rejuvenation, this new birth, as itwere, which had taken place under his eyes. 

The whole woman was transformed. The classic features had lost theirslight austerity of outline, the sapphire-blue eyes were no longer coldand indifferent, but danced bewitchingly in the softly-tinted face. Thelips whose corners had been prone to droop were now curved into thetenderest, gayest smiles; and as Anstice looked at her he was remindedof the old story of the marble statue, whose frozen rigidity was warmedinto life by the magic of the sculptor's kiss. 

And as he gazed, secretly, on this miracle which had been performedbefore his eyes Anstice realized a truth which hitherto he had notsuspected. Although her manner in speaking of her husband had never heldthe faintest tinge of resentment, nor the least hint of rancour, neitherhad it betrayed any touch of a warmer feeling than a half-compassionatefriendliness; and Anstice had never suspected the world of feeling whichapparently lay locked in her heart. He had thought her cold, self-contained, genuinely cynical. He saw her now, impulsive, gay, radiant; and he knew to what this striking, this indescribably happychange was due. 

Chloe Carstairs was in love, overwhelmingly, irresistibly in love withher husband; and now Anstice was able to gauge something of thebitterness of the life she had led for the last few months. Where he hadthought her cold she had been indeed suffering. Her assumed cynicism, her weary indifference had been the cloak of a sharp and almost hopelessmisery; and at the thought of her heroic acceptance of her husband'sunbelief, an unbelief which must have been almost unbearably galling, Anstice paid her in his heart a higher tribute than he had hithertobestowed on any woman. 

That the cloud of which Major Carstairs had spoken had indeed lifted wasevident in the glances which passed shyly between the two; and as Chloeanswered her husband's eager question her blue eyes rested almosttenderly on his face. 

"Yes. I think the truth has come to light at last. "

"You mean the woman has confessed?" It was Anstice who spoke, and sheturned to him at once with an animation of look and manner verydifferent from her former languor. 

"Well, as to confession I hardly know. But she has told me the wholestory; and if you are both prepared to listen I will pass it on to youat once. "

Sitting a little forward, her hands locked on the knee of her whitegown, her blue eyes extraordinarily vivid in her softly-coloured face, she began her tale; and both men listened to her with rapt attention asher deep voice rang through the quiet room. 

"It seems that years ago when Tochatti was a girl, living in a villageclose to Naples, she was betrothed to a handsome young Sicilian, afisherman from Palermo. The story, as Tochatti told it, is a long andrather involved affair; but it is sufficient to say that there wasanother girl enamoured of Tochatti's lover; and matters were complicatedstill further by the fact that this girl was engaged to someone else. Well, Luigi, Tochatti's sweetheart, had evidently encouraged the secondgirl behind Tochatti's back; and when Tochatti found out she was soinflamed with rage and jealousy that, overhearing of an appointmentbetween Bella and Luigi, she wrote a note in a handwriting roughlyresembling that of Bella to the latter's sweetheart, a certain José, bidding him meet her at the same time and place as that arranged by theother two. Well, José went, expecting to meet his beloved--and found herin Luigi's arms. Tragedy followed, of course. José first tore the girlaway and then stabbed her to the heart, afterwards turning on Luigi. They struggled--on the edge of the cliff; and Luigi proving thestronger, José was hurled over the edge into the sea below. "

"A tragedy indeed, " commented Major Carstairs as the speaker paused. "What was the next act? Did Luigi and Tochatti become reconciled andwalk off arm-in-arm?"

"No. " Chloe's voice sank a little. "It seems that when Tochatti, horror-struck by the result of her interference, rushed on to the scene, Luigi turned upon her, guessing somehow that she was responsible, andtaxed her with having lured José to the spot that night. She owned up toit, and instead of imploring forgiveness appeared to glory in hertreachery, whereupon Luigi, throwing the fatal letter into her face, burst into a torrent of rage, telling her he had never cared for her, that Bella was the only girl he had ever loved, and finished up bystabbing himself before her eyes rather than endure a life from whichhis adored one had vanished for ever. "

"I say! What a tale--quite a Shakespearean ending, stage fairly litteredwith corpses, " struck in Major Carstairs. "I wonder Tochatti didn't putthe finishing touch by stabbing herself as well!"

"She did think of it, I believe, " owned Chloe, "but the sound ofquarrelling had brought other people on the scene, and Tochatti was ofcourse arrested and the whole story investigated with more or lessthoroughness. Being a pretty common story, however--for the Siciliansare a hot-blooded race--it was quite easy for the authorities toreconstruct the scene; and since Tochatti was innocent of any actualcrime she was eventually released; only to fall ill with some affectionof the brain which finally landed her in an asylum. "

"An asylum!" Anstice whistled. "Yet one would have hesitated to call herinsane----"

"Yes, now, but you must remember this is very many years ago. Sherecovered at length, and the only reminiscence of the tragedy was amarked aversion to using pen or pencil. She seemed to think that havingwrought so much harm by her one attempt at letter-writing she would bewiser to avoid such things in future. "

"Pity she didn't keep her resolve, " commented Major Carstairs dryly; andChloe nodded. 

"Yes. We should all have been spared a good deal of trouble. Well, asyou know, she entered my mother's service during her honeymoon in Italy, and was my nurse as a child. Now I come to the second half of the story. Tochatti chose to adore me from my early youth"--she smiledfaintly--"and she always bore a grudge against anyone who did not falldown and worship me too. And this peculiar attitude of hers has abearing on the affair of the letters. When Mrs. Ogden chose to quarrelwith me, or at least evince a decided coldness, Tochatti's ready hatredflared up; and after the unlucky day when Mrs. Ogden cut me dead beforehalf the county at a Flower Show, she determined to show the woman shecould not be allowed to insult me with impunity. "

"It certainly was a piece of unpardonable rudeness, " said MajorCarstairs warmly; and Chloe smiled. 

"Yes--and at the moment I resented it very bitterly. But if Tochattiherself had not been there, in charge of Cherry, the matter would havedropped--and it was really unfortunate she should have seen the 'cut. 'Well, it seems that Tochatti brooded over the affair, wondering how bestto get even with the person who dared to act insolently towards me. "Chloe's voice held just a tinge of mockery. "Twenty odd years ofresidence in England had taught her that one can't use daggers andknives with impunity, and I believe at first she was genuinely puzzledto know how to act. I suppose the thought of weapons turned her mindback to that Sicilian affair; and suddenly it flashed upon her thatletters, after all, could be trusted to do a good deal of injury. "

"So she wrote an anonymous letter calculated to do harm to the unluckysubject thereof?"

"Yes, and sent it to Sir Richard Wayne. Well, once having started sheapparently couldn't leave off. Her venom grew, so to speak, by being fedin this manner; and she wrote one letter after another--you know hermother was English, and she was well versed in our tongue--untilpractically everyone in the parish knew a garbled version of Mrs. Ogden's sordid little story. "

"One moment, Chloe. " Major Carstairs had a soldier's mind for detail. "How did the woman know that story? I thought no one ever owned tohaving heard it?"

"No one ever did, " said Chloe rather bitterly. "But the explanation issimple after all. Mrs. Ogden had, before I made my appearance on thescene, repeated the tale to another woman in the parish--the young wifeof a solicitor whom she had 'taken up' with great fervour on her firstarrival in Littlefield; and this woman had repeated the story to herFrench maid. The latter, being a stranger in England was pleased to makeTochatti's acquaintance; and one day told her the story, of course instrictest confidence. Well, the woman, the solicitor's wife, died, almost immediately after that, as the result of a motor accident; andher maid returned to her home somewhere in the valley of the Loire, without having, so far as one can conjecture, passed on the tale toanyone else. "

"Yes, " said Anstice thoughtfully, as Chloe came to a stop. "Quite asimple explanation, as you say, yet one which might never have come tolight. "

"There is still a point puzzling me, " said Carstairs meditatively. "Ican understand Tochatti writing the letters, and thus seeking to injurea woman whom she considered to be the enemy of her mistress. But how didshe ever bring herself to allow you to be suspected, Chloe?"

"Ah, that is where the mystery really comes in, and where, possibly, Dr. Anstice's theory of the double personality may be considered. " Chloelooked at them both rather dubiously. "I confess I can't understand thatpart of the story myself. Tochatti has assured me that she never for aninstant dreamed I should be suspected--the slight similarity in some ofthe writing to some of mine was more or less accidental, though sheadmits she had tried to model her script on mine because she admiredit . .. As she admired all my poor faculties, " said Chloe, with a littleshrug of her shoulders. "I really believe she used my pens and paperwithout any idea of the harm she was doing me--in fact, if such asupposition could be entertained for a moment, I don't believe she hadany very clear idea what she was doing beyond a fixed intention to workharm to the woman she detested. "

"You mean that the idea of this Mrs. Ogden filled her mental horizon tothe exclusion of any other thought?" It was Anstice who put thequestion. 

"Yes. Honestly I believe she was incapable of looking, as one might say, all round the subject. You see"--Chloe hesitated, not sure how far thesuggestion was permissible--"she had once been in an asylum, andpossibly her brain had never worked quite normally since that tragedy onthe cliffs. "

"No, it is possible she was the victim of a sort of monomania, " concededAnstice. "In which case no other person would be connected in her mindwith the affair save the one against whom the campaign was directed. Itis a pretty lame explanation, I own, but then the workings of the humanmind are so extraordinarily incomprehensible sometimes that I, for mypart, have very nearly ceased being surprised at anything a man or womanmay be disposed to do!"

"Tochatti tells me she grew very uneasy when things began to look reallyblack, " continued Chloe. "She had not understood when she started thatletters of this kind rendered one liable to imprisonment sometimes; andshe was horrified when she discovered that fact. I believe she wouldwillingly have undone the harm she had done if it had been possible; forshe couldn't help seeing, as the days went on, that I was in gravedanger of incurring the penalty of her fault. Once, at least, I am sureshe nerved herself to tell the whole truth----"

"Her good intentions evidently went to pave a place which shall benameless, " said Major Carstairs dryly. "After all, her affection for youseems to have been a very pinchbeck affair, Chloe, if she could calmlystand by and see you suffer for her wickedness. And for my part I don'tsee how you can be expected to forgive her. "

For a second Chloe sat silently in her corner of the couch; and in herface were the traces of the conflicting emotions which made for a momenta battlefield of her soul. 

After all Chloe Carstairs was a very human woman; and it is not in humannature to suffer a great wrong and feel no resentment against those whohave inflicted that wrong. Had she been able to forgive Tochattiimmediately, to condone her wickedness, to restore the woman to her oldplace in her esteem, Chloe had been something less--or more--than human;and that she was after all only mortal was proved by her answer toCarstairs' last speech. 

"I don't think I have forgiven her--yet----" she said very quietly. "Atthe same time I don't care to doubt the genuineness of her affection forme. I would rather think that she turned coward at the notion ofsuffering punishment, and let me endure it in her place through aselfish terror which forbade her to own up and take the blame herself. "

"Well--if you look at it like that----" Major Carstairs was evidentlynot satisfied; and Chloe, possibly feeling unable, or reluctant, to makeany further excuse for Tochatti, hurried on with her tale. 

"Another factor in Tochatti's determination not to suffer herself is tobe found in her dread of a prison as a sort of asylum like that in whichshe had been confined abroad. I don't know what kind of institution thathad been, but she evidently retains to this day a very vividrecollection of the horrors she then endured; and her heart failed herat the bare thought of returning to such a frightful existence as shehad then experienced. At any rate"--she suddenly abandoned herapologia--"she could not face it; and so she allowed me to take theblame; and by reiterating the fact that she could not write--a theorywhich the other servants held, in common with me----"

"But had you never seen her write? It seems odd, all the years she hadbeen in your service!"

"No, I had never seen her write, for the simple reason that she neverdid write. It seems that the result of that fatal letter of hers hadimprinted a horror of writing on her mind; and I really believe thatuntil the day on which she penned the first anonymous letter she hadnever taken a pen or pencil in her hand. .. . "

"Well, it's admitted she wrote those letters, and hoodwinked the world, "said Carstairs briskly. "And though I confess I don't understand how shecould reconcile her actions with her affection for you we will let thatpoint pass. But now--what about those last letters? Is Dr. Anstice'ssupposition that she was jealous of him correct?"

"Quite. " Chloe looked at Anstice rather apologetically. "You knowTochatti is of a horribly jealous disposition; and she could not bear tosee Cherry growing fonder of you day by day. That unlucky accident wasthe crowning point, of course; and the fact that you appeared to slighther powers of looking after the child--you must forgive me for puttingit like that--was too much for her. With the arrival of Nurse TrevorTochatti seemed to lose all sense of decent behaviour; and her idea wasto repeat her former experience and circularize the neighbourhood with ascandalous story which she hoped, as she has since owned to me, mightsucceed in driving you away. "

"A very pretty plot, " said Anstice quietly, "and one which deserved tosucceed. But, Mrs. Carstairs, if you will allow me to repeat yourhusband's question--how did she learn my unhappy story?"

"I expected you to ask that, " returned Chloe steadily, "and I made it mybusiness to find out for you. Well, like the other explanation, it isvery simple. While I was away"--in her new-born happiness Chloe wouldnot distress her husband by speaking more plainly--"Tochatti took Cherrydown to my old home, where my mother still lives, and of course it wasonly natural that she should there hear some version of the story as itaffected my brother Bruce. She acknowledges she would never haveconnected you with the affair save for the unlucky fact that on thenight you and Bruce met here he came to my room afterwards to tell mehow and in what circumstances you had met before; and most unfortunatelyTochatti, who was in an adjoining room, heard his explanation. Shedidn't think much of it at the time, but stored it up in her mind; andwhen, later, she wished to injure you, there was the means ready tohand. "

"Like the proverbial Corsican who will carry a stone in his pocket forseven years, turn it, and carry it for another seven on the chance ofbeing able to sling it at his enemy in the end, " commented Carstairs. "Well, thank God, the whole story is cleared up now; and the next thingto do is to set about making the matter public and seeing justice doneat last. "

"Quite so--and it should be easy now, " concurred Anstice heartily. "Withthe letter you hold as evidence and the woman's full confession youshould not have much trouble with the case. "

Looking at Chloe as he spoke he saw a strange expression flit across herface. The next instant she rose and going across to her husband's chairstood looking down upon him with unfathomable blue eyes. 

"Leo"--her voice was very low--"is it really necessary that the mattershould be made public? So long as you know the truth--and Dr. Anstice--and my dear friends Sir Richard and Iris, can't we let thesubject drop? You know I don't care in the least for the opinion of theworld, and it would mean so much trouble, so much raking up of thingsbest forgotten. Couldn't we"--she hesitated--"couldn't we leave thingsalone, and just be thankful that _we_ know the truth at last?"

Major Carstairs looked up at his wife as she stood before him; and hisvoice was very gentle as he answered her. 

"But, Chloe, what of Tochatti herself? She must not be allowed to gounpunished. Besides, there is another aspect of the case. You know theseabominable letters have been scattered broadcast in the land, and it isonly fair to Dr. Anstice that their authorship should be published andtheir lies refuted. "

"Yes. I had forgotten that. " She turned to Anstice, who had risen andwas standing leaning against the mantelpiece, looking desperatelyuncomfortable. "Forgive me, please, Dr. Anstice! For the second time Ihad forgotten that you were the victim of this latest outrage ofTochatti's----"

"Mrs. Carstairs--please!" In his haste to explain himself Anstice spokerather incoherently. "If you are willing to let this matter drop--why, so am I. For your own sake I think, while you are behaving nobly, youare making a mistake--a most generous, chivalrous mistake--in notproving your entire innocence before all the world, but if you arereally resolved on it, do let me make you understand that personally Iam only too ready to let the whole thing slide into the oblivion itdeserves!"

"My dear fellow"--Major Carstairs spoke warmly--"this is all very well, very Quixotic, very--well, what you call noble, chivalrous--but whatabout the moral side of the affair? Justice should be tempered withmercy, certainly; but it doesn't do to defraud justice altogether of herdues. The woman has committed a crime--I repeat it, a crime againstsociety, against you, against my wife; and to let her go unpunished isto put a premium on wickedness; and leave both you and my wife to lieunder a most undeserved, most cruel stigma. "

For a moment Anstice hesitated; and before he could frame a reply Chloespoke very quietly, yet with a decision there was no mistaking. 

"Leo, I see your point of view plainly--a good deal more plainly, Ithink, than you see mine. Of course as a man you want your wife's namecleared; and if you insist on making the affair public, why then"--saidChloe with a little smile--"I suppose I must submit as a good wifeshould. But"--she was serious now--"if you knew how I dread thepublicity of it all--the reports in the papers, the gossip, thetalk--oh, it makes me shudder even to think of it! And if you imagine merevengeful enough to find satisfaction in the idea of Tochatti'spunishment--well, I think you must have a quite mistaken notion of meafter all!"

Major Carstairs hesitated, looking from his wife to Anstice in manifestperplexity. 

"Well, really, Chloe, I don't know what to say. Of course you and Dr. Anstice are the people chiefly concerned; and if you are both of yousufficiently superhuman to forego your legitimate revenge--well, Isuppose it is not for me to interfere!"

"Suppose you think it over, sir. " Anstice felt a sudden desire to getaway, to be alone, to think over the revelation of the past half-hour. "For my part I really must go about my work--I'd no idea it was so late. By the way, who will take charge of Tochatti to-night? She is asleepnow"--he had seen to that--"but later on she will want a little lookingafter. She has not borne out my theory, " he added, turning to thesoldier. "I thought that last night's excitement would have vanishedentirely to-day; but I'm bound to admit she is in a queer state; and ifshe is no better to-morrow you will have to let me send someone to lookafter her. "

"The housekeeper and I will be able to do that at present, " said Chloequietly. "You know poor Tochatti's hatred of professional nurses wasdirectly responsible for that last burst of letter-writing, so we hadbetter not try her too far!"

"By the way, where's the dagger she produced with such lightningsleight-of-hand last night?" Anstice put the question casually as heturned towards the door. "It would not be wise to leave it about, incase she felt like using it again!"

"It is hidden, at present, in my dressing-case, " said Chloe. "I pickedit up last night and flung it in there lest anyone should see it. But Iagree it would be safer locked up; and I will give it to you, Leo, whenI go upstairs. "

"Yes, it will be better in my keeping, " said Carstairs briskly. "ThoughI hope the madness which induced her to try to use it will have passedbefore long. "

"We'll see how she is in the morning, " said Anstice as he shook handswith Chloe. "I'll come round directly after breakfast, shall I? Quitepossibly she will be herself again after a long sleep. "

"Dr. Anstice"--Chloe retained his hand for a moment--"are you quite sureyou don't regret agreeing with me over the possible hushing up of theaffair? I'm afraid, after all, I made it rather hard for you to doanything but acquiesce just now. But if, after thinking it over, youdecide that the story should be made public, well, I am quite ready toabide by your decision. "

"No, Mrs. Carstairs. " Anstice's tone was too sincere for her to doubthis genuineness. "For my own part I am more than ready to stand by myformer verdict; and the final decision rests entirely with you. Only--perhaps I may be permitted to express my thankfulness that theproblem has been solved--and my hope that you--and your husband--mayfind the future sufficiently bright to atone for the darkness of thepast. "

"Thank you, " she said gently, and her eyes looked very soft. "At leastmy husband and I will never forget that we owe our happiness to you. "

And with the words, cordially endorsed by Major Carstairs, ringing inhis ears Anstice left Cherry Orchard and fared forth once more into thegloomy November night. 

As he drove away he told himself that he was truly glad the mystery waselucidated at last. Yet even as he did so he knew that his own share inthe matter gave him little satisfaction. He felt no elation at the turnof events. He told himself impatiently that he ought by rights to bejubilant, since it was owing to his efforts that Tochatti had beenunmasked; but in spite of his honest endeavour to spur his flaggingemotions his heart felt heavy in his breast, and there was no elation inhis soul. 

After all, he told himself wearily, the discovery of the truth meantvery little to him. With Mrs. Carstairs the case was widely different;and he did rejoice, sincerely, in her happiness; but for himself, havinglost Iris Wayne, all lesser events were of very little importance afterall. 

"I wonder how Mrs. Carstairs will decide, " he said to himself as hedrove homewards. "Whatever her decision I suppose I must abide by it;but for myself I sincerely hope she will stick to her first view of thematter. "

And then he dismissed the subject from his thoughts for the moment, little dreaming of the awful and tragic manner in which the decision wasto be taken out of Chloe Carstairs' hands in the course of the next fewhours. 

 * * * * *

He was just thinking of going to bed that night when the telephone bellrang sharply; and with one of those strange premonitions to which allhighly-strung people are at times liable, he connected the callinstantly with the affair at Cherry Orchard. 

"Yes . .. I'm Dr. Anstice . .. Who is it?"

"Carstairs, " came the answer over the wire. "I say, Anstice, can you come at once? Something appalling hashappened--Tochatti--she--she's----"

"She has killed herself. " The words were more of an assertion than aquestion. 

"Yes . .. With that beastly dagger . .. Found it somehow and stabbedherself . .. What? . .. Yes . .. Quite dead . .. I'm sure of it. .. . "

"I'll come round at once. Does Mrs. Carstairs know?"

"Yes . .. What? . .. Yes, a dreadful shock, but she's quitecalm . .. You'll come . .. The sooner the better . .. Many thanks. .. . "

Anstice hung up the receiver and turned away, feeling almost stunned bythe news he had received. The woman's death, coming on the top of theevents of the preceding twenty-four hours, was in itself sufficient toshake even his nerve; but he lost no time in obeying the summons andarrived at Cherry Orchard just as the clock struck twelve. 

He found the entire household up, the tragic news having circulated withthe rapidity peculiar to such catastrophic tidings; and preceded byMajor Carstairs, who met him in the hall, he hurried upstairs to theroom where Tochatti lay in her last sleep. 

It was quite true, as Major Carstairs had said, that she was dead. Shehad only too evidently been aware of the dagger's hiding-place, probablythrough familiarity with Chloe's movements in normal times; and hadseized a moment when the housekeeper, thinking her asleep, had left herto procure a fresh stock of candles for the night's vigil, to slip intoChloe's room in search of the weapon. 

Once in possession of the dagger the rest was easy; and whatever mightbe the nature of the emotions which drove her to the deed, whetherremorse, dread of punishment, or some half-crazed fear of what thefuture might hold, the result was certain--and fatal. 

She had made no mistake this time. The dagger had been plunged squarelyin her breast; and when the housekeeper stole in again, expecting tofind her charge still asleep, her horrified eyes were met by the sightof Tochatti's life-blood ebbing over the white sheets, her ears assailedby the choking gurgle with which the misguided woman yielded up herlife. .. . 

 * * * * *

"Yes, she is quite dead, poor thing. " Anstice replaced the bedclothesand stood looking down on the dead woman with a steady gaze. "Perhaps, knowing her former brain weakness, I ought to have expected this. But inany case, Mrs. Carstairs"--he turned to Chloe, who stood, white andrigid, by his side--"the decision has been taken out of your--of ourhands now. The matter is bound to come to light, after all. "

"You mean there must be an inquest--an inquiry into this affair?" It wasMajor Carstairs who spoke. 

"I'm afraid so--you see a thing like this can't very well be hushed up, "said Anstice rather reluctantly. "And though I can't help feelingthankful that Mrs. Carstairs will have justice done to her at last, I'msure we all feel we would have borne a good deal sooner than let thisdreadful thing happen. "

"Dr. Anstice"--Chloe turned to him almost appealingly--"are we really toblame? If we hadn't plotted, set a trap to catch my poor Tochatti, thiswould not have come to pass; and I shall always feel that by leaving thedagger in my dressing-case I was the means of bringing this dreadfultragedy about. "

"Come, Mrs. Carstairs, you mustn't talk nonsense of that kind!" His tonewas bracing. "You were not in the least to blame. If anyone was, Ishould be the person, seeing I did not warn you of this possibility. Butyou know the poor soul was a very determined woman; and if she had sether mind on self-destruction she would have carried out her intentionsomehow. "

"Well, at least there will be no object in keeping the authorship ofthose confounded letters a secret now, " said Major Carstairs, puttinghis hand kindly on his wife's arm. "After all poor Tochatti has done usa service by her death which will go far towards wiping out the injuryof her life. And now it is one o'clock, and we none of us had much sleeplast night----"

"You're right, " said Anstice quickly, "and Mrs. Carstairs looks wornout. Can't you persuade her to go to bed, Major Carstairs? There isreally no need for her to stay here harrowing her feelings anothermoment. "

"I'll go, " she said at once. "Good-night again, Dr. Anstice. It willcomfort me to know that you don't think me entirely to blame--for this. "

"I think you are as innocent in this matter as in that other one wediscussed to-night, " he said quietly. "And this poor woman here, if, aswe may surely believe, she has regained by now the sanity she may havetemporarily lost, would be the last to think any but kindly thoughts ofyou in the light of her fuller humanity. "

"Thank you, " she said again, as she had said it earlier in the evening;and once more they exchanged the firm and cordial handshake by whichthose who are truly friends seal their parting. 

When he had closed the door behind her he came back to the bedside whereMajor Carstairs still stood, looking down on the dead woman with anunfathomable expression in his eyes. 

"Anstice, from the bottom of my heart I regret the manner of this poorsoul's passing, " he said, and his voice was genuinely moved. "But evenso I can't altogether regret that she took this way of cutting the knot. For now my wife and I may at least hope for the ordinary happiness whichother human beings know. We have been in the shadow a long time, Chloeand I"--he spoke half to himself--"but now we may surely pray forsunshine for the rest of our earthly pilgrimage together. "

"Amen to that, " said Anstice solemnly; and as the two men shook handssilently each rejoiced, in his individual fashion, that Chloe Carstairshad come into her own at last. 

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

Anstice stood on the deck of the P. And O. Boat _Moldavia_, looking outover the blue seas to where Port Said lay white and shining in the raysof the March sun. 

He had seen the port before, on his way to and from India, but he hadnever landed there, and looked forward with some keenness ofanticipation to setting foot in the place which enjoys, rightly orwrongly, one of the most unsavoury reputations in the world. 

Not that his stay would be long--a night at most--for he purposedjourneying on to Cairo without loss of time, and as the boat drew nearerand nearer to the quay, whereon a crowd of gesticulating natives raisedthe unholy din which every traveller associates with this particularlanding, Anstice turned about and swung down the companion to take alast look round his dismantled cabin. 

It was now nearly eight weeks since he had quitted Littlefield. Havingdisposed of his practice in the nick of time to a college friend whowished to settle in the country, and having also received an unexpectedwindfall in the shape of a small legacy from a distant relation, he haddecided, after a short stay in London, to take a holiday before startingto work once more. 

His choice of a destination had not been unaffected by the fact of IrisCheniston's residence in the land of Egypt. Although he had noexpectation of meeting her--for she and her husband were still somewherein the desert, a couple of days' journey from Cairo--there was an oddfascination in the bare idea of inhabiting, even for a few weeks, theland which held the girl he still loved. For although he had long sincedetermined that he must avoid Bruce Cheniston's wife if he wished tokeep his secret inviolate, and incidentally attempt, by starving hispassion of its natural food, to keep his love unsullied by any hint ofenvy, any emotion of desire--well, all men are sophists at heart, and inspite of all his self-assurances that he could visit Egypt withoutseeking to gain even a glimpse of Iris, ever in the background of histhoughts lay a delicious, barely formulated hope that possibly Fatemight vouchsafe to him one fleeting vision on which his hungry heartmight feed in the empty days which must needs ensue. 

There had been changes in Littlefield since that November evening onwhich the truth concerning the anonymous letters had come to light. After Tochatti's death it had naturally proved impossible altogether tohush up the tragedy and its immediate results, and although Anstice haddone his best to mitigate the position for Major Carstairs and his wife, the inquest had proved a trying affair for all of them. 

Since the woman was dead there was no need to keep the authorship ofthose letters a secret, and before he left Littlefield Anstice had thesatisfaction of knowing that Mrs. Carstairs' name had been effectuallycleared from the slur placed upon it by a censorious and ignorant world. 

When once this was accomplished Major Carstairs insisted on carrying offhis wife and Cherry for a long holiday in the south of France, andalthough Cherry wept bitterly at the thought of parting from her belovedAnstice, he was able to console her by a recital of the wonderful thingsshe would behold by the shores of the azure Mediterranean. 

He was surprised to find, when the real parting came, how hard it was tosay good-bye to his friends. Although he considered himself unsociable, independent of the claims of friendship, forced, so to speak, intomisanthropy by the circumstances of his life, he had grown to have areal esteem for Chloe Carstairs, and the spectacle of her new-bornvitality, her radiant happiness, was one which gave him a very deep andgenuine pleasure. As for Cherry, that quaint child had long since twinedherself round his heart-strings, and although Major Carstairs was, comparatively speaking, a new acquaintance, Anstice respected thesoldier as an honest man and a gentleman. 

A week after their departure another blow befell Anstice in the suddendeath of his friend Fraser Carey, and when at last he was summoned inhaste to Carey's aid he found that the latter had suffered for yearsfrom a painful internal disease. 

"But why not have submitted to an operation years ago?" Anstice askedhim gently as he sat, impotent to help, by his friend's side in thelight of the dying day. "It might have been successful"--he dare not saymore--"and you would have been spared years of agonizing suffering. "

The other man smiled, and his eyes for a moment lost their look of pain. 

"Quite so, " he said gently, "but at the same time I might--probablyshould--have died. I took the best advice, nearly ruined myself withvisiting specialists"--he smiled very faintly--"and none could give meany assurance that I should live through it. And I could notafford--then--to die. "

"Not afford?" Anstice stared at him in amazement. 

"No. You see"--his voice was a mere thread--"you see I had a wife, Anstice--oh, no one knows, and my secret is safe with you--and althoughI could not live with her . .. She was not what the world calls a goodwoman, and her ideal of life was not one which I, as a clergyman, couldassist her to realize--well, I could not let her sink altogether forwant of money to keep some sort of home together. "

"You sent her money?"

"Yes. I sent what I could from my stipend--it wasn't much--God'sministers are supposed to be content with the promises of treasure inheaven, " said Carey, with a hint of humour in his weak tone. "I made alittle, too, by writing for the reviews. But it was precarious, Anstice, precarious; and I dared not risk dying, and leaving her in want. "

"And now?" Anstice had noted the tense in which he spoke of his wife, and he guessed the answer before the other spoke. 

"She is dead--she died three weeks ago, " said Carey quietly. "And now Ican give up the struggle myself----"

"I wish to God you had told me earlier, " said Anstice vehemently. "Atleast I might have done something for you----"

"Oh, I had alleviations, " said Carey slowly. "When the pain grewunendurable I had remedies which gave me some relief. But I knew that ifI told you you would seek to persuade me to a course I really could nothave adopted. You mustn't mind me saying it, Anstice. Perhaps I havebeen wrong all through. " His voice was wistful. "But I did what Ithought was right--and luckily for us poor men God judges us by ourintentions, so to speak, and not by the results. "

The words returned to Anstice's mind three days later as he stood by thegraveside of his friend, and in his heart he wondered whether it wereindeed true that what men called failure might, in the eyes of God, spell a great and glorious success. 

 * * * * *

The next person to leave Littlefield was Sir Richard Wayne. For sincehis daughter's wedding he had been finding life without her almostunbearable, and at length he avowed that the English climate in winterwas altogether more than any sensible man could be expected to endure--asomewhat surprising statement from a former M. F. H. --and declared hisintention of paying a visit to Iris and her husband in Egypt forthwith. 

It was of Sir Richard Wayne that Anstice was thinking half an hour laterwhen the _Moldavia_ had come to her berth at the quay and he was aboutto leave the ship on which the short and prosperous voyage had beenmade. 

However much the theory of the astral body of man may be denied orridiculed, there is no doubt that an unusually vivid thought-presentmentof a friend frequently precedes the appearance of that friend in theflesh, and it is certain that the mental image of Sir Richard Wayne hadbeen, for some reason, so strongly before Anstice's mind that in a tall, grey-clad figure pushing his way vigorously through the crowd of nativeshe was inclined to see a striking resemblance to the object of histhoughts. 

He told himself, rather impatiently, that the notion was absurd. He hadbeen dwelling for so long on the vision of Sir Richard's daughter thathe had lost, for the moment, his sense of reality, and he turned asideto reclaim his baggage from the vociferous Arabs who wished, so itappeared, to appropriate both it and him, without casting another glancein the direction of Sir Richard's double. 

Yet the hallucination persisted. He could have sworn he heard SirRichard's voice raised in protest as the crowding natives impeded hisprogress towards the gangway of the boat; and at last Anstice turnedfully round, with half-ashamed curiosity, to see what manner of man thiswas who wore the semblance and spoke in the tongue of Sir Richard Wayne. 

As his black eyes roved over the intervening faces they were caught andheld by another pair of eyes--grey eyes these, in whose clear and frankdepths was a strong resemblance to those other wide grey eyes he loved, and in the next moment Anstice realized that a miracle had happened, andthat the first person to give him greeting in this land of mystery wasnone other than Sir Richard Wayne himself. 

About the gladness of the other's greeting there could be no twoopinions. Utterly disregarding the touts and porters who swarmed roundhim Sir Richard came forward with outstretched hand, and his eyes fairlyshone with joy and with something that looked like relief. 

"Anstice! By all that's wonderful!" He wrung the younger man's handheartily as he spoke. "How came you here--and are you landing for good, or just taking a look round this God-forsaken old iniquity of a town?"

"I'm leaving the ship for good. Want to have a look atCairo . .. Interesting place, I've always heard. " For a second Ansticefaltered, feeling as though his friend must see through his pretence, andguess that it was because this land enshrined the one woman in the worldthat he was here. But Sir Richard gave no sign of disbelief, and Ansticewas emboldened to proceed. "But you--what are you doing here? I thoughtyou were somewhere in the desert with--your daughter. "

"So I was, so I was. " Sir Richard hesitated, then spoke rapidly. "Anstice, are you alone--and disengaged? I mean--could your stay inCairo be postponed for a few days? I want--I came down here to look fora doctor--never thinking I'd have the luck to find you----"

"A doctor?" Beneath the spur of his quick mind Anstice grew pale. "Issomeone ill? Not--not your daughter?"

"No, not Iris. " Unconsciously Anstice breathed a sigh of relief and theolder man glanced at him curiously. "It is Bruce--my son-in-law--who'sill; and I've come down here to find a doctor. Couldn't get one inCairo--it seems the pilgrims have just returned from Mecca bringingtheir pet cholera along with them, and the city's got a scare--so I camedown here to meet the boat, meaning to bribe the ship's surgeon to comeback into the desert with me. If he wouldn't respond to _bakshish_ Ishould have tried kidnapping, " finished Sir Richard grimly, and Ansticesmiled. 

"No need to do that, sir. I'm here, and I'm ready and willing to do allyou require. But first, hadn't I better put in a claim to my belongings?It seems to me these rascals would think precious little of making offwith all the lot!"

"Yes--better let me see to it for you, " said Sir Richard quickly. "We'venot too much time for the train to Cairo as it is. If you will go andbespeak an _arabeah_ I'll get your baggage. "

And as Anstice moved to obey, a very tumult in his heart, Sir Richardturned back to the wildly-shouting crowd and succeeded in reclaimingAnstice's portmanteau and Gladstone bag from the clutches of theblue-robed fiends who fought one another for its possession. 

When they were clear of the quay, driving behind the two long-tailedlittle horses along the glaring streets, beneath the thinly-leaved anddusty trees, Anstice turned to Sir Richard interrogatively. 

"Now, sir, can you tell me what's wrong? Mr. Cheniston is ill, you say. Do you know the nature of his illness?"

"Enteric, I'm afraid, " Sir Richard informed him gravely. "He went on ashooting expedition a week or two ago with the rich Egyptian for whom hehas been carrying through a big irrigation job, and one day, when, through a miscalculation, the wine and provisions did not turn up, theparty lunched at a mud-village on eggs and coffee. Being particularlythirsty Bruce indulged in a small glass of water with slices of citron, and although the host's servants swore by the Beard of the Prophet andso on through all their most sacred oaths that they had boiled the waterfirst, the odds are that they had not, and that it came straight fromthe river or some indescribably polluted well. It seems that thepilgrims had passed that way, and owing to their pleasing habit ofdropping a little of their precious 'holy' water into the wells theymeet, some of those wells are absolute hotbeds of infection, so tospeak. "

"Whew!" Anstice whistled to express his consternation. "And then, ofcourse, Mr. Cheniston came home and sickened for this illness. "

"Yes. At first he made light of it, said the expedition had beenfatiguing, he had a touch of the sun, and so on. But at last the diseasemanifested itself unmistakably, and three days ago I set out for Cairoto try to get some medical help. "

"There is no doctor out there?"

"No. You see it is only a tiny village--hardly that--a settlement in themidst of a little colony of Bedouins. Iris was first persuaded to gothere by a woman she met in Cairo, a Padre's wife who had gone out--atleast the Padre had--to try the effect of the climate on weak lungs. They have one kiddie, a child of seven or eight, and they were sopleased with the place that they stayed on, and were the only whitepeople in the village, with the exception of a young Australian who hadlost his money and went out there to try to grow vegetables, and arather eccentric French artist who set up his studio in a sort ofdisused fort built on a high rocky plateau about a mile above the littlesettlement. He has gone back to France now, taking with him some reallymarvellous studies of the desert, so they say. "

"How far is the place from Cairo?"

"About a day and a half's journey on horseback. Of course, if it hadbeen possible to bring Bruce in to Cairo that would have been the bestthing. But we daren't take the risk. Mrs. Wood, the Padre's wife, is afirst-class nurse, and she and Iris are doing their very best for thepoor fellow. But still"--Sir Richard shook his head--"there's no doubtthe illness has got a fast grip of him, and I'm afraid of the result, Anstice, I confess I am afraid. "

He broke off for a moment, then resumed in a brisker tone:

"Well, here is the station, and now we may expect another uproar overyour precious baggage. The best thing to do is to single out one fellowand promise him good _bakshish_ if he gets rid of the others; and hereis Mahomed, who is a first-class fellow for the job!"

He beckoned to a tall, pock-marked Arab in a dusty fez and faded bluedjibbeh, and by dint of lavish promises secured his noisy but efficientservices, with the result that in an incredibly short space of time theluggage was safely tumbled into the train and Anstice and Sir Richardfaced each other, exhausted but triumphant, in an otherwise emptycarriage. 

"By Jove, but those beggars make me hot!" Anstice threw himself backinto his corner and drew a long breath. "It's always a mystery to me howpeople who live in hot climates are so beastly energetic! They seem tohave quicksilver in their veins, not blood. "

"Yet they are lethargic enough at times, " returned Sir Richard, pointingto a recumbent form lying unconcernedly on the platform a few feet fromtheir open window. "Look at that fellow sleeping there--he doesn't carein the least what goes on around him--and many times in the street onehas to move off the pavement to avoid stepping on some idle beggar who'sdrawn the hood of his garment over his head and gone to sleep, literallyamong the feet of the passers-by!"

As the train proceeded on its way Sir Richard outlined the situation alittle more fully to his keenly-interested companion. 

"When I left, Mrs. Wood had pretty well taken up her abode with Iris, "he said. "Their servants--native, of course--behaved badly, as thosemongrel Arabs often do, and promptly deserted us soon as they foundthere was likely to be trouble ahead. All but one, a very decent chapcalled Hassan, who is really fond of Iris and would do a lot for her. "

"The other people in the village--Bedouins, I think you said?--how dothey get on with their white neighbours?"

Sir Richard's forehead suddenly puckered into a worried frown. 

"Not too well, " he said slowly. "The fact is, I believe they resentedthe European people settling there at all. As I told you, it is a tinysettlement--just thirty or so Bedouins who cultivate the land and growvegetables, which they hawk to other villages a day's march away. Theydaren't openly complain, of course, but I believe they would like todrive the white folks out; especially young Garnett, who is reallybeating them at their own game as a clever agriculturist. "

"There is never any trouble, I suppose?" Somehow Anstice felt a vagueuneasiness at the thought of Iris Cheniston shut up in a desert colonyamong sullenly hostile neighbours. 

"Oh, no, the Bedouins know the English Government won't allow anyhanky-panky. " Sir Richard voiced the assertion so emphatically that atiny seed of doubt sprang up in his hearer's heart. "I confess I shouldrather like to see Iris and Bruce settle down to civilized life again, but this is only a holiday, and they won't be there long. Unless----" Hepaused and Anstice guessed only too surely the ominous nature of thepause. 

With an instinctive desire to reassure the other man he spoke quickly. 

"Perhaps when Cheniston is better they will fall in with your advice. Nodoubt he will require a change after this illness, and very often, youknow, a man who has been ill takes a dislike to his surroundings, and isonly too ready to exchange them for others. "

"Quite so. " Sir Richard spoke absently, looking out of the window thewhile, and since he was apparently disinclined for conversation, Ansticefollowed his example, seeing plenty to interest him in the panoramaspread before his eyes in this strange and fascinating land, this livingfrieze of pictures which might have been transplanted bodily from thepages of the Old Testament itself. 

Once, when the train came to a standstill at Ismailia, Sir Richardroused himself to speech. 

"Of course, should the Bedouins ever rise against the strangers in theirmidst, " he said, repelling with a gesture the attentions of a tallwater-seller who thrust a brass saucer containing a doubtful-lookingliquid through the carriage window, "things might be serious. True, there are not more than a couple of score of them, and so far, with theexception of a _fracas_ with Garnett over some vegetables they stolefrom him, they have been peaceable enough. "

"I see. And, as you say, they know quite well that the BritishGovernment is behind this handful of English people, and knowing thatreprisals would be certain to follow any lawlessness, I should say theyare too wise to put themselves in the wrong. After all, too, thesepeople are not doing them any harm by living in their midst. "

"You are right, Anstice, and I'm a silly old fool for letting myimagination run riot in this way. " Sir Richard sat upright and gazed outat the world of sun and sand through which they were passing. "As yousay, they would not dare--and in any case as soon as Bruce can travel wewill bring them back to civilization. "

"By the way, how soon can we start?" The bare thought of meeting Irissent the blood humming wildly through Anstice's veins; and he awaitedSir Richard's reply with barely-concealed impatience. 

"Well, we shall reach Cairo--if this confounded train doesn't break down_en route_--about dinner-time. It would be no use attempting to startto-night--the horses must be ordered for to-morrow morning, as early asyou like. And no doubt you will want to take one or two things withyou. "

Anstice nodded. 

"Yes--but they won't take long to procure. As for baggage--we travellight?"

"Yes--just what we can carry. I have plenty of things out there--cangive you all you need, " said Sir Richard more briskly. "And if all goeswell we need not anticipate a long stay. Now, how about a cup of tea?This beastly sand has gone down my throat in bushels. "

He called the Soudanese attendant and gave him an order, and over theindifferent tea and Huntley and Palmer biscuits which were presentlybrought to them, he and Anstice discussed Littlefield and other matterswidely removed from the subject of their former conversation. 

It was seven o'clock when the train finally ran into the station atCairo, humming like a beehive with its crowded native life, and tenminutes later the two men were driving through the busy streets beneaththe clear green evening sky on the way to the hotel chosen by SirRichard. 

"The Angleterre--it's quieter than Shepheard's, " he said, "and anyhow itis only for one night. After dinner we'll go and make arrangements foran early start. That will suit you all right?"

"The earlier the better, " returned Anstice promptly, and as theircarriage drew up before the hotel he sprang out with an eagerness whichseemed to betoken a readiness to start forthwith. 

By ten o'clock that night all arrangements were made, horses bespoken, baggage packed, and all necessaries purchased, and shortly afterwardsthe two men exchanged cordial good-nights and retired to theirrespective rooms to seek the refreshment of sleep in preparation for themorrow's early start. 

But though Sir Richard, his mind relieved by his meeting with Anstice, fell into a sound slumber ten minutes after he laid his head down on hispillow, Anstice lay awake all night between the white walls of hismosquito curtains. 

For there was that in his thoughts which effectually banished sleep. 

CHAPTER II

Anstice never forgot that first day's ride over the desert sand. Theyhad started early, very shortly, indeed, after daybreak, and by the timethe sun was fully risen they were already some miles on their way. 

It was a heavenly morning, the dry and glittering air full of thatpeculiar, crisp sparkle which mounts to one's head like champagne. Thesand shone and twinkled in the yellow sunshine with an almost dazzlingeffect, and the pale blue sky had not yet taken on the pitilessultramarine hue which comes with the brazen noon. 

The horses, too, seemed alive to the exhilarating quality of the air. They curvetted and danced over the sand, tossing their arched necks andlifting their feet daintily as though they were conscious of the beautyand fitness of their own motion. 

"By Jove, Sir Richard, life is worth living on a morning like this!"Anstice threw back his head and inhaled large draughts of theintoxicating, sun-warmed air. "Why on earth do we herd in cities whenthere are glorious tracts of desert land where one might pitch one'stent! I declare I wish I were a nomad myself!"

"You feel like that?" Sir Richard looked a trifle wistfully at theyounger man, envying him his superior youth and more robust physique. "For my part I confess to a distrust of the desert. It seems to me asthough there were a blight on these huge tracts of sand, as though theCreator had regretted their creation, yet was too perfect a Worker totry, by altering the original purpose of His handiwork, to turn theminto something for which they were not intended. "

He paused, pulling up his horse and turning in his saddle to survey theyellow and brown waste over which they had come. 

"I suppose, as an Englishman whose forbears have always clung to thesoil, I find more pleasure in beholding an English landscape, " he said, with a smile which was half apologetic. "The ideal of making two bladesof grass spring where there was but one before may not be a very exaltedone, but I confess I see more beauty in a field of grain waving underthe August sun, than in these acres of yellow sand, and the thought of aperpetual summer, with never the soft grey tones of an autumn sky or thecrisp frostiness of a winter's morning--well, it doesn't appeal to myJohn Bull soul!"

He laughed, ashamed of his vehemence, and the horses sprang gailyforward, glad to be moving again after even so brief a halt. 

All through the morning they rode, resting for an hour or two at noon;and in the late afternoon they remounted their horses and fared forthonce more in search of the camping-place Sir Richard had in mind. 

By dint of compasses and an unusually accurate sense of location, theolder man had staked their course with admirable directness, and as themoon rose they drew rein at the appointed destination, a wild and rockyvalley whose caves offered a natural protection from the chill nightbreeze which blew with disconcerting freshness over the loose, salt-impregnated sand. 

Here, thanks to the ever-useful thermos flask, they enjoyed a sufficientmeal of hot soup, followed by a multitude of sandwiches of divers kinds;and when, after a pull at their respective flasks, the two lit theirpipes and stretched their limbs, cramped by the day's exertions, Anstice, at least, felt more at peace with the world than he had feltfor years. 

To be hastening towards Iris Cheniston, to be sure of meeting her withintwenty-four hours, sure of seeing the kind friendliness of her wide greyeyes, of hearing the soft cooing notes of her voice, was enough to makea man content with his lot; and the fact that he was journeying towardsher in order to do his best to save the life of the one human being whostood between him and his happiness lost all its irony when heremembered that it was in reality Iris herself for whom this service wasundertaken. 

The next morning found them early astir; and as their horses danced overthe sand, literally throwing the miles behind them, Sir Richard'sspirits, which had been somewhat fluctuating, rose with a bound. Hewhistled gaily as they rode, ever and anon breaking off to conjecture onthe nature of the welcome they might reasonably expect to receive; andwhen he spoke, as he did frequently, of his son-in-law, hisprognostications, in striking contrast with his former pessimism, werecouched in the most hopeful language. 

Strange to say, as his spirits rose, so did those of Anstice sink. Anodd foreboding, a premonition for which he could not account, displacedthe gladness from his heart; and as they rode on and ever onwards hetold himself that they were surely riding towards tragedy. 

Possibly it was the Celtic strain in him which rendered him liable tothese strange and perverse forebodings of evil. On sundry otheroccasions in his earlier youth he had fallen with appalling swiftnessfrom the heights of glad anticipation to the depths of a certain andmost unwelcome gloom; and now, quite suddenly, he found himself involvedin a black and rayless melancholy which seemed to fortell somecatastrophic happening at hand. 

It was with more and more difficulty that he replied to Sir Richard'shopeful prophecies; and so strong upon him was the premonition ofdisaster that when he learned at last that they were within an hour ortwo's ride of their destination he spurred on his still willing steed ina sudden desire to know the worst which was to befall. 

As he stared ahead of him, his eyes beginning to adjust themselves nowto the peculiar conditions of the desert atmosphere, he caught sight ofa speck upon the sand which, unlike the majority of desert objects, thescanty tamarisk bushes, the low humpbacked hills which here and thereformed an apparently endless chain, appeared to move, to grow almostimperceptibly larger as the distance between them diminished. 

During their ride over the desert they had met no other human beings. Once or twice they had seen, to right or left of their track, acollection of mud huts, overshadowed by the plumy tufts of talldate-palms, betokening the presence of a handful of _fellaheen_scratching a livelihood from the unfriendly sand. Again they had twicebeheld in the far distance a caravan winding its leisurely way upon somemysterious errand to an unknown destination; but these last had been toofar away for their component parts of horses, camels, merchandise, to bedistinguished; and after a brief glance towards the long snaky lines asthey wound their way through the sand, Sir Richard and Anstice hadwisely refused to strain their eyesight further. 

But this solitary unit on the vast face of the desert was a differentmatter; and Anstice gazed steadily ahead in an as yet fruitless attemptto make out what this thing which appeared to move towards them mightbe. 

At first he said nothing, thinking that his eyes might quite conceivablybe playing him tricks, that this apparently moving figure might possiblybe a figment of his brain, or one of those delusive sprites which aresaid to haunt the unwary traveller in the desert; but at length, as thedistance between the object and himself diminished more and morerapidly, until he could have sworn he caught the flutter of a blue robe, Anstice felt it time to point out the vision or whatever it might be tohis as yet unseeing companion. 

"Sir Richard, " he said, so suddenly that Sir Richard, who had beenjogging along sunk in reverie, started in surprise. "Do you see anyonecoming towards us over the sand?"

Sir Richard, thus appealed to, sat up more erectly in his saddle; andgazed with his keen old eyes in the direction of Anstice's pointinghand; and Anstice watched him with an anxiety which was surely out ofplace. 

After a moment's fruitless search Sir Richard unslung the field-glasseswhich he carried, and applied them to his eyes; and in another moment, having adjusted the focus, he uttered an exclamation. 

"By Gad, Anstice, you're right! It's a native of sorts, and he is comingdirectly towards us. He is too far off for me to distinguish hisfeatures--you look and see what you can make of him. "

He handed the glasses to Anstice, who raised them to his eyes; and afteradjusting the lenses to suit his younger, keener sight, he swept themround in an attempt to focus the distant object. 

First an apparently illimitable expanse of sky and sand swam slowly intoview, each insignificant landmark in the desert magnified almostincredibly by the powerful glasses; and at last the blue-robed nativeappeared suddenly as though only a stone's throw away from the man whosearched for him. 

The glass revealed him as an Arab of an ordinary type clad in a fadedblue djibbeh, over which he wore the short grey coat so inexplicablybeloved of the native. On his head was a scarlet fez; and his blue robewas gathered up in such a way as to leave bare his brown and sinewy legsas he paddled ruthlessly and unhesitatingly over the burning sand. 

As he lowered the glasses Anstice gave a short description of theadvancing native to Sir Richard, adding:

"He seems to be in something of a hurry--he's covering the ground in amost energetic fashion--and he really does appear to be making straightfor us!"

All at once Sir Richard's lately-born optimism fell from him like anill-fitting garment. Taking the glasses back he adjusted them once morewith fingers that absolutely trembled; and when after a long and steadystare he lowered them and turned to his companion his face was veryserious. 

"Anstice, I hope to God I'm mistaken, but that fellow looks uncommonlylike Hassan--and from the haste he's making I should say he had beensent out to meet us. And that can only mean disaster--either Bruce isworse, or----" He broke off suddenly, his fine old face suddenly grey. 

"Oh, it won't be so bad as that, sir!" Unconsciously Anstice replied tothe unspoken suggestion. "Possibly your daughter has sent this chap torelieve your mind--Cheniston may have taken a turn for the better--heapsof things may have happened. "

"Quite so. " Sir Richard was replacing his glasses in their case withoddly fumbling movements. "But I wish to God we were safely back . .. Wecan't even see the village for these confounded palm trees!"

As though the horses understood and sympathized with the mental tensionof their riders they sprang forward with renewed energy; and some hardriding brought the two men within hailing distance of the approachingnative. 

"It is Hassan all right, " said Sir Richard with a rather painful attemptat composure. "Let us hurry on and find out what is amiss at thevillage. "

As the native drew nearer it was easy to see that he was the bearer ofimportant news. His coffee-coloured face was shining with drops ofperspiration, and his breath came in pitiful gasps as he hurried up toSir Richard and began pouring out his story in a flood of mixed Arabicand English which was quite unintelligible to Anstice. 

"Speak slower, man, slower!" Sir Richard spoke emphatically, and for aspace the native obeyed; but it was evident from the look of mingledconsternation and rage in his hearer's face that the story was one ofdire import. 

When, presently, the Arab ceased, his tongue positively lolling out ofhis mouth like that of a thirsty dog, Sir Richard turned to Anstice withan air of determination. 

"Things have been moving, with a vengeance, in our absence, " he saidgrimly. "It seems that yesterday morning early young Garnett found acouple of Bedouins prowling about his place and helping themselves tohis choicest produce; and being a hotheaded young fool he let fly atthem with his revolver, the result being that by a most unlucky chancehe winged one of the rascals and the other assisted him off, vowingvengeance on the whole little English colony of eight souls. It was notan empty threat either; for when Hassan, feeling uneasy at the idea ofharm coming to Iris, slunk into the village to find out, if possible, what mischief was afoot, he ran slick into a conclave of the brutes, andhiding behind a rock heard their plans. "

"They were pretty deadly, I suppose?"

"They merely embraced the wholesale massacre, under cover of night, ofthe English men and women who had been fools enough to trust their goodfaith, " returned Sir Richard shortly. "Well, Hassan, whose wits are assharp as his ears are long, lost no time in going back to his mistresswith the information; and between them they evolved a plan which might, with the most marvellous luck, be successful. "

"And that plan, sir?" Anstice's tone was tense. 

"Aided by Hassan, at the approach of night the whole little group ofwhite people crept safely into the Fort of which I told you; and when, acouple of hours later, the Bedouins came forth intent on reprisals, theyfound the houses of the English empty, and realized, too late, that theFort was quite a different nut to crack. "

"It is a fairly safe building?"

"Well, it has certain natural advantages, I grant. " Sir Richard spokerather dubiously. "We went over it one day, in a spirit of curiosity;and I have a pretty clear recollection of the place. To begin with, as Itold you the Bedouin encampment is a sort of oasis in a valley at thefoot of some quite respectably high rocks. You know the desert is not, as some people imagine, merely a flat expanse of sand. Here and thereare ranges of hills, limestone, and so on--and now and then one comesacross quite a chain of rocky places which in another country would belooked upon as precipices. "

He paused; and Anstice waited eagerly for him to continue. 

"Well, this Fort is, very luckily, built on a plateau overlooking thevalley. On one side the ground slopes gently down to the little colony, but on the other the Fort overlooks a high precipice of rock which ofcourse affords no means of transit from the ground below; so that onthat side the place is absolutely impregnable. "

"I see. " Anstice's tone held a note of relief. "Well, that sounds fairlypromising--as I suppose it means there are only three sides to defendinstead of four. "

"Well, it is a circular building, " Sir Richard explained, "and there areonly slits in the walls on two sides; and also, fortunately for us, onlyone means of entrance or exit, in the shape of a massive door whichcould hardly be forced without a charge of dynamite. It was thestronghold, so I gather, of a kind of robber chief in the old days, anddoubtless was built to resist possible assaults from lawless tribesmen. But there is one weak spot in the building--one or rather two placeswhich are a decided menace to any defence. "

"And those----"

"Well, it seems this French artist, Massenet by name, sought andobtained permission from the authorities who leased him the building tothrow out a couple of windows in the upper floor which enabled him toconvert the place into a very passable studio. He was a rich man--son ofa well-known Paris banker, and the cost did not intimidate him. But theresult is that those two big windows, which only boast the flimsiest ofsand-shutters, are, without a doubt, capable of being made into means ofentry, provided, of course, that the defenders within are short ofammunition or are unable to construct efficient barricades. "

"I see. I suppose they are a fair height from the ground?"

"Yes--but there are such things as ladders, " said Sir Richard dryly. "Ofcourse a mere handful of men, given a sufficiency of ammunition, mightkeep an attacking party at bay almost indefinitely. But I'm afraid oursupply of munitions is somewhat scanty, and with women--and children--todefend----" He broke off suddenly as the native began to speak. 

"You go a-back, bring help, bring many gentlemens. Me and the Effenditake care of ladees . .. But you go quick--bring the soldiermans. .. . " Hestopped, as though at the end of his suggestions. 

"Yes. " Sir Richard's face lighted up. "I see what he means. Anstice, youor I must make all speed back to Cairo and fetch out some soldiers. Thebarracks swarm with them, and if I know them they'll jump at the chanceof a little scrap like this. With luck you'd be back in threedays--less, if you pushed your horses--and by God I believe we couldhold the Fort till then!"

As he finished the native nodded his head as though in approval of theplan; but suddenly his expressive features lengthened, and he saidsomething in a lower tone to Sir Richard in which the words "_El Hakim_"occurred more than once. 

Sir Richard listened restively, and uttered an exclamation of annoyance. 

"Well, well, there's no need to repeat it so often! Anstice, this fellowpoints out that after all I had better be the one to go for help, as hesays your aid is urgently required at the Fort. Besides Cheniston, whoseems, from what I can gather, to be in about the same state as before, Garnett got wounded last night when the besiegers tried to force anentrance, and I suppose the sooner you get to them the better. "

"Well, there's something in that, " conceded Anstice, reluctant to deepenthe disappointment in Sir Richard's face. "You see, sir, the sooner Ifix up Cheniston the better--but why shouldn't this fellow go and fetchhelp instead of you?"

Sir Richard's eyes brightened, but after another colloquy with the Arabhis former air of dejection returned. 

"He says--confound him--that the authorities in Cairo would pay moreattention to me than to him--and I suppose he's not far wrong. Also hepoints out that with his knowledge of the land and of the language hewould be of more use to the garrison"--he used the word halfashamedly--"than I, who know little of either. His plan is for me toreturn immediately with all possible speed to fetch help, while you andhe seek, under cover of night, to enter the Fort, a task which Igather, " said Sir Richard grimly, "is not altogether devoid of risk. "

Anstice said nothing, but his mouth was set in a hard line whichbetokened ill for anyone who attempted to bar his way into that sameFort, and with a half-strangled sigh Sir Richard continued his speech. 

"It seems on the whole the best plan, though God knows it's hard to turnround and leave my only daughter in this damned hole. Still, I see thelogic of the thing, and if you are willing to go forward, why, there'snothing left for me but to turn back. "

"I'll go forward all right, " replied Anstice quietly. "And if you willtrust me, I will do my best to carry on until you arrive withreinforcements. "

"In that case I'll go at once, " said Sir Richard more briskly. "Which isthe better horse? Yours, I think--and if so I'll take it and hurry backto Cairo. But first let's have a look at the provisions--I'm a tough oldfellow and can do without a lot of stuff, but I daren't risk failing onthe way. Luckily we are lavishly provided. "

Hearing this speech the Arab smiled gleefully and produced from somemysterious recess in his robe a square package, tied with string, andhanded it, still smiling, to Sir Richard, who took it with a rathermystified expression. 

"It's food--what you call grub, " explained Hassan proudly. "The ladeesmake it--say it carry the Effendi back to _le Caire_"--in common withmany Arabs he gave the city its French name--"and it _good_ grub too!"

Sir Richard slipped the packet into his pocket with a rather uncertainsmile, and turned to the matter of transit without loss of time. 

Anstice's horse was the fresher of the two, and it was decided that SirRichard should start at once, and when at a safe distance dismount andrest until moonrise, after which the night hours might profitably bespent in journeying onwards, since night-riding in the desert isinfinitely preferable to riding by day. 

"With luck you should make Cairo very early on the day after to-morrow, "said Anstice, who had been making a calculation. "And if you could getstarted again without loss of time you could be here in just under threedays. But that would mean hard riding, I'm afraid----"

"I'm pretty tough, " said Sir Richard again. "And after all you'll havethe harder part. I suppose"--he turned to Hassan--"I suppose there is nopossibility of getting help nearer than Cairo--no village or settlementto which I might apply?"

No, Hassan opined, it was of no use seeking help elsewhere. The one ortwo native villages within call were quite inadequate to renderassistance, and to apply to them would be a loss of time which wouldhave no practical result. 

When once Sir Richard was assured of the impossibility of procuring helpnearer than Cairo he wasted no further time in discussion, but mountedhis horse with a businesslike air and proceeded to take leave of Ansticewith a heartiness which but thinly disguised his real and gnawinganxiety. 

"I will make all possible speed, " he said, as he settled himselfsturdily in his saddle. "And with luck three days should see me back. Inthe meantime"--for a moment his voice faltered, but he pulled himselftogether pluckily--"I leave my girl in your care. And I know"--SirRichard spoke very slowly--"I know you will guard her, if need be, withyour life. .. . "

"Thank you for your trust, Sir Richard. " In Anstice's hand-grip SirRichard read the measure of his resolve. "I will not fail you--nor yourdaughter--so long as I am alive. "

Sir Richard wrung his hand, tried to speak, and failed, utterly, toarticulate a syllable. But the look which the two men exchanged spokemore eloquently than words, and Sir Richard, as he rode away on hismission, knew that so far as mortal man might compass success hisdaughter's safety was assured at this man's hands. 

 * * * * *

When Sir Richard had ridden away, sitting squarely in his saddle, withnever a backward look, Anstice turned to Hassan. 

"Now, " he said, "how do we proceed? I mean"--he remembered that the manunderstood little English--"do we go straight back to the village--andwhat do we do with this horse?"

Hassan's explanation was necessarily somewhat unintelligible, beingcouched in a polyglot mixture of French and English, with a few words ofArabic thrown in, but by dint of patient inquiry Anstice presently madeout the drift of his involved speech. Briefly, his plan was as follows. 

It would be useless, so Hassan asserted, to attempt to return to thevillage and enter the Fort until darkness covered the land. TheBedouins, it seemed, already surrounded the place so that Hassan'sescape had been a matter of some difficulty, and it would be necessaryto proceed cautiously, with careful strategy, in order to re-enter theplace in safety. 

When once it was comparatively dark--if possible before the moonrose--the attempt must be made; and in the meantime Hassan consideredthe wisest thing to do was to shelter somewhere and rest in preparationfor the evening's adventures. 

The horse, he decided, must be turned loose outside the village. TheBedouins, as he pointed out, would be likely to snap up readily a horseof such good appearance, and in any case Hassan was plainly of theopinion that a horse's existence was of very little importance whengraver matters were at stake. 

Although, as an Englishman, Anstice was inclined to rate the horse'svalue as a living creature more highly than the Arab was disposed to do, he saw the reason of the plan, and agreed to follow Hassan's advice inevery particular. 

Having come to this wise resolve, he invited Hassan to choose a placewhere the time of waiting might be passed, and the native deciding on alittle sandy hollow between two low, round-backed hills, he proceeded toensconce himself more or less comfortably on the loose and driftingsand, and prepared to endure the waiting-time with what patience hemight. 

CHAPTER III

"Dr. Anstice! Is it really--_you_?"

Iris stood opposite to him with an expression of wondering surprise inher wide grey eyes, and as he held her hand in his Anstice noted thebeating of a little blue vein in her temple--a sure sign, with thisgirl, of some inward agitation which could not be altogether concealed. 

"Yes. It is really I. " Although he spoke calmly he was to the full asagitated as she, and he could not keep his eager eyes from studying herface, in which he found a dozen new beauties for which their separationhad not prepared him. She was a little thinner than he remembered her, but the African sun had kissed her fine skin so warmly that any pallorwhich might well distinguish her in these troublous days was effectuallydisguised. 

With an effort he relinquished her hand and spoke with well-simulatedindifference. 

"It was by the merest chance that Sir Richard and I met in Port Said, "he said. "I was taking a holiday--the first I've had for years"--hesmiled--"and was only too glad to see a familiar face in a strangeland. "

"And you have given up your holiday to come to our help, " she said in alow voice. "You don't know how thankful I am to see you--but for yourown sake I wish you had not come. "

"That's rather unkind, " he said, with a smile. "Here have I beenflattering myself that you would welcome me--well, warmly--and you asgood as tell me I am not wanted!"

"Indeed I did not mean that. " She too smiled, but quickly grew graveagain. "If you only knew _how_ glad I am to see you. We--we are inrather a bad way here, you know, Dr. Anstice, and--and your help will bevaluable in more ways than one. "

"I hope it may prove so, " he said. Anstice and Hassan had made aperilous, but successful, entry into the little Fort, pursued, it istrue, by a shower of bullets, for the Bedouins were armed with a strangecollection of weapons, ranging from antique long-barrelled guns tomodern rifles. "May I see him at once? The sooner the better, as I amhere at last. "

"Yes. I want you to see him as soon as possible. " Iris hesitated, and inher eyes was the shadow of a haunting dread. "You will find him veryill, I am afraid. We have done what we could--Mrs. Wood has beensplendid--but he doesn't seem to get any better. Of course in ordinarycircumstances we should not have dared to move him, but we had to do it, and I am sure it has been very bad for him. "

"Well, we must see what we can do now, " said Anstice in as reassuring atone as he could muster. "Where is he? On this floor, I suppose?"

"Yes. Next door. One of the rooms which the artist used is furnished, more or less, as a bedroom, and it is fairly comfortable. The otherrooms--this and the ones downstairs--are almost empty except for a fewchairs and a kind of bench we use for a table. "

"I see. " Anstice looked round the room, noting the rough stone walls, the ancient, uneven floor, uncovered by so much as a piece of matting;and then his glance returned to the large modern window which looked soincongruous in its medićval setting. 

The room into which a moment later Iris showed him was of the same shapeand size as the one they had just quitted; and boasted the second of thewindows which might, were help too long delayed, prove the undoing ofthe little garrison. It was, however, roughly furnished, though it wasevident that the Frenchman, for all his reputed wealth, had been noSybarite by inclination. The bed was of a common pattern, and the fewother things scattered about on the scantily matted floor were of themost primitive description. 

As a room for an invalid the apartment certainly left much to bedesired; but Anstice did not waste time over his surroundings. He movedquickly towards the bed; and stood looking down upon the man who laythereon in silence. 

And as he looked at the wreck of the once gallant Bruce Cheniston, hisheart sank within him; for if ever Death had printed his sign-manual ona living man's face, it was written here too legibly for even anuntrained eye to miss its significance. 

Cheniston was wasted to a shadow by fever and suffering. From hishaggard face his sunken eyes looked out with an expression of anguishwhich was surely mental as well as physical; and though he evidentlyrecognized his visitor, he was too weak to do more than move onefleshless hand an inch or two towards Anstice by way of greeting. 

Hiding the shock Cheniston's appearance had given him as well as hemight, Anstice sat down beside the bed and took the painfully thin handin his own. 

"Cheniston, I'm sorry to see you in such a bad way. " He spoke verygently, his eyes on the other's face the while. "It was hard luckfalling ill out here--but I've brought up several things from Cairo thatwill give you relief in no time. "

Over Cheniston's face flitted the ghost of a smile; and his voice, whenhe replied, gave Anstice a fresh shock, so thready and devoid of alltone was it. 

"Thanks--very much--Anstice. " He spoke slowly, with spaces between thewords. "I'm very ill--I know--I think I'm going--to peg out--but I can'tbear--to think--of Iris. "

He stopped, quite exhausted by the effort of speech; and Anstice, moremoved than he cared to show, laid the thin hand back on the bed, andtook his patient's temperature, his heart sinking still lower as he readthe thermometer's unimpeachable testimony. 

Strive as he might, he could not rid himself of a fear that BruceCheniston's earthly race was ran; and catching sight of Iris' face asshe stood on the opposite side of the bed, he felt, with a quickcertainty, that she too realized that only by a miracle could herhusband be restored to the health and vigour to which his young manhoodsurely entitled him. 

"Come, Cheniston, " he said presently, in answer to Bruce's last words, "you mustn't talk of pegging out. You have been bad, I can see that, butyou know dozens of travellers in Egypt enjoy a taste of enteric and comethrough it as good as new. You got this through drinking polluted water, I understand?"

"Yes. " Bruce smiled, haggardly, once more. "Too bad, wasn't it, thatafter playing with water ever since I came out here it should turn on mein the end. Serves me right--for--trusting an Arab--I suppose. "

His voice died weakly away; and Anstice gently bade him keep quiet for awhile. 

"No use talking and exciting yourself, " he said, for he could see theother's stock of strength was lamentably small. "Lie still and allow meto talk over affairs with Mrs. Cheniston--we will put our heads togetherand evolve some plan for your benefit. " He hardly knew what he said, sofilled was his heart with a pity in which now there was no faintesttinge of resentment for the unfair bargain which this man had oncedriven with him. 

With a sigh Cheniston closed his eyes, and appeared to relapse once moreinto a kind of stupor; and when, in obedience to a silent gesture, Iriswithdrew to the window, Anstice joined her there immediately. 

Such remedies as yet remained to be tried Anstice determined to employ;but though he told himself fiercely that if mortal man could save BruceCheniston from the grave he should assuredly be saved, he experiencedthat hopeless feeling which all who gaze in the very face of death knowonly too well; and he did not dare to meet Iris' eyes as he conversedwith her in a carefully-lowered tone. 

"I'll sit up to-night, Mrs. Cheniston, and you must try to get somesleep. I suppose"--he broke off suddenly, remembering the position inwhich they stood--"I suppose some of you watch--for the enemy"--helaughed with something of an effort--"every night?"

"Yes. I don't think we any of us slept last night, " said Iris quietly. "You see we are so short-handed--only Mr. Wood and Mr. Garnett andHassan know anything about fire-arms; and Mrs. Wood and I, and Rosa, Mrs. Wood's nurse, have been busy looking after Bruce and little MollyWood. "

"Of course. Well, I think the first thing to do, after I have given Mr. Cheniston this"--he had been mixing something in a little glass as hespoke--"is to meet and hold a council of war, with a view to the mostuseful disposition of our forces. After all"--he spoke more lightly, sokeen was his desire to see her look less anxious--"we are not by anymeans a force to be despised. We have four able-bodied men among us; andthis place, from what I can gather, looks pretty impregnable, on oneside at least. "

"Yes. Even Mr. Garnett admits that the Bedouins could hardly swarm upthat rocky wall, " said Iris, with a slightly more cheerful air. "And ofcourse, too, we have not got to hold out indefinitely; for if my fatherreaches Cairo in good time we may have the relieving force here in lessthan three days. "

"Of course we may!" His tone was resolutely optimistic. "Now, as soon asMr. Cheniston drinks this we'll set to work. "

He approached the bed, and having with some difficulty roused Chenistonfrom his stupor, administered the dose deftly; after which he turned toIris once more. 

"You spoke of a nurse just now. Who is she?"

"Oh, she is only a children's nurse, and rather a broken reed at thebest of times, " said Iris ruefully. "She had hysterics all last night, but she's a bit more sensible to-day. "

"Hysterics or no, she can keep watch for half an hour, " said Ansticerather grimly. "Suppose you find her and send her to me. Would youmind?"

"I'll go at once. " Iris turned towards the door, and Anstice noted witha pang at his heart that she was certainly thinner and moved with lessbuoyancy than of old. "You--you won't be too severe with her, Dr. Anstice? After all, she is only a young girl, and she has gone throughquite a lot since yesterday morning!"

"Oh, I won't bite her head off, " said Anstice, with a short laugh ofgenuine amusement. "But we have no use for hysterical young women here;and no doubt when she understands that she will amend her ways. "

"Very well. I will go and find her. " With a last look towards the bedIris vanished; and for a brief moment Anstice was left alone, to wonderat the strange and unexpected situation in which he now found himself, shut up in this lonely building in the heart of the desert with ahandful of souls for whose safety he could not but feel himself largelyresponsible. 

He did not attempt to disguise from himself that the outlook wasdecidedly unpromising. Even though Sir Richard reached Cairo withoutmishap, some time must necessarily elapse before he could gathertogether what Iris had called the relieving force; and although Ansticehad no reason to doubt the staunchness and courage of hisfellow-defenders, he could not fail to realize that as a fighting unitthey were altogether outmatched by the two or three score of enemies whowere by now, apparently, thirsting savagely for their blood. 

Then, too, the shadow of death already hovered over the little garrison;and as Anstice turned once more to survey the pale and wasted featuresof the man who had supplanted him in the one supreme desire of his life, he told himself that it would be a miracle if Bruce Cheniston lived longenough to see the arrival of the help on which so much depended. 

"If I had got here a week--three days ago, I might have done something, "he told himself rather hopelessly. "But now I'm very much afraid it istoo late. He is going to die, I'm pretty sure of that, though I hope toGod I may be mistaken; and heaven only knows what will happen in thecourse of the next three days. "

As he reached this point in his meditations a voice in his ear made himstart; and turning, he beheld a pale and distraught-looking young womanwho might in happier circumstances have laid claim to a certainuninspired prettiness. At this moment, however, her eyes red-rimmed withlack of sleep, her ashy-coloured hair limp and dishevelled round herunintellectual forehead, she was rather a piteous object; and in spiteof his resolve to speak bracingly to her Anstice's voice was quitegentle as he replied to her murmured question. 

"Yes, I am Dr. Anstice, and I want you to be good enough to sit here andlook after Mr. Cheniston while I talk over matters with the othergentlemen. "

"Yes, sir. " She cast a swift look at the bed, and then hastily avertedher pale-brown eyes. "Mr. Cheniston--he--he won't die, will he, sir? Imean, not immediate, like?"

"No, he will not die immediately, " said Anstice reassuringly. "All youhave to do is to sit here, beside the bed"--he had noticed how she kepther distance from the aforesaid bed, and placed her in the chair he hadvacated with a firm pressure there was no resisting--"and watch Mr. Cheniston carefully. If he shows signs of waking come for me. But don'tdisturb him in any way. You understand?"

The girl said, rather whimperingly, that she did; and with a last glanceat Cheniston, who still lay sunk in a dreary stupor, Anstice wentquietly from the room in search of his comrades in misfortune. 

He found them in the room in which he had first seen Iris; and he joinedthe conclave without loss of time. 

"Oh, here you are!" Iris broke off in the middle of a sentence and cameforward. "Mrs. Wood, this is Dr. Anstice; and this"--she turned to atall, clean-shaven man dressed, rather unconventionally, in the clothesof a clergyman--"is Mr. Wood. Here is Mr. Garnett, and that is all, withthe exception of Molly. "

She drew forward a child of about Cherry Carstairs' age, a pale, fragilechild in whose face Anstice read plainly the querulousness of aninherited delicacy of constitution. 

"She ought really to be asleep, " said Mrs. Wood, a short, rathergood-looking woman of a florid type, whose subdued voice and air were atvariance with the cheerful outline of her features. "But somehow nightand day have got mixed up at present--in fact, my watch has stopped, andI don't know what time it is. "

"It is just ten o'clock, Mrs. Wood. " It was Roger Garnett whovolunteered the information; and as Anstice turned to discover whatmanner of man the speaker might be he was relieved to find that theyoung Australian wore an unmistakably militant air. He was of averageheight, with powerful shoulders; and in his blue eyes burned a lust forbattle which was in no way diminished by the fact that his left arm wasbound up just below the elbow. 

"Brute dotted me one there, " he explained casually as he saw Anstice'sglance fall on the bandage. "Thought at first he'd broken a bone, but hehadn't. It was only a flesh wound, and Mrs. Wood did it up in the mostapproved St. John style!"

"I'll look at it for you presently, if you like, " said Anstice, "thoughit appears to be most scientifically bandaged. Now, what I should liketo know is this. Did these fellows attack you last night? They did? Atwhat time--and in what force did they come?"

"It was just before dawn--the recognized time for a night attack, eh?"Garnett's blue eyes twinkled. "They thought it was going to be a softjob, I believe; but they had apparently forgotten that the door waspretty well impregnable, thanks to the jolly old bandit, or whatever hewas, who used to retire here with his doubtless ill-gotten gains! And asthey had forgotten to provide themselves with any means of reachingthese windows the attack failed, so to speak. "

"I gather you were looking out? Any casualties?" Anstice put thequestion coolly; and young Garnett grinned. 

"Yes, siree--one for which by the grace of God I may consider myselfresponsible. They were all arguing in the courtyard below when I gavethem a kind of salute from up here, and by gosh, you should have seenthe beggars scatter! One of them got it in the thigh, at least so Ideduce from the fact that he had to be assisted away, groaning!"

"They didn't return?"

"No. Clambered over the wall and made tracks for home, sweet homeinstanter. "

"To tell you the truth, Dr. Anstice"--it was Mr. Wood who spoke, andAnstice turned quickly towards him--"I do not myself believe that theywill attack us again at present. They have now found it impossible toforce an entrance unseen; and I should not be surprised if their plan ofcampaign included waiting, and trying to starve us out. A policy ofmasterly inaction, so to speak. "

"Do you know, I rather agree with the Padre, " said Garnett thoughtfully. "Of course they have not a notion that we have sent for help; and thoughthey saw Dr. Anstice arrive with Hassan, it is quite possible that inthe dusk they thought it was one of us who had made a futile sortie withthe Arab. "

"I daresay you are right, " said Anstice thoughtfully. "But I suppose youdo not propose we should relax our vigilance on that account?"

"No. " Mr. Wood looked keenly at the speaker, and appeared reassured bysomething he read in the other's face. "Last night we watched both thiswindow and that of the other room--the one where Mr. Cheniston islying----"

"It is unfortunate that he should be in one of the rooms where there isa possibility of trouble, " said Anstice, rather worried by the notion. "I suppose the others are really uninhabitable?"

"Well, there is no possibility of admitting sufficient air, " said Mrs. Wood practically. "There is a little hole where we snatch a moment'srest now and then, but for a man with fever----"

"No, I suppose he must stay where he is. " Anstice genuinely regrettedthe necessity. "The only thing to do is to try to draw the enemy's fireto the other window, if occasion arises. Now, how do we divide ourforces? Mrs. Cheniston"--he spoke the name firmly now--"you, I suppose, will watch your husband, and if I may suggest that I take the window inthat room under my charge--Hassan might be at hand to take my place whenI'm occupied with Mr. Cheniston----"

"Then Mr. Garnett and I will be responsible for the watch in this room, "said the clergyman quietly. "The others--my wife and Rosa--can take itin turn to relieve Mrs. Cheniston. How does that plan strike you, Dr. Anstice?" By common consent they began to look on Anstice as theirleader. 

"A very sensible plan, " said Mrs. Wood quickly, "But I positively insistupon Mrs. Cheniston having some sleep. She was up all night and has notrested a moment to-day. "

"What about me, Mummy?" A rather fretful little voice interrupted thespeaker, as Molly pressed closely to her side. "What's me and Rosa goingto do? There isn't any beds and the bench is so hard!"

"Poor kiddie!" Anstice's heart was touched by this lamentable wail. "Suppose you let me see what I can do to make you a bed, Molly! I'm adoctor, you know, and doctors know more about making beds than ordinarypeople!"

The child regarded him with lack-lustre eyes which were quite devoid ofany childish gaiety; and for a moment she appeared to revolve thequestion in her mind. Finally she decided that he was to be trusted, forshe nodded her weary little head and put her thin, hot hand into the onehe extended to her. 

"The room opposite to this is our bedroom, " said Iris, with a faintsmile. "Shall I come too, Molly, and show Dr. Anstice where to find thethings?"

"Yes. You come too. " The other moist hand sought Iris' cooler one; andbetween them they led the poor child into the room Iris indicated. 

Here, with a little ingenuity, a bed was made up of chairs and cushions, which Molly was too worn out to resist; and having seen her sink at onceinto an uneasy slumber, the two returned to the larger room, where theothers still held whispered conclave. 

"Dr. Anstice"--Iris laid her hand on his arm, her voice full of thesweetest contrition--"you have had nothing to eat and you must befamished. "

"I'm not hungry, " he assured her truthfully; but she refused to listento his protests; and calling Mrs. Wood to her assistance she soon had ameal ready for him. Although the resources of the establishment werelimited to tinned food and coffee boiled over a little spirit stove, Anstice was in no mood to criticize anything which Iris set before him. Indeed he could hardly take his eyes from her as she ministered to him;and the food he ate might have been manna for anything he knew to thecontrary. 

Having finished his hasty meal and assured his kind hostesses that hefelt a hundred per cent better thereby, Anstice turned to Mr. Wood witha new seriousness. 

"It is nearly eleven o'clock, " he said, "and I suppose we should bethinking of taking up our positions? If you and Mr. Garnett are ready, I'll call Hassan to take charge of the other window for a little while, and have a look at my patient yonder. "

The other men agreed; and Anstice left them stationing themselves attheir posts while he entered the next room and relieved the frightenedRosa from her task of watching the invalid. 

As he approached Cheniston's side he saw that as yet no fatal change hadoccurred. Bruce still lay in a kind of stupor, half-sleep, half-unconsciousness; but his pulse was not perceptibly weaker, and fora wild moment Anstice considered the possibility of his patient'srecovery--a possibility which, however, he dared hardly entertain as helooked at the haggard face, the sunken eyes, the peeling lips. 

When Iris entered a minute or two later Anstice gave her a fewdirections, bidding her call him immediately should Bruce awaken; and asshe acquiesced and sat down on the hard chair lately vacated by themaid, Anstice looked at her with a feeling of rather helplesscompassion. 

"Mrs. Cheniston, I'm so awfully sorry to have to ask you to sit up. You're worn out, I know, and I wish you could get some sleep. "

"Oh, don't bother about me!" She smiled up at him, and his heartcontracted within him at the look of fatigue in her face. "I'm immenselystrong, you know--and I can sleep to-morrow. Only"--the smile faded outof her eyes, leaving them very sad--"do you think there is anypossibility of Bruce being better in the morning?"

"Yes--he is no worse than when I saw him an hour or two ago, " Ansticeassured her. "And in a bad case like this even a negative boon of thatkind is something to be thankful for. "

She looked at him again, rather wistfully this time; but he did not meether eyes; and presently he withdrew, leaving her to her lonely watch;while he went to take up his vigil at the window in preparation for anypossible attack. 

But that night passed without adventure of any kind. 

CHAPTER IV

It was on the afternoon of the following day that a new and seriouscomplication arose. 

The night had passed without incident of any kind; and shortly aftersunrise the little party met to compare notes of their respectivevigils. 

All through the night Anstice had come and gone by Cheniston's bedside;but although there was no improvement in his patient's condition, neither did he seem to have progressed any further into the grim Valleyof the Shadow; and although this extreme weakness and prostration wereominous enough, Anstice still cherished that very faint, very timid hopewhich had been born on the previous night. 

He had never wished so fervently for the power to save a life as in thisparticular case. Gone was all remembrance of the former ill-feelingbetween them, of the unfair and cruel bargain which this man had forcedupon him to the utter destruction of his life's happiness. He forgotthat Bruce Cheniston had been unjust, callous, a very Shylock in hiseager grasping of his pound of flesh; and he remembered only that thisman had won Iris' love, and thereby established his claim to any servicewhich the man who had also loved Iris might reasonably bestow. 

The fact that Iris must needs be adversely affected by her husband'sdeath was sufficient in itself to rouse his wish to save Cheniston'slife if that life could be saved; and during the day, when the vigil ofthe little garrison might be relaxed, he was assiduous in his care ofthe man who lay so desperately ill in the quiet room overlooking thesun-baked desert. 

Only once Cheniston roused himself sufficiently to hold a few minutes'laboured conversation with Anstice; and afterwards the latter was notperfectly certain of Bruce's complete understanding of the words heused. 

"Iris--how is she?" His voice was so weak that Anstice could barely hearit; but he guessed what it was that the other man wished to ask; andanswered at once:

"Mrs. Cheniston is quite well--only a little tired. She is lying downfor an hour, but if you want her I'll go and call her. "

"No. Don't disturb her, " said Bruce feebly; and then, after a pause, heuttered the words which, later, seemed to Anstice a reflection on hisperfect mental poise at the moment. "Poor little Iris--it wasn't fair tomarry her--I wish to God I'd left her--to you. "

For a minute Anstice sat silent, absolutely stunned by thisextraordinary statement; and before he could speak the weak voice beganagain. 

"You loved her--so did I--in a way--but I've never really lovedanyone--but--Hilda Ryder. " The unconscious pathos in his tone robbed thewords of all offence. "But she's a dear little soul--Iris--and I onlywish I'd not been beast enough--to marry her--to spite you----" The thinvoice trailed away into a whisper and Anstice spoke resolutely. 

"See here, Cheniston, you're ill and you don't know what you're saying. Don't talk any more, there's a good chap. You only tire yourself out tono purpose. "

But with the perversity of fever Cheniston would not be gainsaid. 

"I'm all--right. " His hollow voice and laboured breath gave the lie tohis assertion. "But--if I die--and the rest of you get outalive--you--you'll look after Iris, won't you? I wish you'd--marryher--you'd be good to her--and she would soon--be fond--of you----"

Somehow Anstice could bear no more. With a hasty movement he sprang up, and in his voice was a decision against which Cheniston in his weaknesscould not hope to prevail. 

"See here, Cheniston, you've just got to lie still and keep quiet. Youknow"--his manner softened--"you're really not fit to talk. Do try toget a little sleep--you'll feel so much stronger if you do. "

"I feel--very weak. " He spoke with an evident effort, and Ansticerepented him of his vehemence. With a gentleness Iris herself could nothave surpassed he did all in his power to make Cheniston as easy aspossible; and when, presently, the latter relapsed into the stupor whichpassed with him for sleep, Anstice left him, to go in search of Mrs. Wood, who had promised to take charge of him for an hour or two. 

A few minutes later he encountered Garnett, walking moodily along theuneven passage-way; and a new seriousness in the Australian's expressiveface gave Anstice pause. 

"What's up, eh? You look mighty solemn all of a sudden!"

"I feel it, too. " The younger man turned round and his eyes looked grim. "Do you know what those damned Bedouins have been up to now? I believe, and so does Hassan, that they've been poisoning the well out there"--hepointed through the slit in the wall to the courtyard beneath--"and ifso we've not got a drop of water we can drink. "

"I don't believe it. " Honestly he did not. Although he had no cause tolove the Oriental race he was loth to believe even an uncivilized foecapable of such barbarity. 

"As sure as God made little apples, it's true. " Garnett was in no wiseoffended by Anstice's uncompromising rejoinder. "Hassan and I boththought we saw a fellow sneaking in the courtyard last night--justbefore dawn--when it was too mighty dark to see much; but as he sheeredoff we didn't give the alarm. But it seems Hassan is pretty wellacquainted with their charming tricks, and he was suspicious from thefirst. "

"But was this beggar prowling round by the well?"

"We couldn't see much, but this morning Hassan investigated and foundfootmarks on the sand leading directly to and from the well; and he isconvinced that is what the brute was doing. "

"How much water have we left?"

"Well, that's the very devil of it, " said Garnett ruefully "It seems wehad a fair quantity--you know it all has to be brought from that sameold well--but that silly little Rosa thought this morning that she'dlike a bath, so without asking permission she tipped it all into a kindof tin tub there was on the premises and performed her ablutionstherein. "

"Well, I confess I don't blame her, " said Anstice rather dryly. "I feelas if I'd give a fiver for a bath myself--this damned sand makes one soinfernally gritty. "

"Just so--and the tin basin we wash in--in turns--isn't exactlyluxurious!" Garnett's eyes twinkled. "All the same, things look prettyserious on the water question. We must have water--unfortunately thedesert thirst is no fancy picture--I'm like a lime-kiln myself at thismoment--but if the well is poisoned, and Hassan seems convinced it is, we can't drink the water, can we?"

"Certainly not. " Anstice hoped his voice did not betray his dismay atthis disclosure. "Where's the nearest well--outside of here?"

"Over in the village--or rather, there's one outside the village whichwould be less public. " Garnett laughed a little. "But I don't quite seehow we're going to fetch water from it. You know the beggars are keepinga pretty smart lookout--and if they caught sight of one of us sallyingforth we'd be potted as sure as a gun. And every available man is wantedhere. "

"I suppose"--Anstice had been thinking--"I suppose it would be quiteimpossible to get out by the rocky side? I mean could one possibly climbdown? The Bedouins don't seem to guard that side, and one would be inthe desert, well away from their band. "

"Yes--but I doubt if it would be feasible. Unless--what about a rope? Isaw a great coil of rope in one of the dungeons downstairs thismorning. " A new alertness leaped into his bright eyes. "I say, let's goand reconnoitre, shall we? It would be great to outwit the beasts afterall!"

"Right! Where shall we go and scout?"

"Place opposite--the only one with a decent-sized hole in the wall--haveto find a place one could squeeze through, I suppose--and I'm such aninfernally broad chap, too!"

Anstice laughed. 

"Well, I'm pretty long, " he said, still smiling. "Lead on, will you--oh, this is the place, is it?"

They had entered a small circular chamber which had evidently been usedfor the purpose of scanning the desert far below in search of possiblefoes; for the aperture in the wall which corresponded to a modern windowwas much larger than any of the other slits in the building; and Ansticeand the Australian were able, by a little man[oe]uvring, to lean outside by side and view the prospect beneath. 

"Pretty fair drop, eh?" From his tone Garnett was in no wise daunted bythe sight. 

"Yes--want a steady head. But it could be done, " said Ansticejudicially. "A long rope--a precious long one, too--fastened tosomething up here, and one could clamber down all right. And once downit should be easy to skirt round to the well you mentioned. That'ssettled, then, and since you're disabled"--he glanced at the other'sbandaged arm--"this is going to be my job. "

"Oh, I say, that's not fair!" The other's tone of indignation amusedAnstice even at that critical moment. "It was my suggestion, wasn't it?Oh, I believe you did say something about it too . .. But I think I oughtto be the one to go. "

"But your arm----"

"Oh, damn my arm!" Garnett spoke vehemently. "It won't hurt it ascrap--and honestly, I'd simply _love_ the job!"

"I know you would--but really you'll have to let me do it. " Ansticespoke firmly, though he was sorry for the other man's disappointment. "You see that arm of yours is badly hurt, though you won't own up to it;and it might easily go back on you when you started using it. And if yougot stuck down there, we'd have no water, and be a man short here aswell. "

For another minute the Australian held out, arguing the point with akind of fiery eloquence which showed how keenly he desired to undertakethe adventure; but in the end he gave way, though he was toounsophisticated entirely to hide his chagrin. 

"Then that's settled. " Anstice dared not betray his sympathy anyfurther. "Now it remains to settle the details; and by the way, wouldn'tit be wise to keep it as quiet as possible? We don't want to alarm thewomen. "

"Quite so. " Garnett squared his shoulders and plunged pluckily into thediscussion. "I should suggest you go fairly early, as soon as the moon'sup--so that with luck you'd be back before the enemy start prowlinground. The well is a mile away, in a westerly direction. " He pointedas he spoke. "And there is not much cover when once you get fairlyout . .. Though I don't think there is a very great risk of the brutesspotting you. "

"How long should it take me to get there and back?"

"Well, walking over sand is not like walking on macadam, " said Garnettpractically, "and I don't suppose you could do the job under an hour ortwo. Besides, you may have to dodge the brutes now and then, " he addedregretfully; and again Anstice could not refrain from smiling. 

"Well, that's settled, then. The moon rises about seven, doesn't it? Andif I get off soon after that----"

"That would do tophole. And we can easily spin a yarn to the rest, " saidGarnett more cheerfully. "In the meantime let's go and get something toeat. I'm famished. "

The suggestion meeting with Anstice's approval they adjourned in searchof food; and found Iris coming to look for them with tidings of a meal. When they had taken their seats at the improvised table, Iris quietlywithdrew; and Anstice guessed she had returned to her place by the sideof her husband--a place she had relinquished for an hour only during thewhole of the strenuous day. 

When, a little later, he went to see Cheniston again, he was dismayed tofind an ominous change in his patient. 

Bruce had indeed the air of a man at the point of death; and as helooked at the wasted features, the sunken eyes, the grey shadows whichlay over the whole face, transforming it into a mere mask, Anstice toldhimself bitterly that all his care had been in vain; that before morningbroke there would be one soul the less in their pitiful little company. 

He bent over the bed and spoke gently; but Cheniston was too ill to payany heed; and with a sigh Anstice stood upright and turned to Irisrather helplessly. 

"Mrs. Cheniston"--he forced himself to speak truthfully--"I am afraidyour husband is no better. In fact"--he hesitated, hardly knowing how toput his fears into words--"I think--perhaps--you must be prepared forthe worst. "

"You mean he will die?" She spoke steadily, though her eyes lookedsuddenly afraid. "Dr. Anstice, is there no hope? Can _you_ do nothingmore for him?"

"There is so little to be done, " he said. "Believe me, I have triedevery means in my power, but you know my resources here are so limited, and in those surroundings--if I had been here a week earlier, I mighthave done something; but as things are----"

"Oh, I know--I know you have done all you could!" She feared her wordshad sounded ungracious. "Only--Bruce is so young--he has never been illbefore----"

"Ah, yes, but everything has been against him--the climate for onething--and of course the forced removal was about the last thing heshould have had to endure. " Anstice longed to comfort her as she stoodbefore him, looking oddly young and wistful in her distress, but honestyforbade him to utter words of hope, knowing as he did what might welltake place during the coming night. 

"You think he will die--to-night?" Her eyes, tearless as they were, demanded the truth; and after a secondary hesitation Anstice repliedcandidly:

"I am very much afraid he may. " He turned aside when he had spoken, thathe might not see her face; and for a long moment there was a silencebetween them which Anstice, for one, could not have broken. 

Then Iris sighed very faintly. 

"If that is so, you--you won't leave us, will you? I think--I could bearit better if you were here. "

Anstice's vehement promise to stay with her was suddenly cut short as heremembered the venture which was planned for the early hours of thecoming night; and Iris' quick wits showed her that some project wasafoot which would prevent him comforting her by his constant presence. Yet so sore was her need of him, so ardently did she desire the solacewhich he alone could bring her, that she was moved to a wistful entreatythat was strangely unlike herself. 

"Dr. Anstice, you--you will stay? If--if anything happens to Bruce, Ishall be so--so lonely----"

Never had Anstice so rebelled against the fate which had given her toanother man as in this moment when she stood before him, her face palewith dread, her wide eyes filled with something not unlike absoluteterror as she faced the coming shadow which was to engulf her life. Hewould have given the world to have the right to take her in his arms, tokiss the colour back to those white cheeks, the security to thequivering mouth. This was the first favour she had ever asked at hishands, the first time she had thrown herself, as it were, on his mercy;and he must refuse her even the meagre boon she asked of him. 

But Anstice was only mortal; and he could not refuse without giving herthe true reason of his refusal, although he and Garnett had agreed thatthe undertaking of the night should be kept a secret lest the rest ofthe little party be rendered nervous and uncomfortable by his absence. The feelings of the other women were nothing to him, compared with thoseof the girl he still loved with all the strength of his soul and heart;and he could not have borne to let her think him callous, regardless ofher fears, content to leave her to pass through what must be one of thedarkest hours of her life alone. 

Very gently he told her of the discovery Garnett and Hassan had made;with the subsequent unhappy certainty of a water famine; and Iris hadbeen in Egypt long enough to know that in this desert waste of sun andsand the lack of water and its attendant evil, thirst, were the mostfruitful sources of tragedy in the Egyptian land. 

"You mean there is no water left?" She spoke very quietly, and heanswered her in the same tone. 

"No--at least barely a bottleful. The rest was used for making coffeefor us all just now. And this remaining drop must be reserved for yourhusband, in case he calls for it. Besides, there is to-morrow----" Hestopped short, with a tragic foreboding that there would be no morrow onearth for the man who lay dying beneath their eyes. 

"Yes. As you say, there is to-morrow. And"--her voice was low--"Isuppose there is no hope of rescue before to-morrow night at earliest?"

"I am afraid not before the following dawn. " Somehow he could not lie toIris. "And since we must have water it is plain one of us must go andget it. "

"Go? Outside the Fort?" Her face blanched still further. "But it--wouldbe madness to venture out--you would be seen--and shot--at once. .. . "

"Ah, but you haven't heard the plan Garnett and I have evolved!" Hespoke more lightly, though his voice was still low. "Listen, and tell meif you approve of our strategy!"

He rapidly outlined their plan of campaign, making as light of theperils of the undertaking as possible; and Iris listened breathlessly, her eyes on his face the while. 

When he had finished she spoke very quietly. 

"Dr. Anstice, I think it is a terribly reckless thing to attempt, and ifI thought only of myself--or of you--I should beg you not to go. But asyou say, there are the others--the child for one--and if help should bedelayed the lack of water would be--serious. "

"So you approve the plan?" He felt unreasonably glad that she did notaltogether condemn the idea, since, as go he must, he would certainly gomore happily with her approval. 

"I shall be terribly anxious all the while, " she said simply, "but youare a brave man. Dr. Anstice, and I do not believe God will let yousuffer for your courage. "

"Then I am to go? You will not mind being left alone?"

"No. I think--perhaps--I shall be a little--afraid--if Bruce dies whileyou are gone"--a shiver passed through her as she spoke the fatalwords--"but I will try to be brave. "

"Mrs. Wood will come and sit here with you, " said Anstice quickly; butIris shook her head. 

"No, she is asleep just now, and I won't awaken her. You know she hasbeen so anxious about poor little Molly to-day. " The child had indeedbeen feverish and ailing of late. "But after all, we may be alarmingourselves unnecessarily, mayn't we? You--you're not _certain_ that Brucewill die?"

And because he could not bear to see the terror in her face, hear thequiver of dread in her voice, Anstice lied at last. 

"No--I may be wrong after all, " he said. "In any case I am not goingyet. I will stay here till the last possible moment. Look--his eyes areopen--come and sit here, where he can see you without moving his head. "

And as she obeyed without a word Anstice took up his own positionopposite to her where he could watch every change in the grey face ofthe man who had once been his enemy, but was now only a fellow-creaturein the grip of the mightiest enemy of all. 

 * * * * *

It was nearly ten o'clock before Anstice started on his perilousadventure. 

Shortly before the time fixed for his departure little Molly Wood hadbeen taken alarmingly ill, with severe pains in her head and a hightemperature, and Anstice had spent an anxious hour beside her improvisedbed before he had the satisfaction of seeing her sink into a quiet sleepbeneath the remedies he employed, and when, leaving the distractedmother to watch her slumbers, he had crept into Cheniston's room, he hadfound Bruce still desperately ill, and Iris paler and yet more wanbeneath the stress of the position in which she found herself. 

It was only the imperative need of water which nerved Anstice to leaveher alone, but he knew perfectly well that it would be impossible toprocure any water in daylight, and though Mr. Wood would certainly havevolunteered to make the attempt in his place, had he known thecircumstances, Anstice had discovered, by a casual word let drop by hiswife, that the clergyman suffered from a long-standing weakness of theheart which would have prevented him carrying through the projectsuccessfully. 

Plainly he must be the one to go, for Hassan, whom they had been forced, through stress of circumstance, to take into their confidence, hadabsolutely refused to brave the perils of the journey and the danglingrope, and since he must be back at his post as soon after midnight aspossible, Anstice steeled his heart and bade Iris good-bye with astoical calm which did not deceive her in the least. 

"Keep up your courage, Mrs. Cheniston. " He laid his hand gently on herarm. "I'll be back in an hour or so--and in the meantime, if thereshould be any change, you will do exactly as I have told you. " He hadalready given her full directions. "Remember, no one but Mr. Garnett andHassan knows of my absence, so don't be surprised if I'm supposed to beasleep somewhere. "

"No. But"--she put her own right hand over his as he gently clasped herarm--"you're sure there is no one but you to go? Is Mr. Wood too old?"

"No--but his heart is affected, and the climb would be dangerous. AndHassan, though he's behaved like a brick up to now, funks the climb. "His tone was good-naturedly contemptuous. "As for Garnett, he's longingto go--can't quite forgive me for shoving him out--but his arm won'tstand it; so plainly I am the one to go. "

"Then go--and God be with you, " she said very gently, and in her eyesAnstice saw once again the look of mingled strength and tenderness whosepossibility he had divined long ago on the occasion of their firstmeeting on that sunlit morning on the steps of Cherry Orchard. 

 * * * * *

And with the words ringing in his ears he set forth upon his quest. 

CHAPTER V

It was a perfect moonlight night, and as he swung himself out over therocky precipice, which was surely more formidable at close quarters thanit had appeared from above, Anstice was conscious of a sudden wildexhilaration which sent the blood coursing like quicksilver through hisveins. 

He knew very well that he was embarking upon a perilous adventure whichmight easily end in disaster, for he had no delusions on the subject ofhis probable fate did he fall into the hands of the vengeful Bedouins. But somehow, as he swung between earth and heaven, the rope slippingwith almost uncomfortable rapidity through his fingers, he felt no fear, only a joyous thrill which strongly resembled the boyish glee withwhich, in his school-days, he had taken part in many midnight adventuresstrictly hidden from the notice of the authorities. 

His former proficiency in gymnastics and his natural love of climbingstood him in good stead. He had never been addicted to nerves, had neverknown what it was to experience any vertigo or attacks of giddiness whenexploring some dizzy height or negotiating some mountain ledge, and heswung down the rope which was his only support as coolly as though hewere practising in a gymnasium, with no risk, did he fall, of beingdashed to death against the unfriendly rocks below. 

In an incredibly short space of time he reached the ground, and aftergiving three gentle tugs upon the rope--the preconceived signal that allwas well with him--he looked cautiously round him to take his bearingsbefore proceeding on his journey. 

He stood now in a kind of rocky valley, ringed round with caves--whethertombs or not he could not pretend to judge--but beyond the valley laythe desert over which he must pass, and he lost no time in clamberingover the rooks and setting foot on the firm brown sand without. 

By the aid of his small compass he located the direction in which thewell lay, and then, restoring it to his pocket and making certain thatthe goat-skin water-bottle was firmly slung over his shoulder, he setoff at a brisk pace which should, if possible, shorten the time of hisabsence from the Fort by a few precious moments at least. 

He had never before been alone in the desert at night, and thestrangeness of it gripped him by the throat as he strode steadilyonwards. He could not believe, at first, that he was really alone. Itseemed incredible that in all that huge expanse of sand he should be theonly moving, living being, yet, though he knew that there _were_ livingcreatures in the desert--jackals and other prowling things, and a wholehost of bats and tiny insects--they gave no sign of their presence, andit seemed to him that he was the only live thing in a dead world. .. . 

Yet the air, as it blew gently round him, was soft and sweet. A group ofpalm trees rustled deliciously as he passed by; and above his head thebig silver stars seemed to look down on him with a friendly, benignantgaze as though they knew and approved the errand which brought him outthere, alone in the moonlit desert. 

When once he had conquered the instinctive feeling of something likenervousness which made him look now and again half fearfully over hisshoulder as he walked, he began to enjoy this uncommon pilgrimage. 

His spirits rose, he felt a wild inclination to sing and shout withglee--an inclination hastily checked by the remembrance that after allthe Bedouin village was not far away, though hidden for the moment bythe merciful palm trees--and he told himself exultantly that thedevilish revenge of the Bedouins who had poisoned the well in thecourtyard of the Fort was only an empty menace after all. 

Only when he thought of Bruce Cheniston, dying in that barely-furnishedroom, far away from any of the luxuries and ease-bringing contrivanceswith which civilization smooths the path of her children to the grave, did his leaping exultation die down in his heart, and he walked moresoberly as he told himself that it was probable he would not see BruceCheniston alive again. 

It was in the moment in which he realized this fact that another thoughtstruck Anstice for the first time, and the sheer blinding radiance ofthat thought made him catch his breath and stand still in the desert, absolutely oblivious to any risks which he might run from Bedouins orother prowling marauders were he to be observed. 

He had suddenly realized that were Cheniston to die Iris would once morebe free--free to marry another man did she so desire; and the very ideaof that freedom set his heart knocking against his ribs in a positivefury of wild and tumultuous feeling. 

Never--he was thankful to remember it now--never had the thought so muchas crossed his mind as he ministered to Cheniston, doing all in hispower to defeat the grim foe who held the young man so firmly in hisclutches. He had spared no pains, had given himself up body and soul tothe task of saving Bruce Cheniston's life, were it possible for thatlife to be saved, and he was glad to know, looking back, that he hadnever for one second contemplated the possibility of any benefitaccruing to himself through the other man's death. Even should he find, on his return, that Cheniston had indeed slipped into another worldduring his absence, he could always assure himself that he had notsullied the last strenuous hours in which he had fought for hispatient's life with all his might by so much as one underhand ordishonourable thought. 

And then, by a natural corollary, his thoughts reverted to Hilda Ryder;and for the first time since her death he began to feel that now, afterall these years, he might surely be considered to have atoned for histoo hasty carrying-out of the promise he had made her in thatrose-coloured dawn of a bygone Indian morning. 

Never had man regretted an impulsive deed more than he had regretted thething which had been done that day. The years which had elapsed sincethen had been indeed years of penance--a penance more cruel and far morehard to bear than any penalty inflicted by man could possibly have been. 

He had been a prisoner indeed, bound fast in the captivity of his ownremorse; but now it seemed to him as though the long black night of hisimprisonment were breaking, as though a light, as yet very far off andfaint, showed upon some distant horizon with a promise of another andmore radiant day which should surely dawn ere long. 

Whence came this blessed lightening of his gloom? He could not say. Wasit perhaps due to the fact that even now he was risking his life in theservice of another woman--it is to be feared he forgot all but Iris inthis strangely exalted moment--that to him her life had been confided bythe father who adored her, and that to him and to him alone could shelook for comfort and for help in the bitter hour which he foresaw waseven now at hand for the girl who loved Bruce Cheniston--and must seehim die. .. . 

 * * * * *

And as his thoughts played, lightning-wise, round the figure of thebeloved woman, his footsteps led him on, more and more blithely as hisspirit rose, ph[oe]nix-like, above the ashes of his burnt-out tragedy, and in an incredibly short space of time he approached the well whencehe might draw the precious water for lack of which the little garrisonhe had left must perish and die. 

It was a peaceful spot, this well. Just such a place as that to whichRachel and the daughters of Jacob must, long ago, have come to filltheir pitchers--a quiet, palm-guarded spot where doubtless, in days goneby, the village women had congregated in search of water and ofnews--the chattered gossip of the East, punctuated by the tinkling ofnative bangles as the beautifully-moulded arms raised the pitchers tothe finely-carried heads. 

The well was deserted now, but the water was as clear and pure as ever, and with a sigh of relief Anstice set about filling his goat-skinwater-bottle, and then, anxious to lose no time, he retraced his stepsover the moonlit desert without delay. 

He marched blithely on and on, ever companioned by that new and thricewelcome sense of freedom which had come to him, as though at each stephe took the fetters with which a great regret had for so long shackledhis soul grew looser and less binding, until it seemed that they mightpresently fall off altogether, and allow him once more to face the worldas a free man, and not the captive of a cruel and unjust fate. 

 * * * * *

He had reached the outskirts of the village before the necessity forcaution reasserted itself; but just as he was passing, as softly aspossible, the little group of palm trees which he had noted earlier, hecaught a glimpse of a man prowling, as it seemed, round the trunks ofthose same trees; and in another second he knew that by an unluckychance the man was between him and the only place in which he might havetaken cover. 

There was no time to be lost. At any moment the Bedouin might look upand see him--an unfortunately conspicuous figure in the moonlight; andalthough the Fort was not more than a quarter of a mile away, should itcome to a race the odds might well be in favour of the desert-bred man. 

True, he was armed--for in spite of his protests Garnett had insisted onhim carrying one of the few revolvers owned by the little defendingforce; but he did not wish to fire, save in the last extremity, since ashot would certainly rouse the village and cut off his one chance ofregaining the shelter of the Fort. 

There was just a possibility that the man might not see him, so intentwas he at the moment in his scrutiny of the village; and in a secondAnstice had taken his resolve--a desperate resolve enough, but the onlyone he could formulate at the moment. 

He began, instantly, to run, and so noiseless was his progress that nosound reached the ears of the prowling Bedouin; and had the native'sother senses been less keen, it is possible Anstice would have escapednotice altogether. 

Unfortunately the man turned himself about, and saw the flying figure, which stood out only too plainly in that empty expanse of moonlit sand;and after a second's hesitation, as though he could barely believe theevidence of his eyes, the native left his hiding-place and began to runwith quick, loping gait after the fugitive, calling out something in ahigh, piercing voice as he ran. 

In his college days Anstice had been somewhat of an athlete; andalthough he had long since relinquished any sporting ambitions which hemight once have cherished, he had reason to bless his own turn of speed, which, being a natural and not an acquired gift, did not fail him now. 

But never in his life had he run as he was running to-night. Apart fromany consideration of his own personal safety he was running for thesafety of others--of one in particular; for he knew only too well howpitifully small was the force which held the beleaguered Fort; andthough in itself his life might be of little value, as a bulwark betweenIris Cheniston and her enemies it had a value all its own; and must notbe relinquished without a fierce and determined struggle. 

On and on he ran, the blood drumming in his ears, the goat-skin poundingmaddeningly about his shoulders. But even could he have brought himselfto fling away the precious water for which he had cheerfully risked hislife, he could not spare time to unfasten the skin slung across hisback; and he raced swiftly onward, cursing the loose sand which now andagain threatened to trip him up, not daring to look back until he hadlessened the distance to the Fort by a considerable amount. 

Then, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder, he saw that the Bedouinwas gaining upon him, his long, tireless stride, which resembled that ofa greyhound, swallowing the ground with little apparent effort; andAnstice's quick mind realized that, fine runner as he knew himself tobe, he was outclassed by this native athlete. 

"All right, Dorando, " he muttered grimly, half-aloud, as he checkedhimself for a second in his race. "I can't outrun you, but I'm damned ifI don't put a bullet through you all the same. "

And pulling out his revolver he whisked about, so quickly that the otherhad no time to realize his intention; and taking definite aim at theman's thigh he fired once, twice--with satisfactory results, inasmuchas the other uttered a sharp cry, spun round once or twice and fell in aheap on the sand, incapable of further movement. 

For a second Anstice paused, innate humanity forbidding him to leave theman alone in his agony; but the thought of Iris drove away suchweakness, and realizing that the noise of the shots must incite his foesto immediate investigation, he hastily restored his revolver to itsplace and ran, faster than ever, in the direction of the Fort. 

Suddenly the air behind him was rent with shrill clamour, and he knewthe village was aroused at last; but he cared little now, for he wasclose to his desired haven; and a last spurt over the rocks at theentrance to the valley landed him, spent and breathless, at the foot ofthe Fort, beneath the window from which dangled the precious rope whichshould carry him to safety. 

Regardless now of precaution, he lifted such voice as remained to him ina would-be lusty hail; and as an answering shout came from above hewasted no further time, but seized the rope and began--painfully now, for he was exhausted--to haul himself slowly up, cheered on by Garnett'shearty congratulations from above. 

 * * * * *

"By Jove, that was a close call!" Once safely inside the building, thedangling rope pulled through the window after him, Anstice collapsed onthe rough stone floor and mopped his brow feebly. 

"I should say so!" The resourceful Australian had already produced atiny flask of brandy. "Here, take a pull at this, and you'll feel betterin a second. And when you've recovered, if you'll explain the meaning ofthe shooting-match, I'll be thankful to you. "

Between his gasps Anstice described the chase and its subsequent ending;and Garnett's eyes shone with an unholy lust for battle as he listened. 

"Good on you!" He clapped the other man on the shoulder with aheartiness which was almost painful. "Well, we'll have the hornet's nestabout our ears in no time now; but at least we've got you back safe andsound, and with a bit of luck we'll hold out grandly till thereinforcements come!"

"How is Cheniston?" Anstice rose as he spoke and slipped the goat-skinfrom off his shoulders. "Anything happened since I've been away?"

"Not that I know of--but I believe he was pretty bad a while ago. "Garnett's face clouded. "Jolly rough luck on his wife, isn't it? She'sso young, and so plucky, and I see you expect the poor chap to peg out. "

"I think I'll go and see him, " said Anstice slowly, the exhilarationdying from his manner; and as Garnett pulled aside the rough curtainwhich covered the doorway he stepped on to the uneven stone floorwithout. 

And then he came to a pause; for Iris was coming towards him; and herface wore a curiously stricken look which made his heart miss a beat. 

"Mrs. Cheniston--you want me? Is your husband worse?"

For a moment she did not reply. Then:

"He is dead, Dr. Anstice, " she said quietly. "He died ten minutesago--just after I heard those two shots----"

"Dead?" Although he had half expected the news, Anstice found it hard tobelieve. "Mrs. Cheniston, are you _sure_? May I come and see? Youmight--possibly--be mistaken. "

"I am not mistaken, " she said, and for a second a pitiful little smiletouched her white lips. "Bruce is dead--but come and see for yourself. I . .. I am glad you are safely back, Dr. Anstice. "

"Thank you, " he said quietly; and then without more ado they moved sideby side towards the room in which Bruce Cheniston had yielded up hislife. 

Mrs. Wood rose from her seat as they entered, and glided softly away, beckoning to her husband, who stood by the window, to join her; and whenthey were alone Anstice and the girl so lately widowed moved forwarduntil they stood beside the bed on which Bruce Cheniston lay in all thewhite majesty of Death. 

A very brief examination satisfied Anstice that Iris had not beenmistaken. Cheniston was dead; and as he stood looking down on the quietface, which, by virtue of Death's magic alchemy, had regained in thelast hour something of its former youth, Anstice knew a sincere andunfeigned pity for the young life so ruthlessly cut short by a crueldisease. 

"Yes, Mrs. Cheniston. " He covered the dead white face gently. "I amsorry to say you are right. Were you with him when he died?"

"Yes. We were alone, " she said, and again that oddly stricken look madehis heart yearn pitifully over her. 

"He was conscious before the end?"

"I--I think so--at least, partly. " Her tone was indefinable, desolationand a strange, half-hurt wonder sounding in its low note. "He did notspeak much--only a few words--at the end I don't think he knew me. .. . "

"I am sorry you were left alone, " he said, and he ventured to lay hishand for a second gently on her arm. "I wish I could have been backearlier. I am afraid it has been a shock to you. "

"Death is always a shock, " she said quietly, and again a wintry littlesmile touched her lips. "But--don't think me unkind, Dr. Anstice--I amglad I was alone with him--at the end. "

In spite of himself a great amazement shook him at her words. Althoughher meaning was a mystery to him, there was no doubt she had spoken inperfect sincerity; and in the midst of his inward turmoil Anstice foundtime to wonder exactly what she meant by this curious speech. Somehow hecould not help connecting the odd look which her face still held withthe strange words she had used; and he wondered what had been the mannerof Cheniston's passing. 

"Mrs. Cheniston"--Iris started as his voice fell on her ears--"you willcome away--now? There is nothing for you to do here. And you should tryto sleep----"

"Sleep?" She glanced up at him with an indescribably dreary look in hereyes. "I could not sleep, Dr. Anstice. If you will let me stay withyou"--her voice shook a little--"I should be glad. I--I don't want to bealone--just yet. "

"Of course you don't. " He spoke promptly. "And you shall certainly staywith me, if you will. But--will it trouble you to make me a cup ofcoffee, Mrs. Cheniston? I'm awfully sorry to bother you, but I've hadnothing to eat for some time----"

At another moment she might have seen through his subterfuge; but now, her wits dulled, her mind clouded by the scene through which she hadlately passed, she accepted his petition as genuine. 

"Of course I will get you some coffee--at once. " She moved towards thedoor as she spoke. "I--I am so sorry I did not think of it before. "

When she had gone he went quickly in search of Garnett, and explainedwhat service he required of the stalwart Australian. 

"Of course--we'll carry him, bed and all, into another room, " saidGarnett readily. "That window must be guarded, and we can't ask the poorgirl to enter the room with her husband lying dead there. Let's hustle, while she's busy--the little room 'way across there will do. "

Accordingly when Iris re-entered the room, rather shrinkingly, toacquaint Anstice with the fact that a meal awaited him, she found anempty space where the bed had stood; and although her eyes widened shesaid nothing on the subject--an omission for which Anstice was thankful, for the night's work had been a strain on him also; and he was in nohumour for further discussion at the moment. 

 * * * * *

He found the rest of the little garrison even more subdued than usual. The death of one of their number had naturally cast a general gloom; andwhen he had made a pretence of despatching his supper Anstice easilypersuaded Mrs. Wood to take a few hours' rest by the side of her littlegirl, who was now, fortunately, well on the way to recovery from hersudden illness. 

The incapable Rosa was also dismissed to seek what slumber was possible;and then the four men took up their positions as before--Mr. Wood andGarnett keeping watch from the window of the room in which Cheniston haddied, while Anstice and Hassan stationed themselves at the secondwindow; Iris leaning against the wall, very pale, but apparently quitecomposed, on a pile of rugs which Anstice had arranged for her well outof range of a possible stray shot. 

She had promised him to try to rest; but as the hours of the short nightwore away and the critical moment of dawn approached, he knew thatalthough she sat in silence with closed eyes she did not sleep; andagain he wondered, vainly, insistently, what had passed between husbandand wife before Death cut short their mutual life. 

He felt he would have given much to know what reason Iris had to bethankful that she and her husband had been alone in the hour of hisdeath; and although he had no intention of pursuing the subject he couldnot quite stifle his curiosity as to her meaning. 

But Sir Richard Wayne's daughter was the soul of loyalty; and although aday was to come in which she and Anstice had few secrets from oneanother, he was destined never to know that Bruce Cheniston had diedwith Hilda Ryder's name upon his lips. 

 * * * * *

And so the short night passed; and with the dawn the long-expectedattack came at last. 

CHAPTER VI

"Dr. Anstice"--Iris' voice was very low--"shall I disturb you if I comeand sit beside you for a little while? I--I feel rather--lonely--sittingover there. "

Anstice had turned round sharply as she began to speak and his heartyearned over her pitifully as he noted the pallor of her cheeks, theforlorn look in her grey eyes. 

"Of course you won't disturb me. " He dared not speak so emphatically ashe wished. "I shall be only too glad if you will come and sit here"--hearranged the pile of rugs by him as he spoke--"only, if danger arises, you will keep out of harm's way, won't you?"

"Yes. " She said no more for a moment; but her assent satisfied him, andhe turned back to the window with a sudden feeling of joy at herproximity which would not be repressed. 

Presently he heard her low voice once more. 

"Dr. Anstice, when you told me your story--long ago--why didn't you tellme the name of the man to whom that poor girl was engaged? Didn't youwant me to know she was to have married--Bruce?" Her voice sank on thelast word. 

For an instant Anstice kept silence, uncertain how to answer her. Then, seeing she was waiting for his reply, he made an effort and spoke. 

"Mrs. Cheniston, to be honest, I don't know why I did not tell you. But"--he seized the opportunity for a question on his own account--"willyou tell me how you know, now? Did--did your husband tell you?"

"No. " Her eyes met his frankly and he knew she was speaking the truth. "I learned the fact for certain by accident three days ago, when Brucewas delirious. Of course I had wondered--sometimes"--said Irishonestly--"but I never liked to ask. And after all it made nodifference. "

"No. " He sighed. "It made no difference. But I am glad you know--now. "

Again a silence fell between them; and then a sudden impulse droveAnstice into speech. 

"Mrs. Cheniston, " he said, very quietly, "may I tell you somethingelse--something I have long wanted you to know?"

Startled, she assented; and he continued slowly. 

"You remember that night--the night before your wedding day"--he saw herwince, and went on more quickly--"the night, I mean, when CherryCarstairs set herself on fire and you came for me to my house----"

"Yes. " Her eyes were sad. "I remember. I don't think I shall ever beable to forget that night. "

"Ah, don't say that!" His voice was eager. "Mrs. Cheniston, don't, please, believe I gave in without a struggle. I didn't. God knows Ifought the horrible thing--for your sake, because you had been goodenough, kind enough--to ask me to give up trying that way out. I didtry. Oh, I know you can hardly believe me--you who saw me in the veryhour of my failure--but it's true. Although I gave in at the last, beaten by the twin enemies of bodily pain and mental suffering----"

"You were--in pain--that day?"

"Yes. I had endured torture--oh, I don't want to excuse myself, butplease understand I was really ill, really suffering, and morphia, asyou know, does bring a blessed relief. And I was wretched, too--itseemed to me that life was over for me that day----"

He stopped short, biting his lips at his self-betrayal; but Iris' greyeyes did not turn away from his face. 

"And so, thinking I could endure no more agony of body and mind, I hadrecourse to the one relief I knew; but before God, if I had known thatyou would be a witness to my failure----"

"Dr. Anstice"--the gentleness in her voice fell like balm upon his sorespirit--"please don't say any more. We are only human, you and I; andone failure does not minimize a long-continued success. "

"You mean----"

"I mean that I know--I can't tell you how, but I _do_ know it--you havenever again tried that way out of your troubles. I think, " said Iris, "you have found the _real_ way out--at last. "

Her words perplexed, even while they relieved him; and he sought themeaning of them. 

"The _real_ way, Mrs. Cheniston? I wonder what you mean by that?"

"I mean, " she said very softly, "you must have found the way out of yourown troubles by the very act of pointing out the way to others. You havebrought Chloe Carstairs back to life--oh, I know it was through you thatthe mystery was cleared up at last--and that alone must make you feelthat whatever mistake you may once have made you have atoned for it ahundredfold. And"--for an instant Iris' voice shook--"what are you doingnow but atoning for that mistake--if further atonement were necessary?"

"You mean----"

"I mean that you are here, waiting for the Bedouins to attack us at anymoment, waiting to fight for us women, ready, if need be, to die on ourbehalf. " The words fell very softly on the quiet air. "And though I praythat God will send us help so that no life may be sacrificed Iknow"--Iris' eyes shone, and her voice rang suddenly like a clarioncall--"I know that I--that we are safer with you than with any other manin the world. .. . "

Carried away by her trust in him Anstice turned to her impulsively. 

"Mrs. Cheniston, I can't thank you enough for those words. God knows Iwould willingly, gladly die to shield you from any harm; and if helpshould not come in time, and I should lose my life, well, please believetwo things--firstly, that since that dreadful night I havenever--failed--in that way again; and secondly, that to die in yourservice"--so much he might surely say in this poignant hour--"would be adeath which any man might envy me. "

She did not reply in words; but her eyes answered for her and for amoment there was silence between them. Then, as though half afraid hemight have angered her by his last impetuous speech, Anstice spokeabruptly in another tone. 

"Odd, isn't it, how an action carried through in a moment may have suchtremendous consequences? I mean if I had stayed my hand long ago in thatIndian hut you and I would not be here now, faced with thisrather--difficult--situation. It makes one realize that one should neveract too hastily--without looking all round the subject, so to speak. "

"Yes. And yet--sometimes--if one stopped to think of the consequencesone would be afraid to act, and let the vital moment slip, " she saidrather dreamily. "Of course there is always the afterwards----"

"Do you know of what that reminds me?" He spoke quickly. "Once, long agowhen I was a student, I picked up a book of old plays at a bookstall inthe Charing Cross Road. And in one of the plays I came across thissentence: 'The deed itself may be the work of a moment; but there isalways the long, long _afterwards_ with which to reckon. '"

His voice died away; but she said nothing, though her eyes betokened herinterest; and presently he resumed. 

"Well, that sentence has haunted me pretty frequently of late--it hasrun through the years like the saying of some avenging angel. I haveknown what the reckoning with the _afterwards_ may be--sometimes, indeed, I have feared that reckoning will never be paid. "

"Dr. Anstice, " she said quietly, "you are wrong. The reckoning _is_paid; the atonement _is_ made; and I am quite sure that the future--foryou--will be rid for ever of the haunting shadow of the past. And"--hercheeks blanched suddenly as a clamour arose in the courtyard outside--"Ithink the future is beginning--with trouble and danger--now. "

"I believe you are right. " Turning impetuously to the window, which fora moment he had neglected, he found Hassan, his eyeballs rollinghorribly in his dusky face, leaning out excitedly; and as he too cranedinto the lifting darkness Anstice saw that the moment of attack was athand. 

Without warning save that given by their exultant shouts the Bedouinswere swarming over the wall, clambering over like great cats, droppingwith sundry thuds on to the sandy ground beneath; and in another momentAnstice saw that they carried roughly fashioned scaling ladders, withwhich they evidently intended to force an entrance, should that bepossible in the face of the defenders' fire. 

"See here, Mrs. Cheniston. " Anstice spoke almost curtly. "Will you gointo the other room now? You are safer there, and out of harm's way forthe time, at least. "

"No, Dr. Anstice. " She spoke determinedly. "I am going to stay here. Youhave spare revolvers, haven't you? Then I can load for you and forHassan, at any rate, even if I can't be of other use. "

"You know how?" He was surprised. 

"Yes. My father taught me long ago. And"--for a second her voicefaltered--"I--I feel safer here. Please let me stay. "

"Very well. " He could not bear to send her away. "But you must promiseto keep as far as possible out of range. We can't afford any casualties, you know. "

"I promise, " she said very quietly; and he knew she would obey hisinjunctions implicitly. 

The next moment Garnett rushed into the room, his blue eyes alight witha most warrior-like flame. 

"See what's up, Anstice? Good--I guessed you'd not be caught napping. I'll get back now--there's going to be a gorgeous scrap in a minute. Mrs. Cheniston, are you all right there?"

"Quite, thanks. " Her calm voice reassured him; and he dashed out of theroom without further parley, while Anstice and Hassan waited, tensely, their revolvers in readiness, for the moment to open their defence. 

It was not yet day; and in the grey gloom it was difficult todistinguish the nature of any object which was not close at hand; butAnstice made out that the approaching Bedouins intended to scramble upto the windows by use of their scaling ladders; and his face wore anunusually grim expression as the flying moments passed. 

Ah! The first tribesman to reach the level of the window gave anexultant yell, as though he saw his foe already within his grasp; and onthat shout of triumph his desert-born soul was sped to whatever havenawaited it. For Anstice's revolver had spoken; and the swarthy Bedouinfell headlong to the earth, shot, unerringly, through the heart. 

Anstice heard Iris give a faint gasp at his side; but now his blood wasup and he had no time to reassure even the one beloved woman. Somethingstrange, unexpected, had happened to him. Suddenly he too was primitiveman, even as these desert men were magnificently primitive. Gone was allthe veneer of civilization, the humanity which bids a man respect afellow-creature's life. He was no longer the educated, travelled man ofthe world, who earned his living in honourable and decorous ways. He wasthe cave-dweller, the man of another and more barbaric age, who defendedhis stronghold because it held his woman, the woman for whom he wouldfight to the very end, and count his life well spent if it were yieldedup in her service. But he did not mean to die. He meant to live--andsince that implied the death of these savages who clamoured without, then let red death stalk between them, and decide to whom he would awardthe blood-dripping sword of the victor. 

Another fierce face at the window--a pair of hawk-like eyes flashinghaughty challenge, a sinewy hand raising a revolver in deliberateaim--and Hassan's shot rang out, so swiftly that this man too fell back, disabled, his face disappearing from the window as one runs a film off areel of pictures. 

But there were others--many others--to take his place. Up and up theycame till there was a whole phalanx of enemy faces, eyes flashing, whiteteeth gleaming in horrid snarls . .. Shot after shot rang out, but bymarvellous luck none touched the defenders, who on their side emptiedtheir revolvers as fast as Iris' fingers could make them ready. 

Suddenly a gigantic man half sprang over the sill and without attemptingto fire seized Anstice by the wrist in a grip of iron, whose marksdisfigured him for weeks to come. His intention was obvious--by holdingAnstice a prisoner he hoped to make opportunity for others to force anentrance; and as Anstice had involuntarily dropped the revolver as thesteel-like fingers crushed his wrist, the fate of the little garrisonhung, for a second, in the balance. 

"Iris--shoot--quick!" Quite unconscious of the name he used Ansticeraised his voice in a desperate shout; and the girl heard and obeyed inthe same breath. 

Lifting the revolver she had just loaded she fired once, twice, withfingers which did not even tremble; and the next moment with a loudgurgle the Bedouin released his hold and fell back through the window, dislodging the men who were clambering up the ladder behind him, so thatthey fell together in a confused mass into the courtyard below. 

For a second there was a breathing-space; and Anstice turned to Iriswith gleaming eyes. 

"My God, you have a nerve!" His breath was coming in quick pants. "Mrs. Cheniston, I can't thank you--I never dreamed that even you would be soplucky. "

"It wasn't pluck--it was just--obedience, " she said, and though her facewas very pale she smiled bravely up at him. "Dr. Anstice, arethere--many more to come? You have disabled a good many, haven't you?"

"Between us, yes. " He was cool again now, and picked up his revolver ashe spoke. "They seem to be hanging back a bit--and to judge by the rowGarnett's making I should say he's doing pretty well too. "

Bang! A bullet whizzed suddenly by Iris' head; and Anstice pulled herhastily into a safer place. 

"Here they come back again!" His tone was almost boyishly gleeful. "Well, we're ready for 'em--eh, Hassan?"

The Arab, who was firing as steadily as though at a pigeon-shootingmatch, nodded, his white teeth flashing out in a merry grin; and as theBedouins, taking heart, recommenced their attack, the two men, nativeand Englishman, turned back to their task with renewed vigour. 

Neither Iris nor Anstice ever had a very clear recollection of the nextten minutes. It was an inferno, a babel, a confusion of shots and yellsand angry clamour; but beyond a slight, flesh wound sustained by Hassanneither of the defenders sustained any casualties; and had theirammunition been as plentiful as their courage was high there would havebeen no doubt as to the ultimate issue. 

Suddenly Anstice turned to Iris with a question on his lips; and herface paled as she replied:

"Not much, now. I think--only enough for three more rounds. " She spokesteadily. 

"I see. And then----" He broke off, handing her the empty revolver heheld. 

"And then?" She breathed the question softly; but there was no fear inher face. 

"And then--I am not quite clear what happens then. " He looked at hermore searchingly. "Mrs. Cheniston, what do you say--then? I'm ready, asyou know, to die for you, but"--he paused, then resumed in a ratherhoarse tone--"if I die what will become of you? I suppose"--he faltered, and his lips were dry, but some inward impulse drove him on--"I supposeyou would not wish me to--save--a last cartridge. .. . "

"For me?" Her smile, as she faced him, was splendid. "No, Dr. Anstice, I'm not afraid to die, if I must, at the hands of our enemies. But Iwill not accept death--from _you_. "

He knew--irrevocably--what she meant. She was determined at least tospare him a recurrence of the tragedy which had ruined so many of whatshould have been the best years of his life; and although he knew hecould have faced even that risk courageously in her service, none theless did he rejoice that he was not called upon to do this thing asecond time. 

"Then--if the worst should happen--if we are not relieved in time----"

"We can all die--together, " she said very simply; and in her face heread something which, told him that for all her youth this girl wouldknow how to die. 

But further speech was suddenly cut short The Bedouins, who had beenhanging back for a moment's parley, had evidently rallied their forcesfor another effort; for with a yell destined to strike terror into thehearts of their foes they literally swarmed up the ladder until thewhole window-space was filled with a horrid nightmare of bearded, swarthy faces, of sinewy, grasping hands, of tossing spears andflourished fire-arms. 

Suddenly, with an exclamation of pain, Hassan dropped his revolver andclapped his hand to his side; and Anstice felt, with a wild thrill ofdismay in all his veins, that the fight was practically over for themnow. The odds were too great--one well-directed bullet and he too wouldbe disabled, powerless to protect the girl for whose sake he longed soardently to win the day. 

"My God, Iris, we're beaten!" Even as he spoke he was firing into themidst of the mass of packed faces at the window; and he heard her words, spoken in a passionate whisper as one hears strange, whispered sentencesin a dream:

"No--no!" Iris had been listening to another sound--the sound of hope, of renewed life--and now, in the moment of his discouragement, shewhispered the glorious truth. "Listen--they're here--the men have comein time--oh, don't you hear them shouting to us to hold on--for aminute----"

The next moment a wild cry from Hassan rent the air; and as the crowd offierce faces seemed, suddenly, to recede as a wave washes backwards onthe shore, Anstice knew, with a great uplifting of his spirit, that helphad indeed come--miraculously--in time to save the day. .. . 

 * * * * *

Answering shouts from the desert, the drumming of horses' hoofs, theclamour of voices upraised in cries of encouragement--these were thesounds which Anstice, almost unbelieving, heard at last; and as thedesert men began to retreat, tumbling over themselves and each other intheir haste to flee before this new enemy was upon them, Anstice turnedto Iris with a laugh of purest happiness. 

"They have come--you're safe now, thank God!"

"We're all safe, thanks to you, " she answered him with shining eyes; andas he threw his empty revolver aside she held out both her hands to himand he clasped them joyfully. 

"They have come--and so soon! I never dared to hope they would be herebefore to-night at earliest!"

"Nor I--but they are here!" He released her hands and turned to greetthe rest of the little garrison, who, having heard the clamour, hadrealized they were saved, and came pouring in to hear the story of thenight's encounter. 

 * * * * *

At the same moment a fierce hubbub arose in the courtyard as theBedouins realized that they were verily in a trap. Some of them, gathering their robes about them in undignified haste, managed toscramble over the wall in the confusion and so make good their escape, for the time at least; but the majority were neatly cornered; and thoughthey fought magnificently, as was their wont, they realized only toosoon that they were outnumbered; and in a comparatively short space oftime the fight was over. 

 * * * * *

Just as the rising sun flooded the desert with superb pink brilliancethe whole party, rescuers and besieged, met in the courtyard. 

Both Anstice and Garnett had been in the thick of the last affray; andthe soldier who was apparently in command of the expedition tookadvantage of the breathing-space to congratulate the defenders on thesplendid defiance they had offered to their foes. 

"We heard the row quite a long way off, " he said, "and hurried for allwe were worth, thinking we'd be too late if we didn't hustle. But fromthe vigour of your defence it seems to me we might have taken it easy. "

"Good job for us you didn't, " returned Anstice rather grimly. "We'd gotdown to our last round--another five minutes and we'd have been wipedout. "

"Whew!" The other man whistled. "Pretty close call, what? Lucky for youwe _did_ hustle, I see. "

"Yes--but can you explain how it is you're here so soon? We hadn't daredto look for you till to-night or to-morrow morning. "

"Oh, that's easily explained. We fell in with your messenger--SirRichard Wayne, isn't it?--on our way back to Cairo. We were returningfrom a little punitive expedition"--he smiled pleasantly--"and were onlytoo glad to set out on another jaunt. We get fed-up lounging aboutbarracks, and these affairs come as quite a God-send in the wilderness. "

"By the way, where is Sir Richard?" Anstice had been scanning thecompany, but could catch no glimpse of his friend. "His daughter, Mrs. Cheniston, is here, you know, and she will be anxious----"

"Ah, yes--I have a message for her. Is she here--can you take me toher?"

"She is here, " said Anstice quietly, as Iris, hearing her name, approached. "Mrs. Cheniston, this gentleman has a message for you--fromyour father----"

"I'm Lane--Captain Lane, Mrs. Cheniston. " He saluted her hastily. "Andyour father asked me to tell you he was quite well, only a little tiredwith his double journey. He wanted very much to return with us, but hereally was not fit to turn back immediately; and knowing how a lameduck"--he coughed and looked suddenly embarrassed--"I mean--how one manmay delay a squadron, so to speak, he very sensibly agreed to stay atour camp for a few hours' rest. We shall pick him up as we go back, " headded, and Iris smiled rather wearily as she answered:

"Thank you very much, Captain Lane. You are _sure_ my father is allright?"

"Certain--only a bit fagged, and no wonder, for he'd ridden hard. Ah--and he told me to say you were to ask Dr. Anston--Anstice, isit?--to help you in any matter in which you wanted a little help. "

"I will certainly do that, " said Iris quietly; and as the other menpressed round the little group, eagerly questioning the defenders of thebesieged Fort, Iris slipped away from the excited crowd so unobtrusivelythat no eyes save those of Anstice witnessed her departure. 

 * * * * *

Three minutes later Anstice, leaving the rest planning the returnjourney over the desert, went quietly in search of Iris. 

He found her, as he had half expected, standing by the window of theroom in which Bruce Cheniston had died; and in her eyes was a forlornlook which showed him the measure of her desolation in this sunrisehour. 

Quietly as he had entered she had heard him come, and turned to face himwith a rather tremulous smile. 

"Mrs. Cheniston, I came to look for you. " He approached as he spoke; andin spite of herself she felt comforted by the mere fact of his presence. "You are not worrying because your father very wisely let those fellowscome on ahead of him?"

"N-no, " she said, with a queer little catch in her breath. "Only--I hadso wanted--so hoped--to see my father--_soon_. "

"I know, " he said quietly, "and you _will_ see him--very soon. We shallstart this afternoon, when the horses are rested; and then it will notbe many hours before you and your father meet again. "

"Yes. " She looked at him with something of appeal in her eyes. "Dr. Anstice, my father said you would help me . .. You will, won't you? Youknow, " said Iris simply, "you are the only person I can turn to--now. "

More moved by her words than he cared to show, Anstice answered her, notimpetuously, but with something in his manner which would have inspiredconfidence in any woman. 

"Mrs. Cheniston, I will do all I can--and God knows I am grateful to Himfor allowing me the chance of helping you--now. If you will trustyourself to me I will not relinquish my trust until I give you safelyinto your father's keeping. You _will_ trust me?"

"Yes, Dr. Anstice. " She held out her hands to him as she spoke in tokenof sincerity. "I would trust you--to the end of the world!"

 * * * * *

And as he took her hands in his and vowed himself afresh to her serviceAnstice knew, with a great lightening of his spirit, that during thenight march over the desert, that which he had almost dared to hopemight happen, had indeed come to pass; that the chains with which hisown action had shackled his soul had fallen from him for ever, and thatfull atonement for Hilda Ryder's death had been made at last. 

 * * * * *

FAMOUS NOVELS BY KATHLYN RHODES

 THE LURE OF THE DESERT THE DESERT DREAMERS THE WILL OF ALLAH SWEET LIFE AFTERWARDS FLOWER OF GRASS THE MAKING OF A SOUL

_In cloth, with attractive pictorial wrapper, 1/6 net. _

Vivid descriptions of the entrancing scenery of the East, incidentcrowding upon incident, romantic situations, exciting intrigues, unexpected dénouements hold and absorb the interest from start tofinish. 

 KATHLYN RHODES is the assured success of 1918, as GERTRUDE PAGE was the success of 1916 and MABEL BARNES-GRUNDY of 1917. 

Fired with enthusiasm to win fame as a novelist, Kathlyn Rhodes beganher career before her school days were ended. "Sweet Life" followedshortly afterwards; and the appreciation which this won encouraged theauthoress to follow quickly with other stories. Choice of subject sheholds to be of primary importance. With the war depressing us allaround, she believes that many readers prefer stories that permit themfor the time to forget it; and this she achieves by her delightfulflights of fancy through the realms of many lands. 

These are the stories to send to your soldier friends to combat thehorrors of warfare and the tedium of the hospitals; and the stories toread yourself to relieve the weary vigils we must keep at home.