HILDA WADE

A WOMAN WITH TENACITY OF PURPOSE

By Grant Allen

1899

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

In putting before the public the last work by Mr. Grant Allen, the publishers desire to express their deep regret at the author'sunexpected and lamented death--a regret in which they are sure to bejoined by the many thousand readers whom he did so much to entertain. Aman of curiously varied and comprehensive knowledge, and with themost charming personality; a writer who, treating of a wide variety ofsubjects, touched nothing which he did not make distinctive, he filleda place which no man living can exactly occupy. The last chapter of thisvolume had been roughly sketched by Mr. Allen before his final illness, and his anxiety, when debarred from work, to see it finished, wasrelieved by the considerate kindness of his friend and neighbour, Dr. Conan Doyle, who, hearing of his trouble, talked it over with him, gathered his ideas, and finally wrote it out for him in the form inwhich it now appears--a beautiful and pathetic act of friendship whichit is a pleasure to record. 

HILDA WADE

CHAPTER I

THE EPISODE OF THE PATIENT WHO DISAPPOINTED HER DOCTOR

Hilda Wade's gift was so unique, so extraordinary, that I mustillustrate it, I think, before I attempt to describe it. But first letme say a word of explanation about the Master. 

I have never met anyone who impressed me so much with a sense ofGREATNESS as Professor Sebastian. And this was not due to his scientificeminence alone: the man's strength and keenness struck me quite asforcibly as his vast attainments. When he first came to St. Nathaniel'sHospital, an eager, fiery-eyed physiologist, well past the prime oflife, and began to preach with all the electric force of his vividpersonality that the one thing on earth worth a young man's doing wasto work in his laboratory, attend his lectures, study disease, and bea scientific doctor, dozens of us were infected by his contagiousenthusiasm. He proclaimed the gospel of germs; and the germ of his ownzeal flew abroad in the hospital: it ran through the wards as if it weretyphoid fever. Within a few months, half the students were convertedfrom lukewarm observers of medical routine into flaming apostles of thenew methods. 

The greatest authority in Europe on comparative anatomy, now that Huxleywas taken from us, he had devoted his later days to the pursuit ofmedicine proper, to which he brought a mind stored with luminousanalogies from the lower animals. His very appearance held one. Tall, thin, erect, with an ascetic profile not unlike Cardinal Manning's, herepresented that abstract form of asceticism which consists in absoluteself-sacrifice to a mental ideas, not that which consists in religiousabnegation. Three years of travel in Africa had tanned his skin forlife. His long white hair, straight and silvery as it fell, just curledin one wave-like inward sweep where it turned and rested on the stoopingshoulders. His pale face was clean-shaven, save for a thin and wirygrizzled moustache, which cast into stronger relief the deep-set, hawk-like eyes and the acute, intense, intellectual features. In somerespects, his countenance reminded me often of Dr. Martineau's: inothers it recalled the knife-like edge, unturnable, of his greatpredecessor, Professor Owen. Wherever he went, men turned to stare athim. In Paris, they took him for the head of the English Socialists; inRussia, they declared he was a Nihilist emissary. And they were notfar wrong--in essence; for Sebastian's stern, sharp face was above allthings the face of a man absorbed and engrossed by one overpoweringpursuit in life--the sacred thirst of knowledge, which had swallowed uphis entire nature. 

He WAS what he looked--the most single-minded person I have ever comeacross. And when I say single-minded, I mean just that, and no more. Hehad an End to attain--the advancement of science, and he went straighttowards the End, looking neither to the right nor to the left foranyone. An American millionaire once remarked to him of some ingeniousappliance he was describing: "Why, if you were to perfect thatapparatus, Professor, and take out a patent for it, I reckon you'd makeas much money as I have made. " Sebastian withered him with a glance. "Ihave no time to waste, " he replied, "on making money!"

So, when Hilda Wade told me, on the first day I met her, that she wishedto become a nurse at Nathaniel's, "to be near Sebastian, " I was not atall astonished. I took her at her word. Everybody who meant business inany branch of the medical art, however humble, desired to be close toour rare teacher--to drink in his large thought, to profit by his clearinsight, his wide experience. The man of Nathaniel's was revolutionisingpractice; and those who wished to feel themselves abreast of the modernmovement were naturally anxious to cast in their lot with him. I did notwonder, therefore, that Hilda Wade, who herself possessed in so large ameasure the deepest feminine gift--intuition--should seek a placeunder the famous professor who represented the other side of the sameendowment in its masculine embodiment--instinct of diagnosis. 

Hilda Wade herself I will not formally introduce to you: you will learnto know her as I proceed with my story. 

I was Sebastian's assistant, and my recommendation soon procured HildaWade the post she so strangely coveted. Before she had been long atNathaniel's, however, it began to dawn upon me that her reasons fordesiring to attend upon our revered Master were not wholly and solelyscientific. Sebastian, it is true, recognised her value as a nurse fromthe first; he not only allowed that she was a good assistant, but healso admitted that her subtle knowledge of temperament sometimes enabledher closely to approach his own reasoned scientific analysis of a caseand its probable development. "Most women, " he said to me once, "arequick at reading THE PASSING EMOTION. They can judge with astoundingcorrectness from a shadow on one's face, a catch in one's breath, amovement of one's hands, how their words or deeds are affecting us. Wecannot conceal our feelings from them. But underlying character theydo not judge so well as fleeting expression. Not what Mrs. Jones IS inherself, but what Mrs. Jones is now thinking and feeling--there liestheir great success as psychologists. Most men, on the contrary, guidetheir life by definite FACTS--by signs, by symptoms, by observed data. Medicine itself is built upon a collection of such reasoned facts. But this woman, Nurse Wade, to a certain extent, stands intermediatementally between the two sexes. She recognises TEMPERAMENT--the fixedform of character, and what it is likely to do--in a degree which I havenever seen equalled elsewhere. To that extent, and within proper limitsof supervision, I acknowledge her faculty as a valuable adjunct to ascientific practitioner. "

Still, though Sebastian started with a predisposition in favour ofHilda Wade--a pretty girl appeals to most of us--I could see from thebeginning that Hilda Wade was by no means enthusiastic for Sebastian, like the rest of the hospital:

"He is extraordinarily able, " she would say, when I gushed to her aboutour Master; but that was the most I could ever extort from her in theway of praise. Though she admitted intellectually Sebastian's giganticmind, she would never commit herself to anything that sounded likepersonal admiration. To call him "the prince of physiologists" didnot satisfy me on that head. I wanted her to exclaim, "I adore him! Iworship him! He is glorious, wonderful!"

I was also aware from an early date that, in an unobtrusive way, HildaWade was watching Sebastian, watching him quietly, with those wistful, earnest eyes, as a cat watches a mouse-hole; watching him with muteinquiry, as if she expected each moment to see him do somethingdifferent from what the rest of us expected of him. Slowly I gatheredthat Hilda Wade, in the most literal sense, had come to Nathaniel's, asshe herself expressed it, "to be near Sebastian. "

Gentle and lovable as she was in every other aspect, towards Sebastianshe seemed like a lynx-eyed detective. She had some object in view, I thought, almost as abstract as his own--some object to which, as Ijudged, she was devoting her life quite as single-mindedly as Sebastianhimself had devoted his to the advancement of science. 

"Why did she become a nurse at all?" I asked once of her friend, Mrs. Mallet. "She has plenty of money, and seems well enough off to livewithout working. "

"Oh, dear, yes, " Mrs. Mallet answered. "She is independent, quite; hasa tidy little income of her own--six or seven hundred a year--and shecould choose her own society. But she went in for this mission fadearly; she didn't intend to marry, she said; so she would like to havesome work to do in life. Girls suffer like that, nowadays. In her case, the malady took the form of nursing. "

"As a rule, " I ventured to interpose, "when a pretty girl says shedoesn't intend to marry, her remark is premature. It only means--"

"Oh, yes, I know. Every girl says it; 'tis a stock property in thepopular masque of Maiden Modesty. But with Hilda it is different. Andthe difference is--that Hilda means it!"

"You are right, " I answered. "I believe she means it. Yet I know one manat least--" for I admired her immensely. 

Mrs. Mallet shook her head and smiled. "It is no use, Dr. Cumberledge, "she answered. "Hilda will never marry. Never, that is to say, till shehas attained some mysterious object she seems to have in view, aboutwhich she never speaks to anyone--not even to me. But I have somehowguessed it!"

"And it is?"

"Oh, I have not guessed what it IS: I am no Oedipus. I have merelyguessed that it exists. But whatever it may be, Hilda's life is boundedby it. She became a nurse to carry it out, I feel confident. Fromthe very beginning, I gather, a part of her scheme was to go to St. Nathaniel's. She was always bothering us to give her introductionsto Dr. Sebastian; and when she met you at my brother Hugo's, it was apreconcerted arrangement; she asked to sit next you, and meant to induceyou to use your influence on her behalf with the Professor. She wasdying to get there. "

"It is very odd, " I mused. "But there!--women are inexplicable!"

"And Hilda is in that matter the very quintessence of woman. Even I, whohave known her for years, don't pretend to understand her. "

A few months later, Sebastian began his great researches on his newanaesthetic. It was a wonderful set of researches. It promised so well. All Nat's (as we familiarly and affectionately styled St. Nathaniel's)was in a fever of excitement over the drug for a twelvemonth. 

The Professor obtained his first hint of the new body by a mereaccident. His friend, the Deputy Prosector of the Zoological Society, had mixed a draught for a sick raccoon at the Gardens, and, by somemistake in a bottle, had mixed it wrongly. (I purposely refrain frommentioning the ingredients, as they are drugs which can be easilyobtained in isolation at any chemist's, though when compounded they formone of the most dangerous and difficult to detect of organic poisons. I do not desire to play into the hands of would-be criminals. ) Thecompound on which the Deputy Prosector had thus accidentally lightedsent the raccoon to sleep in the most extraordinary manner. Indeed, theraccoon slept for thirty-six hours on end, all attempts to awake him, bypulling his tail or tweaking his hair being quite unavailing. This wasa novelty in narcotics; so Sebastian was asked to come and look at theslumbering brute. He suggested the attempt to perform an operation onthe somnolent raccoon by removing, under the influence of the drug, aninternal growth, which was considered the probable cause of his illness. A surgeon was called in, the growth was found and removed, and theraccoon, to everybody's surprise, continued to slumber peacefully on hisstraw for five hours afterwards. At the end of that time he awoke, andstretched himself as if nothing had happened; and though he was, ofcourse, very weak from loss of blood, he immediately displayed amost royal hunger. He ate up all the maize that was offered himfor breakfast, and proceeded to manifest a desire for more by mostunequivocal symptoms. 

Sebastian was overjoyed. He now felt sure he had discovered a drugwhich would supersede chloroform--a drug more lasting in its immediateeffects, and yet far less harmful in its ultimate results on the balanceof the system. A name being wanted for it, he christened it "lethodyne. "It was the best pain-luller yet invented. 

For the next few weeks, at Nat's, we heard of nothing but lethodyne. Patients recovered and patients died; but their deaths or recoverieswere as dross to lethodyne, an anaesthetic that might revolutionisesurgery, and even medicine! A royal road through disease, with notrouble to the doctor and no pain to the patient! Lethodyne held thefield. We were all of us, for the moment, intoxicated with lethodyne. 

Sebastian's observations on the new agent occupied several months. He had begun with the raccoon; he went on, of course, with those poorscapegoats of physiology, domestic rabbits. Not that in this particularcase any painful experiments were in contemplation. The Professortried the drug on a dozen or more quite healthy young animals--with thestrange result that they dozed off quietly, and never woke up again. This nonplussed Sebastian. He experimented once more on another raccoon, with a smaller dose; the raccoon fell asleep, and slept like a top forfifteen hours, at the end of which time he woke up as if nothing out ofthe common had happened. Sebastian fell back upon rabbits again, withsmaller and smaller doses. It was no good; the rabbits all died withgreat unanimity, until the dose was so diminished that it did not sendthem off to sleep at all. There was no middle course, apparently, tothe rabbit kind, lethodyne was either fatal or else inoperative. So itproved to sheep. The new drug killed, or did nothing. 

I will not trouble you with all the details of Sebastian's furtherresearches; the curious will find them discussed at length in Volume237 of the Philosophical Transactions. (See also Comptes Rendus del'Academie de Medecine: tome 49, pp. 72 and sequel. ) I will restrictmyself here to that part of the inquiry which immediately refers toHilda Wade's history. 

"If I were you, " she said to the Professor one morning, when he was mostastonished at his contradictory results, "I would test it on a hawk. If I dare venture on a suggestion, I believe you will find that hawksrecover. "

"The deuce they do!" Sebastian cried. However, he had such confidencein Nurse Wade's judgment that he bought a couple of hawks and triedthe treatment on them. Both birds took considerable doses, and, after aperiod of insensibility extending to several hours, woke up in the endquite bright and lively. 

"I see your principle, " the Professor broke out. "It depends upondiet. Carnivores and birds of prey can take lethodyne with impunity;herbivores and fruit-eaters cannot recover, and die of it. Man, therefore, being partly carnivorous, will doubtless be able more or lessto stand it. "

Hilda Wade smiled her sphinx-like smile. "Not quite that, I fancy, " sheanswered. "It will kill cats, I feel sure; at least, most domesticatedones. But it will NOT kill weasels. Yet both are carnivores. "

"That young woman knows too much!" Sebastian muttered to me, lookingafter her as she glided noiselessly with her gentle tread down the longwhite corridor. "We shall have to suppress her, Cumberledge. . . . But I'llwager my life she's right, for all that. I wonder, now, how the dickensshe guessed it!"

"Intuition, " I answered. 

He pouted his under lip above the upper one, with a dubiousacquiescence. "Inference, I call it, " he retorted. "All woman'sso-called intuition is, in fact, just rapid and half-unconsciousinference. "

He was so full of the subject, however, and so utterly carried away byhis scientific ardour, that I regret to say he gave a strong dose oflethodyne at once to each of the matron's petted and pampered Persiancats, which lounged about her room and were the delight of theconvalescents. They were two peculiarly lazy sultanas of cats--merejewels of the harem--Oriental beauties that loved to bask in the sunor curl themselves up on the rug before the fire and dawdle away theirlives in congenial idleness. Strange to say, Hilda's prophecy came true. Zuleika settled herself down comfortably in the Professor's easy chairand fell into a sound sleep from which there was no awaking; whileRoxana met fate on the tiger-skin she loved, coiled up in a circle, and passed from this life of dreams, without knowing it, into onewhere dreaming is not. Sebastian noted the facts with a quiet gleam ofsatisfaction in his watchful eye, and explained afterwards, with curtglibness to the angry matron, that her favourites had been "canonisedin the roll of science, as painless martyrs to the advancement ofphysiology. "

The weasels, on the other hand, with an equal dose, woke up after sixhours as lively as crickets. It was clear that carnivorous tastes werenot the whole solution, for Roxana was famed as a notable mouser. 

"Your principle?" Sebastian asked our sibyl, in his brief, quick way. 

Hilda's cheek wore a glow of pardonable triumph. The great teacher haddeigned to ask her assistance. "I judged by the analogy of Indian hemp, "she answered. "This is clearly a similar, but much stronger, narcotic. Now, whenever I have given Indian hemp by your direction to people ofsluggish, or even of merely bustling temperament, I have noticed thatsmall doses produce serious effects, and that the after-results aremost undesirable. But when you have prescribed the hemp for nervous, overstrung, imaginative people, I have observed that they can standlarge amounts of the tincture without evil results, and that theafter-effects pass off rapidly. I who am mercurial in temperament, forexample, can take any amount of Indian hemp without being made ill byit; while ten drops will send some slow and torpid rustics mad drunkwith excitement--drive them into homicidal mania. "

Sebastian nodded his head. He needed no more explanation. "You have hitit, " he said. "I see it at a glance. The old antithesis! All men and allanimals fall, roughly speaking, into two great divisions of type: theimpassioned and the unimpassioned; the vivid and the phlegmatic. I catchyour drift now. Lethodyne is poison to phlegmatic patients, who have notactive power enough to wake up from it unhurt; it is relatively harmlessto the vivid and impassioned, who can be put asleep by it, indeed, for afew hours more or less, but are alive enough to live on through the comaand reassert their vitality after it. "

I recognised as he spoke that this explanation was correct. The dullrabbits, the sleepy Persian cats, and the silly sheep had died outrightof lethodyne; the cunning, inquisitive raccoon, the quick hawk, andthe active, intense-natured weasels, all most eager, wary, and alertanimals, full of keenness and passion, had recovered quickly. 

"Dare we try it on a human subject?" I asked, tentatively. 

Hilda Wade answered at once, with that unerring rapidity of hers: "Yes, certainly; on a few--the right persons. _I_, for one, am not afraid totry it. "

"You?" I cried, feeling suddenly aware how much I thought of her. "Oh, not YOU, please, Nurse Wade. Some other life, less valuable!"

Sebastian stared at me coldly. "Nurse Wade volunteers, " he said. "It isin the cause of science. Who dares dissuade her? That tooth of yours?Ah, yes. Quite sufficient excuse. You wanted it out, Nurse Wade. Wells-Dinton shall operate. "

Without a moment's hesitation, Hilda Wade sat down in an easy chair andtook a measured dose of the new anaesthetic, proportioned to the averagedifference in weight between raccoons and humanity. My face displayed myanxiety, I suppose, for she turned to me, smiling with quiet confidence. "I know my own constitution, " she said, with a reassuring glance thatwent straight to my heart. "I do not in the least fear. "

As for Sebastian, he administered the drug to her as unconcernedly asif she were a rabbit. Sebastian's scientific coolness and calmness havelong been the admiration of younger practitioners. 

Wells-Dinton gave one wrench. The tooth came out as though the patientwere a block of marble. There was not a cry or a movement, such asone notes when nitrous oxide is administered. Hilda Wade was to allappearance a mass of lifeless flesh. We stood round and watched. Iwas trembling with terror. Even on Sebastian's pale face, usually sounmoved, save by the watchful eagerness of scientific curiosity, I sawsigns of anxiety. 

After four hours of profound slumber--breath hovering, as it seemed, between life and death--she began to come to again. In half an hour moreshe was wide awake; she opened her eyes and asked for a glass of hock, with beef essence or oysters. 

That evening, by six o'clock, she was quite well and able to go abouther duties as usual. 

"Sebastian is a wonderful man, " I said to her, as I entered her ward onmy rounds at night. "His coolness astonishes me. Do you know, he watchedyou all the time you were lying asleep there as if nothing were thematter. "

"Coolness?" she inquired, in a quiet voice. "Or cruelty?"

"Cruelty?" I echoed, aghast. "Sebastian cruel! Oh, Nurse Wade, what anidea! Why, he has spent his whole life in striving against all odds toalleviate pain. He is the apostle of philanthropy!"

"Of philanthropy, or of science? To alleviate pain, or to learn thewhole truth about the human body?"

"Come, come, now, " I cried. "You analyse too far. I will not let evenYOU put me out of conceit with Sebastian. " (Her face flushed atthat "even you"; I almost fancied she began to like me. ) "He is theenthusiasm of my life; just consider how much he has done for humanity!"

She looked me through searchingly. "I will not destroy your illusion, "she answered, after a pause. "It is a noble and generous one. But is itnot largely based on an ascetic face, long white hair, and a moustachethat hides the cruel corners of the mouth? For the corners ARE cruel. Some day, I will show you them. Cut off the long hair, shave thegrizzled moustache--and what then will remain?" She drew a profilehastily. "Just that, " and she showed it me. 'Twas a face likeRobespierre's, grown harder and older and lined with observation. Irecognised that it was in fact the essence of Sebastian. 

Next day, as it turned out, the Professor himself insisted upon testinglethodyne in his own person. All Nat's strove to dissuade him. "Yourlife is so precious, sir--the advancement of science!" But the Professorwas adamantine. 

"Science can only be advanced if men of science will take their lives intheir hands, " he answered, sternly. "Besides, Nurse Wade has tried. AmI to lag behind a woman in my devotion to the cause of physiologicalknowledge?"

"Let him try, " Hilda Wade murmured to me. "He is quite right. It willnot hurt him. I have told him already he has just the proper temperamentto stand the drug. Such people are rare: HE is one of them. "

We administered the dose, trembling. Sebastian took it like a man, anddropped off instantly, for lethodyne is at least as instantaneous in itsoperation as nitrous oxide. 

He lay long asleep. Hilda and I watched him. 

After he had lain for some minutes senseless, like a log, on the couchwhere we had placed him, Hilda stooped over him quietly and lifted upthe ends of the grizzled moustache. Then she pointed one accusingfinger at his lips. "I told you so, " she murmured, with a note ofdemonstration. 

"There is certainly something rather stern, or even ruthless, aboutthe set of the face and the firm ending of the lips, " I admitted, reluctantly. 

"That is why God gave men moustaches, " she mused, in a low voice; "tohide the cruel corners of their mouths. "

"Not ALWAYS cruel, " I cried. 

"Sometimes cruel, sometimes cunning, sometimes sensuous; but nine timesout of ten best masked by moustaches. "

"You have a bad opinion of our sex!" I exclaimed. 

"Providence knew best, " she answered. "IT gave you moustaches. That wasin order that we women might be spared from always seeing you as youare. Besides, I said 'Nine times out of ten. ' There are exceptions--SUCHexceptions!"

On second thought, I did not feel sure that I could quarrel with herestimate. 

The experiment was that time once more successful. Sebastian woke upfrom the comatose state after eight hours, not quite as fresh as HildaWade, perhaps, but still tolerably alive; less alert, however, andcomplaining of dull headache. He was not hungry. Hilda Wade shook herhead at that. "It will be of use only in a very few cases, " she said tome, regretfully; "and those few will need to be carefully picked byan acute observer. I see resistance to the coma is, even more thanI thought, a matter of temperament. Why, so impassioned a man asthe Professor himself cannot entirely recover. With more sluggishtemperaments, we shall have deeper difficulty. "

"Would you call him impassioned?" I asked. "Most people think him socold and stern. "

She shook her head. "He is a snow-capped volcano!" she answered. "Thefires of his life burn bright below. The exterior alone is cold andplacid. "

However, starting from that time, Sebastian began a course ofexperiments on patients, giving infinitesimal doses at first, andventuring slowly on somewhat larger quantities. But only in his own caseand Hilda's could the result be called quite satisfactory. One dulland heavy, drink-sodden navvy, to whom he administered no more thanone-tenth of a grain, was drowsy for a week, and listless long after;while a fat washerwoman from West Ham, who took only two-tenths, fell sofast asleep, and snored so stertorously, that we feared she was goingto doze off into eternity, after the fashion of the rabbits. Mothers oflarge families, we noted, stood the drug very ill; on pale young girlsof the consumptive tendency its effect was not marked; but onlya patient here and there, of exceptionally imaginative and vividtemperament, seemed able to endure it. Sebastian was discouraged. Hesaw the anaesthetic was not destined to fulfil his first enthusiastichumanitarian expectations. One day, while the investigation was just atthis stage, a case was admitted into the observation-cots in which HildaWade took a particular interest. The patient was a young girlnamed Isabel Huntley--tall, dark, and slender, a markedly quickand imaginative type, with large black eyes which clearly bespoke apassionate nature. Though distinctly hysterical, she was pretty andpleasing. Her rich dark hair was as copious as it was beautiful. Sheheld herself erect and had a finely poised head. From the first momentshe arrived, I could see nurse Wade was strongly drawn towards her. Their souls sympathised. Number Fourteen--that is our impersonal way ofdescribing CASES--was constantly on Hilda's lips. "I like the girl, " shesaid once. "She is a lady in fibre. "

"And a tobacco-trimmer by trade, " Sebastian added, sarcastically. 

As usual, Hilda's was the truer description. It went deeper. 

Number Fourteen's ailment was a rare and peculiar one, into which I neednot enter here with professional precision. (I have described the casefully for my brother practitioners in my paper in the fourth volumeof Sebastian's Medical Miscellanies. ) It will be enough for my presentpurpose to say, in brief, that the lesion consisted of an internalgrowth which is always dangerous and most often fatal, but whichnevertheless is of such a character that, if it be once happilyeradicated by supremely good surgery, it never tends to recur, andleaves the patient as strong and well as ever. Sebastian was, of course, delighted with the splendid opportunity thus afforded him. "It is abeautiful case!" he cried, with professional enthusiasm. "Beautiful!Beautiful! I never saw one so deadly or so malignant before. We areindeed in luck's way. Only a miracle can save her life. Cumberledge, wemust proceed to perform the miracle. "

Sebastian loved such cases. They formed his ideal. He did not greatlyadmire the artificial prolongation of diseased and unwholesome lives, which could never be of much use to their owners or anyone else; butwhen a chance occurred for restoring to perfect health a valuableexistence which might otherwise, be extinguished before its time, hepositively revelled in his beneficent calling. "What nobler object cana man propose to himself, " he used to say, "than to raise good men andtrue from the dead, as it were, and return them whole and sound to thefamily that depends upon them? Why, I had fifty times rather cure anhonest coal-heaver of a wound in his leg than give ten years more leaseof life to a gouty lord, diseased from top to toe, who expects to finda month of Carlsbad or Homburg once every year make up for eleven monthsof over-eating, over-drinking, vulgar debauchery, and under-thinking. "He had no sympathy with men who lived the lives of swine: his heart waswith the workers. 

Of course, Hilda Wade soon suggested that, as an operation wasabsolutely necessary, Number Fourteen would be a splendid subject onwhom to test once more the effects of lethodyne. Sebastian, with hishead on one side, surveying the patient, promptly coincided. "Nervousdiathesis, " he observed. "Very vivid fancy. Twitches her hands the rightway. Quick pulse, rapid perceptions, no meaningless unrest, but deepvitality. I don't doubt she'll stand it. "

We explained to Number Fourteen the gravity of the case, and also thetentative character of the operation under lethodyne. At first, sheshrank from taking it. "No, no!" she said; "let me die quietly. " ButHilda, like the Angel of Mercy that she was, whispered in the girl'sear: "IF it succeeds, you will get quite well, and--you can marryArthur. "

The patient's dark face flushed crimson. 

"Ah! Arthur, " she cried. "Dear Arthur! I can bear anything you choose todo to me--for Arthur!"

"How soon you find these things out!" I cried to Hilda, a few minuteslater. "A mere man would never have thought of that. And who is Arthur?"

"A sailor--on a ship that trades with the South Seas. I hope he isworthy of her. Fretting over Arthur's absence has aggravated the case. He is homeward-bound now. She is worrying herself to death for fear sheshould not live to say good-bye to him. "

"She WILL live to marry him, " I answered, with confidence like her own, "if YOU say she can stand it. "

"The lethodyne--oh, yes; THAT'S all right. But the operation itself isso extremely dangerous; though Dr. Sebastian says he has called inthe best surgeon in London for all such cases. They are rare, he tellsme--and Nielsen has performed on six, three of them successfully. "

We gave the girl the drug. She took it, trembling, and went off at once, holding Hilda's hand, with a pale smile on her face, which persistedthere somewhat weirdly all through the operation. The work of removingthe growth was long and ghastly, even for us who were well seasonedto such sights; but at the end Nielsen expressed himself as perfectlysatisfied. "A very neat piece of work!" Sebastian exclaimed, lookingon. "I congratulate you, Nielsen. I never saw anything done cleaner orbetter. "

"A successful operation, certainly!" the great surgeon admitted, withjust pride in the Master's commendation. 

"AND the patient?" Hilda asked, wavering. 

"Oh, the patient? The patient will die, " Nielsen replied, in anunconcerned voice, wiping his spotless instruments. 

"That is not MY idea of the medical art, " I cried, shocked at hiscallousness. "An operation is only successful if--"

He regarded me with lofty scorn. "A certain percentage of losses, "he interrupted, calmly, "is inevitable, of course, in all surgicaloperations. We are obliged to average it. How could I preserve myprecision and accuracy of hand if I were always bothered by sentimentalconsiderations of the patient's safety?"

Hilda Wade looked up at me with a sympathetic glance. "We will pull herthrough yet, " she murmured, in her soft voice, "if care and skill can doit, --MY care and YOUR skill. This is now OUR patient, Dr. Cumberledge. "

It needed care and skill. We watched her for hours, and she showed nosign or gleam of recovery. Her sleep was deeper than either Sebastian'sor Hilda's had been. She had taken a big dose, so as to secureimmobility. The question now was, would she recover at all from it? Hourafter hour we waited and watched; and not a sign of movement! Only thesame deep, slow, hampered breathing, the same feeble, jerky pulse, thesame deathly pallor on the dark cheeks, the same corpse-like rigidity oflimb and muscle. 

At last our patient stirred faintly, as in a dream; her breath faltered. We bent over her. Was it death, or was she beginning to recover?

Very slowly, a faint trace of colour came back to her cheeks. Her heavyeyes half opened. They stared first with a white stare. Her armsdropped by her side. Her mouth relaxed its ghastly smile. . . . We held ourbreath. . . . She was coming to again!

But her coming to was slow--very, very slow. Her pulse was still weak. Her heart pumped feebly. We feared she might sink from inanition atany moment. Hilda Wade knelt on the floor by the girl's side and held aspoonful of beef essence coaxingly to her lips. Number Fourteen gasped, drew a long, slow breath, then gulped and swallowed it. After thatshe lay back with her mouth open, looking like a corpse. Hilda pressedanother spoonful of the soft jelly upon her; but the girl waved it awaywith one trembling hand. "Let me die, " she cried. "Let me die! I feeldead already. "

Hilda held her face close. "Isabel, " she whispered--and I recognisedin her tone the vast moral difference between "Isabel" and "NumberFourteen, "--"Is-a-bel, you must take it. For Arthur's sake, I say, youMUST take it. "

The girl's hand quivered as it lay on the white coverlet. "For Arthur'ssake!" she murmured, lifting her eyelids dreamily. "For Arthur's sake!Yes, nurse, dear!"

"Call me Hilda, please! Hilda!"

The girl's face lighted up again. "Yes, Hilda, dear, " she answered, inan unearthly voice, like one raised from the dead. "I will call you whatyou will. Angel of light, you have been so good to me. "

She opened her lips with an effort and slowly swallowed anotherspoonful. Then she fell back, exhausted. But her pulse improved withintwenty minutes. I mentioned the matter, with enthusiasm, to Sebastianlater. "It is very nice in its way, " he answered; "but. . . It is notnursing. "

I thought to myself that that was just what it WAS; but I did not sayso. Sebastian was a man who thought meanly of women. "A doctor, like apriest, " he used to declare, "should keep himself unmarried. His brideis medicine. " And he disliked to see what he called PHILANDERING goingon in his hospital. It may have been on that account that I avoidedspeaking much of Hilda Wade thenceforth before him. 

He looked in casually next day to see the patient. "She will die, "he said, with perfect assurance, as we passed down the ward together. "Operation has taken too much out of her. "

"Still, she has great recuperative powers, " Hilda answered. "Theyall have in her family, Professor. You may, perhaps, remember JosephHuntley, who occupied Number Sixty-seven in the Accident Ward, some ninemonths since--compound fracture of the arm--a dark, nervous engineer'sassistant--very hard to restrain--well, HE was her brother; he caughttyphoid fever in the hospital, and you commented at the time on hisstrange vitality. Then there was her cousin, again, Ellen Stubbs. We hadHER for stubborn chronic laryngitis--a very bad case--anyone else wouldhave died--yielded at once to your treatment; and made, I recollect, asplendid convalescence. "

"What a memory you have!" Sebastian cried, admiring against his will. "It is simply marvellous! I never saw anyone like you in my life. . . Except once. HE was a man, a doctor, a colleague of mine--dead longago. . . . Why--" he mused, and gazed hard at her. Hilda shrank beforehis gaze. "This is curious, " he went on slowly, at last; "very curious. You--why, you resemble him!"

"Do I?" Hilda replied, with forced calm, raising her eyes to his. Theirglances met. That moment, I saw each had recognised something; and fromthat day forth I was instinctively aware that a duel was being wagedbetween Sebastian and Hilda, --a duel between the two ablest and mostsingular personalities I had ever met; a duel of life and death--thoughI did not fully understand its purport till much, much later. 

Every day after that, the poor, wasted girl in Number Fourteen grewfeebler and fainter. Her temperature rose; her heart throbbed weakly. She seemed to be fading away. Sebastian shook his head. "Lethodyne isa failure, " he said, with a mournful regret. "One cannot trust it. Thecase might have recovered from the operation, or recovered from thedrug; but she could not recover from both together. Yet the operationwould have been impossible without the drug, and the drug is uselessexcept for the operation. "

It was a great disappointment to him. He hid himself in his room, as washis wont when disappointed, and went on with his old work at his belovedmicrobes. 

"I have one hope still, " Hilda murmured to me by the bedside, when ourpatient was at her worst. "If one contingency occurs, I believe we maysave her. "

"What is that?" I asked. 

She shook her head waywardly. "You must wait and see, " she answered. "Ifit comes off, I will tell you. If not, let it swell the limbo of lostinspirations. "

Next morning early, however, she came up to me with a radiant face, holding a newspaper in her hand. "Well, it HAS happened!" she cried, rejoicing. "We shall save poor Isabel Number Fourteen, I mean; our wayis clear, Dr. Cumberledge. "

I followed her blindly to the bedside, little guessing what she couldmean. She knelt down at the head of the cot. The girl's eyes wereclosed. I touched her cheek; she was in a high fever. "Temperature?" Iasked. 

"A hundred and three. "

I shook my head. Every symptom of fatal relapse. I could not imaginewhat card Hilda held in reserve. But I stood there, waiting. 

She whispered in the girl's ear: "Arthur's ship is sighted off theLizard. "

The patient opened her eyes slowly, and rolled them for a moment as ifshe did not understand. 

"Too late!" I cried. "Too late! She is delirious--insensible!"

Hilda repeated the words slowly, but very distinctly. "Do you hear, dear? Arthur's ship. . . It is sighted. . . . Arthur's ship. . . At theLizard. "

The girl's lips moved. "Arthur! Arthur!. . . Arthur's ship!" A deep sigh. She clenched her hands. "He is coming?" Hilda nodded and smiled, holdingher breath with suspense. 

"Up the Channel now. He will be at Southampton tonight. Arthur. . . At Southampton. It is here, in the papers; I have telegraphed to him tohurry on at once to see you. "

She struggled up for a second. A smile flitted across the worn face. Then she fell back wearily. 

I thought all was over. Her eyes stared white. But ten minutes latershe opened her lids again. "Arthur is coming, " she murmured. "Arthur. . . Coming. "

"Yes, dear. Now sleep. He is coming. "

All through that day and the next night she was restless and agitated;but still her pulse improved a little. Next morning she was again atrifle better. Temperature falling--a hundred and one, point three. Atten o'clock Hilda came in to her, radiant. 

"Well, Isabel, dear, " she cried, bending down and touching her cheek(kissing is forbidden by the rules of the house), "Arthur has come. Heis here. . . Down below. . . I have seen him. "

"Seen him!" the girl gasped. 

"Yes, seen him. Talked with him. Such a nice, manly fellow; and suchan honest, good face! He is longing for you to get well. He says he hascome home this time to marry you. "

The wan lips quivered. "He will NEVER marry me!"

"Yes, yes, he WILL--if you will take this jelly. Look here--he wrotethese words to you before my very eyes: 'Dear love to my Isa!'. . . If youare good, and will sleep, he may see you--to-morrow. "

The girl opened her lips and ate the jelly greedily. She ate as muchas she was desired. In three minutes more her head had fallen like achild's upon her pillow and she was sleeping peacefully. 

I went up to Sebastian's room, quite excited with the news. He was busyamong his bacilli. They were his hobby, his pets. "Well, what do youthink, Professor?" I cried. "That patient of Nurse Wade's--"

He gazed up at me abstractedly, his brow contracting. "Yes, yes; Iknow, " he interrupted. "The girl in Fourteen. I have discounted her caselong ago. She has ceased to interest me. . . . Dead, of course! Nothingelse was possible. "

I laughed a quick little laugh of triumph. "No, sir; NOT dead. Recovering! She has fallen just now into a normal sleep; her breathingis natural. "

He wheeled his revolving chair away from the germs and fixed me with hiskeen eyes. "Recovering?" he echoed. "Impossible! Rallying, you mean. Amere flicker. I know my trade. She MUST die this evening. "

"Forgive my persistence, " I replied; "but--her temperature has gone downto ninety-nine and a trifle. "

He pushed away the bacilli in the nearest watch-glass quite angrily. "Toninety-nine!" he exclaimed, knitting his brows. "Cumberledge, this isdisgraceful! A most disappointing case! A most provoking patient!"

"But surely, sir--" I cried. 

"Don't talk to ME, boy! Don't attempt to apologise for her. Such conductis unpardonable. She OUGHT to have died. It was her clear duty. I SAIDshe would die, and she should have known better than to fly in the faceof the faculty. Her recovery is an insult to medical science. What isthe staff about? Nurse Wade should have prevented it. "

"Still, sir, " I exclaimed, trying to touch him on a tender spot, "theanaesthetic, you know! Such a triumph for lethodyne! This case showsclearly that on certain constitutions it may be used with advantageunder certain conditions. "

He snapped his fingers. "Lethodyne! pooh! I have lost interest in it. Impracticable! It is not fitted for the human species. "

"Why so? Number Fourteen proves--"

He interrupted me with an impatient wave of his hand; then he rose andpaced up and down the room testily. After a pause, he spoke again. "Theweak point of lethodyne is this: nobody can be trusted to say WHEN itmay be used--except Nurse Wade, --which is NOT science. "

For the first time in my life, I had a glimmering idea that I distrustedSebastian. Hilda Wade was right--the man was cruel. But I had neverobserved his cruelty before--because his devotion to science had blindedme to it. 

CHAPTER II

THE EPISODE OF THE GENTLEMAN WHO HAD FAILED FOR EVERYTHING

One day, about those times, I went round to call on my aunt, LadyTepping. And lest you accuse me of the vulgar desire to flaunt my finerelations in your face, I hasten to add that my poor dear old aunt isa very ordinary specimen of the common Army widow. Her husband, SirMalcolm, a crusty old gentleman of the ancient school, was knightedin Burma, or thereabouts, for a successful raid upon naked natives, onsomething that is called the Shan frontier. When he had grown greyin the service of his Queen and country, besides earning himselfincidentally a very decent pension, he acquired gout and went to hislong rest in Kensal Green Cemetery. He left his wife with one daughter, and the only pretence to a title in our otherwise blameless family. 

My cousin Daphne is a very pretty girl, with those quiet, sedate mannerswhich often develop later in life into genuine self-respect and realdepth of character. Fools do not admire her; they accuse her of being"heavy. " But she can do without fools; she has a fine, strongly builtfigure, an upright carriage, a large and broad forehead, a firm chin, and features which, though well-marked and well-moulded, are yetdelicate in outline and sensitive in expression. Very young men seldomtake to Daphne: she lacks the desired inanity. But she has mind, repose, and womanly tenderness. Indeed, if she had not been my cousin, I almostthink I might once have been tempted to fall in love with her. 

When I reached Gloucester Terrace, on this particular afternoon, I foundHilda Wade there before me. She had lunched at my aunt's, in fact. Itwas her "day out" at St. Nathaniel's, and she had come round to spend itwith Daphne Tepping. I had introduced her to the house some time before, and she and my cousin had struck up a close acquaintance immediately. Their temperaments were sympathetic; Daphne admired Hilda's depth andreserve, while Hilda admired Daphne's grave grace and self-control, herperfect freedom from current affectations. She neither giggled nor apedIbsenism. 

A third person stood back in the room when I entered--a tall andsomewhat jerry-built young man, with a rather long and solemn face, likean early stage in the evolution of a Don Quixote. I took a good lookat him. There was something about his air that impressed me as bothlugubrious and humorous; and in this I was right, for I learned laterthat he was one of those rare people who can sing a comic song withimmense success while preserving a sour countenance, like a Puritanpreacher's. His eyes were a little sunken, his fingers long and nervous;but I fancied he looked a good fellow at heart, for all that, thoughfoolishly impulsive. He was a punctilious gentleman, I felt sure; hisface and manner grew upon one rapidly. 

Daphne rose as I entered, and waved the stranger forward with animperious little wave. I imagined, indeed, that I detected in thegesture a faint touch of half-unconscious proprietorship. "Good-morning, Hubert, " she said, taking my hand, but turning towards the tall youngman. "I don't think you know Mr. Cecil Holsworthy. "

"I have heard you speak of him, " I answered, drinking him in with myglance. I added internally, "Not half good enough for you. "

Hilda's eyes met mine and read my thought. They flashed back word, inthe language of eyes, "I do not agree with you. "

Daphne, meanwhile, was watching me closely. I could see she was anxiousto discover what impression her friend Mr. Holsworthy was making on me. Till then, I had no idea she was fond of anyone in particular; butthe way her glance wandered from him to me and from me to Hilda showedclearly that she thought much of this gawky visitor. 

We sat and talked together, we four, for some time. I found the youngman with the lugubrious countenance improved immensely on closeracquaintance. His talk was clever. He turned out to be the son of apolitician high in office in the Canadian Government, and he had beeneducated at Oxford. The father, I gathered, was rich, but he himself wasmaking an income of nothing a year just then as a briefless barrister, and he was hesitating whether to accept a post of secretary that hadbeen offered him in the colony, or to continue his negative career atthe Inner Temple, for the honour and glory of it. 

"Now, which would YOU advise me, Miss Tepping?" he inquired, after wehad discussed the matter some minutes. 

Daphne's face flushed up. "It is so hard to decide, " she answered. "Todecide to YOUR best advantage, I mean, of course. For naturally all yourEnglish friends would wish to keep you as long as possible in England. "

"No, do you think so?" the gawky young man jerked out with evidentpleasure. "Now, that's awfully kind of you. Do you know, if YOU tellme I ought to stay in England, I've half a mind. . . I'll cable over thisvery day and refuse the appointment. "

Daphne flushed once more. "Oh, please don't!" she exclaimed, lookingfrightened. "I shall be quite distressed if a stray word of mine shoulddebar you from accepting a good offer of a secretaryship. "

"Why, your least wish--" the young man began--then checked himselfhastily--"must be always important, " he went on, in a different voice, "to everyone of your acquaintance. "

Daphne rose hurriedly. "Look here, Hilda, " she said, a littletremulously, biting her lip, "I have to go out into Westbourne Grove toget those gloves for to-night, and a spray for my hair; will you excuseme for half an hour?"

Holsworthy rose too. "Mayn't I go with you?" he asked, eagerly. 

"Oh, if you like. How very kind of you!" Daphne answered, her cheek ablush rose. "Hubert, will you come too? and you, Hilda?"

It was one of those invitations which are given to be refused. I did notneed Hilda's warning glance to tell me that my company would be quitesuperfluous. I felt those two were best left together. 

"It's no use, though, Dr. Cumberledge!" Hilda put in, as soon as theywere gone. "He WON'T propose, though he has had every encouragement. I don't know what's the matter; but I've been watching them both forweeks, and somehow things seem never to get any forwarder. "

"You think he's in love with her?" I asked. 

"In love with her! Well, you have eyes in your head, I know; where couldthey have been looking? He's madly in love--a very good kind of love, too. He genuinely admires and respects and appreciates all Daphne'ssweet and charming qualities. "

"Then what do you suppose is the matter?"

"I have an inkling of the truth: I imagine Mr. Cecil must have lethimself in for a prior attachment. "

"If so, why does he hang about Daphne?"

"Because--he can't help himself. He's a good fellow and a chivalrousfellow. He admires your cousin; but he must have got himself into somefoolish entanglement elsewhere which he is too honourable to break off;while at the same time he's far too much impressed by Daphne's finequalities to be able to keep away from her. It's the ordinary case oflove versus duty. "

"Is he well off? Could he afford to marry Daphne?"

"Oh, his father's very rich: he has plenty of money; a Canadianmillionaire, they say. That makes it all the likelier that someundesirable young woman somewhere may have managed to get hold of him. Just the sort of romantic, impressionable hobbledehoy such women anglefor. "

I drummed my fingers on the table. Presently Hilda spoke again. "Whydon't you try to get to know him, and find out precisely what's thematter?"

"I KNOW what's the matter--now you've told me, " I answered. "It's asclear as day. Daphne is very much smitten with him, too. I'm sorry forDaphne! Well, I'll take your advice; I'll try to have some talk withhim. "

"Do, please; I feel sure I have hit upon it. He has got himself engagedin a hurry to some girl he doesn't really care about, and he is far toomuch of a gentleman to break it off, though he's in love quite anotherway with Daphne. "

Just at that moment the door opened and my aunt entered. 

"Why, where's Daphne?" she cried, looking about her and arranging herblack lace shawl. 

"She has just run out into Westbourne Grove to get some gloves anda flower for the fete this evening, " Hilda answered. Then she added, significantly, "Mr. Holsworthy has gone with her. "

"What? That boy's been here again?"

"Yes, Lady Tepping. He called to see Daphne. "

My aunt turned to me with an aggrieved tone. It is a peculiarity of myaunt's--I have met it elsewhere--that if she is angry with Jones, andJones is not present, she assumes a tone of injured asperity on hisaccount towards Brown or Smith, or any other innocent person whom shehappens to be addressing. "Now, this is really too bad, Hubert, " sheburst out, as if _I_ were the culprit. "Disgraceful! Abominable! I'msure I can't make out what the young fellow means by it. Here he comesdangling after Daphne every day and all day long--and never once sayswhether he means anything by it or not. In MY young days, such conductas that would not have been considered respectable. "

I nodded and beamed benignly. 

"Well, why don't you answer me?" my aunt went on, warming up. "DO youmean to tell me you think his behaviour respectful to a nice girl inDaphne's position?"

"My dear aunt, " I answered, "you confound the persons. I am not Mr. Holsworthy. I decline responsibility for him. I meet him here, in YOURhouse, for the first time this morning. "

"Then that shows how often you come to see your relations, Hubert!"my aunt burst out, obliquely. "The man's been here, to my certainknowledge, every day this six weeks. "

"Really, Aunt Fanny, " I said; "you must recollect that a professionalman--"

"Oh, yes. THAT'S the way! Lay it all down to your profession, do, Hubert! Though I KNOW you were at the Thorntons' on Saturday--saw it inthe papers--the Morning Post--'among the guests were Sir Edward and LadyBurnes, Professor Sebastian, Dr. Hubert Cumberledge, ' and so forth, andso forth. YOU think you can conceal these things; but you can't. I getto know them!"

"Conceal them! My dearest aunt! Why, I danced twice with Daphne. "

"Daphne! Yes, Daphne. They all run after Daphne, " my aunt exclaimed, altering the venue once more. "But there's no respect for age left. _I_ expect to be neglected. However, that's neither here nor there. Thepoint is this: you're the one man now living in the family. You oughtto behave like a brother to Daphne. Why don't you board this Holsworthyperson and ask him his intentions?"

"Goodness gracious!" I cried; "most excellent of aunts, that epoch hasgone past. The late lamented Queen Anne is now dead. It's no use askingthe young man of to-day to explain his intentions. He will refer you tothe works of the Scandinavian dramatists. "

My aunt was speechless. She could only gurgle out the words: "Well, I can safely say that of all the monstrous behaviour--" then languagefailed her and she relapsed into silence. 

However, when Daphne and young Holsworthy returned, I had as much talkwith him as I could, and when he left the house I left also. 

"Which way are you walking?" I asked, as we turned out into the street. 

"Towards my rooms in the Temple. "

"Oh! I'm going back to St. Nathaniel's, " I continued. "If you'll allowme, I'll walk part way with you. "

"How very kind of you!"

We strode side by side a little distance in silence. Then a thoughtseemed to strike the lugubrious young man. "What a charming girl yourcousin is!" he exclaimed, abruptly. 

"You seem to think so, " I answered, smiling. 

He flushed a little; the lantern jaw grew longer. "I admire her, ofcourse, " he answered. "Who doesn't? She is so extraordinarily handsome. "

"Well, not exactly handsome, " I replied, with more critical andkinsman-like deliberation. "Pretty, if you will; and decidedly pleasingand attractive in manner. "

He looked me up and down, as if he found me a person singularlydeficient in taste and appreciation. "Ah, but then, you are her cousin, "he said at last, with a compassionate tone. "That makes a difference. "

"I quite see all Daphne's strong points, " I answered, still smiling, forI could perceive he was very far gone. "She is good-looking, and she isclever. "

"Clever!" he echoed. "Profound! She has a most unusual intellect. Shestands alone. "

"Like her mother's silk dresses, " I murmured, half under my breath. 

He took no notice of my flippant remark, but went on with his rhapsody. "Such depth; such penetration! And then, how sympathetic! Why, even to amere casual acquaintance like myself, she is so kind, so discerning!"

"ARE you such a casual acquaintance?" I inquired, with a smile. (Itmight have shocked Aunt Fanny to hear me; but THAT is the way we ask ayoung man his intentions nowadays. )

He stopped short and hesitated. "Oh, quite casual, " he replied, almoststammering. "Most casual, I assure you. . . . I have never ventured to domyself the honour of supposing that. . . That Miss Tepping could possiblycare for me. "

"There is such a thing as being TOO modest and unassuming, " I answered. "It sometimes leads to unintentional cruelty. "

"No, do you think so?" he cried, his face falling all at once. "I shouldblame myself bitterly if that were so. Dr. Cumberledge, you are hercousin. DO you gather that I have acted in such a way as to--to leadMiss Tepping to suppose I felt any affection for her?"

I laughed in his face. "My dear boy, " I answered, laying one hand onhis shoulder, "may I say the plain truth? A blind bat could see you aremadly in love with her. "

His mouth twitched. "That's very serious!" he answered, gravely; "veryserious. "

"It is, " I responded, with my best paternal manner, gazing blankly infront of me. 

He stopped short again. "Look here, " he said, facing me. "Are you busy?No? Then come back with me to my rooms; and--I'll make a clean breast ofit. "

"By all means, " I assented. "When one is young--and foolish--I haveoften noticed, as a medical man, that a drachm of clean breast is amagnificent prescription. "

He walked back by my side, talking all the way of Daphne's many adorablequalities. He exhausted the dictionary for laudatory adjectives. By thetime I reached his door it was not HIS fault if I had not learned thatthe angelic hierarchy were not in the running with my pretty cousin forgraces and virtues. I felt that Faith, Hope, and Charity ought to resignat once in favour of Miss Daphne Tepping, promoted. 

He took me into his comfortably furnished rooms--the luxurious roomsof a rich young bachelor, with taste as well as money--and offered me apartaga. Now, I have long observed, in the course of my practice, thata choice cigar assists a man in taking a philosophic outlook on thequestion under discussion; so I accepted the partaga. He satdown opposite me and pointed to a photograph in the centre of hismantlepiece. "I am engaged to that lady, " he put in, shortly. 

"So I anticipated, " I answered, lighting up. 

He started and looked surprised. "Why, what made you guess it?" heinquired. 

I smiled the calm smile of superior age--I was some eight years or sohis senior. "My dear fellow, " I murmured, "what else could prevent youfrom proposing to Daphne--when you are so undeniably in love with her?"

"A great deal, " he answered. "For example, the sense of my own utterunworthiness. "

"One's own unworthiness, " I replied, "though doubtless real--p'f, p'f--is a barrier that most of us can readily get over when ouradmiration for a particular lady waxes strong enough. So THIS is theprior attachment!" I took the portrait down and scanned it. 

"Unfortunately, yes. What do you think of her?"

I scrutinised the features. "Seems a nice enough little thing, " Ianswered. It was an innocent face, I admit; very frank and girlish. 

He leaned forward eagerly. "That's just it. A nice enough little thing!Nothing in the world to be said against her. While Daphne--Miss Tepping, I mean--" His silence was ecstatic. 

I examined the photograph still more closely. It displayed a lady oftwenty or thereabouts, with a weak face, small, vacant features, afeeble chin, a good-humoured, simple mouth, and a wealth of golden hairthat seemed to strike a keynote. 

"In the theatrical profession?" I inquired at last, looking up. 

He hesitated. "Well, not exactly, " he answered. 

I pursed my lips and blew a ring. "Music-hall stage?" I went on, dubiously. 

He nodded. "But a girl is not necessarily any the less a lady becauseshe sings at a music-hall, " he added, with warmth, displaying an evidentdesire to be just to his betrothed, however much he admired Daphne. 

"Certainly not, " I admitted. "A lady is a lady; no occupation can initself unladify her. . . . But on the music-hall stage, the odds, one mustadmit, are on the whole against her. "

"Now, THERE you show prejudice!"

"One may be quite unprejudiced, " I answered, "and yet allow thatconnection with the music-halls does not, as such, afford clear proofthat a girl is a compound of all the virtues. "

"I think she's a good girl, " he retorted, slowly. 

"Then why do you want to throw her over?" I inquired. 

"I don't. That's just it. On the contrary, I mean to keep my word andmarry her. "

"IN ORDER to keep your word?" I suggested. 

He nodded. "Precisely. It is a point of honour. "

"That's a poor ground of marriage, " I went on. "Mind, I don't want for amoment to influence you, as Daphne's cousin. I want to get at the truthof the situation. I don't even know what Daphne thinks of you. But youpromised me a clean breast. Be a man and bare it. "

He bared it instantly. "I thought I was in love with this girl, yousee, " he went on, "till I saw Miss Tepping. "

"That makes a difference, " I admitted. 

"And I couldn't bear to break her heart. "

"Heaven forbid!" I cried. "It is the one unpardonable sin. Betteranything than that. " Then I grew practical. "Father's consent?"

"MY father's? IS it likely? He expects me to marry into somedistinguished English family. "

I hummed a moment. "Well, out with it!" I exclaimed, pointing my cigarat him. 

He leaned back in his chair and told me the whole story. A pretty girl;golden hair; introduced to her by a friend; nice, simple little thing;mind and heart above the irregular stage on to which she had been drivenby poverty alone; father dead; mother in reduced circumstances. "To keepthe home together, poor Sissie decided--"

"Precisely so, " I murmured, knocking off my ash. "The usualself-sacrifice! Case quite normal! Everything en regle!"

"You don't mean to say you doubt it?" he cried, flushing up, andevidently regarding me as a hopeless cynic. "I do assure you, Dr. Cumberledge, the poor child--though miles, of course, below MissTepping's level--is as innocent, and as good--"

"As a flower in May. Oh, yes; I don't doubt it. How did you come topropose to her, though?"

He reddened a little. "Well, it was almost accidental, " he said, sheepishly. "I called there one evening, and her mother had a headacheand went up to bed. And when we two were left alone, Sissie talked agreat deal about her future and how hard her life was. And after a whileshe broke down and began to cry. And then--"

I cut him short with a wave of my hand. "You need say no more, " I putin, with a sympathetic face. "We have all been there. "

We paused a moment, while I puffed smoke at the photograph again. "Well, " I said at last, "her face looks to me really simple and nice. Itis a good face. Do you see her often?"

"Oh, no; she's on tour. "

"In the provinces?"

"M'yes; just at present, at Scarborough. "

"But she writes to you?"

"Every day. "

"Would you think it an unpardonable impertinence if I made bold toask whether it would be possible for you to show me a specimen of herletters?"

He unlocked a drawer and took out three or four. Then he read onethrough, carefully. "I don't think, " he said, in a deliberative voice, "it would be a serious breach of confidence in me to let you lookthrough this one. There's really nothing in it, you know--just theordinary average every-day love-letter. "

I glanced through the little note. He was right. The conventional heartsand darts epistle. It sounded nice enough: "Longing to see you again;so lonely in this place; your dear sweet letter; looking forward to thetime; your ever-devoted Sissie. "

"That seems straight, " I answered. "However, I am not quite sure. Willyou allow me to take it away, with the photograph? I know I am askingmuch. I want to show it to a lady in whose tact and discrimination Ihave the greatest confidence. "

"What, Daphne?"

I smiled. "No, not Daphne, " I answered. "Our friend, Miss Wade. She hasextraordinary insight. "

"I could trust anything to Miss Wade. She is true as steel. "

"You are right, " I answered. "That shows that you, too, are a judge ofcharacter. "

He hesitated. "I feel a brute, " he cried, "to go on writing every dayto Sissie Montague--and yet calling every day to see Miss Tepping. Butstill--I do it. "

I grasped his hand. "My dear fellow, " I said, "nearly ninety per cent. Of men, after all--are human!"

I took both letter and photograph back with me to Nathaniel's. When Ihad gone my rounds that night, I carried them into Hilda Wade's room andtold her the story. Her face grew grave. "We must be just, " she said atlast. "Daphne is deeply in love with him; but even for Daphne's sake, wemust not take anything for granted against the other lady. "

I produced the photograph. "What do you make of that?" I asked. "_I_think it an honest face, myself, I may tell you. "

She scrutinised it long and closely with a magnifier. Then she put herhead on one side and mused very deliberately. "Madeline Shaw gave me herphotograph the other day, and said to me, as she gave it, 'I do so likethese modern portraits; they show one WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. '"

"You mean they are so much touched up!"

"Exactly. That, as it stands, is a sweet, innocent face--an honestgirl's face--almost babyish in its transparency but. . . The innocence hasall been put into it by the photographer. "

"You think so?"

"I know it. Look here at those lines just visible on the cheek. Theydisappear, nowhere, at impossible angles. AND the corners of that mouth. They couldn't go so, with that nose and those puckers. The thing isnot real. It has been atrociously edited. Part is nature's; part, thephotographer's; part, even possibly paint and powder. "

"But the underlying face?"

"Is a minx's. "

I handed her the letter. "This next?" I asked, fixing my eyes on her asshe looked. 

She read it through. For a minute or two she examined it. "The letteris right enough, " she answered, after a second reading, "though itsguileless simplicity is, perhaps, under the circumstances, just a leetleoverdone; but the handwriting--the handwriting is duplicity itself: acunning, serpentine hand, no openness or honesty in it. Depend upon it, that girl is playing a double game. "

"You believe, then, there is character in handwriting?"

"Undoubtedly; when we know the character, we can see it in the writing. The difficulty is, to see it and read it BEFORE we know it; and Ihave practised a little at that. There is character in all we do, ofcourse--our walk, our cough, the very wave of our hands; the only secretis, not all of us have always skill to see it. Here, however, I feelpretty sure. The curls of the g's and the tails of the y's--how fullthey are of wile, of low, underhand trickery!"

I looked at them as she pointed. "That is true!" I exclaimed. "I see itwhen you show it. Lines meant for effect. No straightness or directnessin them!"

Hilda reflected a moment. "Poor Daphne!" she murmured. "I would doanything to help her. . . . I'll tell what might be a good plan. " Herface brightened. "My holiday comes next week. I'll run down toScarborough--it's as nice a place for a holiday as any--and I'll observethis young lady. It can do no harm--and good may come of it. "

"How kind of you!" I cried. "But you are always all kindness. "

Hilda went to Scarborough, and came back again for a week before goingon to Bruges, where she proposed to spend the greater part of herholidays. She stopped a night or two in town to report progress, and, finding another nurse ill, promised to fill her place till a substitutewas forthcoming. 

"Well, Dr. Cumberledge, " she said, when she saw me alone, "I was right!I have found out a fact or two about Daphne's rival!"

"You have seen her?" I asked. 

"Seen her? I have stopped for a week in the same house. A very nicelodging-house on the Spa front, too. The girl's well enough off. Thepoverty plea fails. She goes about in good rooms and carries a motherwith her. "

"That's well, " I answered. "That looks all right. "

"Oh, yes, she's quite presentable: has the manners of a lady whenevershe chooses. But the chief point is this: she laid her letters every dayon the table in the passage outside her door for post--laid them allin a row, so that when one claimed one's own one couldn't help seeingthem. "

"Well, that was open and aboveboard, " I continued, beginning to fear wehad hastily misjudged Miss Sissie Montague. 

"Very open--too much so, in fact; for I was obliged to note the factthat she wrote two letters regularly every day of her life--'to my twomashes, ' she explained one afternoon to a young man who was with her asshe laid them on the table. One of them was always addressed to CecilHolsworthy, Esq. "

"And the other?"

"Wasn't. "

"Did you note the name?" I asked, interested. 

"Yes; here it is. " She handed me a slip of paper. 

I read it: "Reginald Nettlecraft, Esq. , 427, Staples Inn, London. "

"What, Reggie Nettlecraft!" I cried, amused. "Why, he was a very littleboy at Charterhouse when I was a big one; he afterwards went to Oxford, and got sent down from Christ Church for the part he took in burning aGreek bust in Tom Quad--an antique Greek bust--after a bump supper. "

"Just the sort of man I should have expected, " Hilda answered, with asuppressed smile. "I have a sort of inkling that Miss Montague likes HIMbest; he is nearer her type; but she thinks Cecil Holsworthy the bettermatch. Has Mr. Nettlecraft money?"

"Not a penny, I should say. An allowance from his father, perhaps, whois a Lincolnshire parson; but otherwise, nothing. "

"Then, in my opinion, the young lady is playing for Mr. Holsworthy'smoney; failing which, she will decline upon Mr. Nettlecraft's heart. "

We talked it all over. In the end I said abruptly: "Nurse Wade, you haveseen Miss Montague, or whatever she calls herself. I have not. I won'tcondemn her unheard. I have half a mind to run down one day next week toScarborough and have a look at her. "

"Do. That will suffice. You can judge then for yourself whether or not Iam mistaken. "

I went; and what is more, I heard Miss Sissie sing at her hall--apretty domestic song, most childish and charming. She impressed me notunfavourably, in spite of what Hilda said. Her peach-blossom cheek mighthave been art, but looked like nature. She had an open face, a babysmile and there was a frank girlishness about her dress and manner thattook my fancy. "After all, " I thought to myself, "even Hilda Wade isfallible. "

So that evening, when her "turn" was over, I made up my mind to go roundand call upon her. I had told Cecil Holsworthy my intentions beforehand, and it rather shocked him. He was too much of a gentleman to wish to spyupon the girl he had promised to marry. However, in my case, there needbe no such scruples. I found the house and asked for Miss Montague. AsI mounted the stairs to the drawing-room floor, I heard a sound ofvoices--the murmur of laughter; idiotic guffaws, suppressed giggles, themasculine and feminine varieties of tomfoolery. 

"YOU'D make a splendid woman of business, YOU would!" a young man wassaying. I gathered from his drawl that he belonged to that sub-speciesof the human race which is known as the Chappie. 

"Wouldn't I just?" a girl's voice answered, tittering. I recognised itas Sissie's. "You ought to see me at it! Why, my brother set up a placeonce for mending bicycles; and I used to stand about at the door, as ifI had just returned from a ride; and when fellows came in, with a nutloose or something, I'd begin talking with them while Bertie tightenedit. Then, when THEY weren't looking, I'd dab the business end of adarning-needle, so, just plump into their tires; and of course, as soonas they went off, they were back again in a minute to get a puncturemended! I call THAT business. "

A roar of laughter greeted the recital of this brilliant incident in acommercial career. As it subsided, I entered. There were two men in theroom, besides Miss Montague and her mother, and a second young lady. 

"Excuse this late call, " I said, quietly, bowing. "But I have only onenight in Scarborough, Miss Montague, and I wanted to see you. I'm afriend of Mr. Holsworthy's. I told him I'd look you up, and this is mysole opportunity. "

I FELT rather than saw that Miss Montague darted a quick glance ofhidden meaning at her friends the chappies; their faces, in response, ceased to snigger and grew instantly sober. 

She took my card; then, in her alternative manner as the perfect lady, she presented me to her mother. "Dr. Cumberledge, mamma, " she said, in afaintly warning voice. "A friend of Mr. Holsworthy's. "

The old lady half rose. "Let me see, " she said, staring at me. "WHICH isMr. Holsworthy, Siss?--is it Cecil or Reggie?"

One of the chappies burst into a fatuous laugh once more at this remark. "Now, you're giving away the whole show, Mrs. Montague!" he exclaimed, with a chuckle. A look from Miss Sissie immediately checked him. 

I am bound to admit, however, that after these untoward incidents ofthe first minute, Miss Montague and her friends behaved throughoutwith distinguished propriety. Her manners were perfect--I may even saydemure. She asked about "Cecil" with charming naivete. She was frank andgirlish. Lots of innocent fun in her, no doubt--she sang us a comicsong in excellent taste, which is a severe test--but not a suspicion ofdouble-dealing. If I had not overheard those few words as I came upthe stairs, I think I should have gone away believing the poor girl aninjured child of nature. 

As it was, I went back to London the very next day, determined to renewmy slight acquaintance with Reggie Nettlecraft. 

Fortunately, I had a good excuse for going to visit him. I had beenasked to collect among old Carthusians for one of those endless"testimonials" which pursue one through life, and are, perhaps, theworst Nemesis which follows the crime of having wasted one's youth ata public school: a testimonial for a retiring master, or professionalcricketer, or washerwoman, or something; and in the course of myduties as collector it was quite natural that I should call upon all myfellow-victims. So I went to his rooms in Staples Inn and reintroducedmyself. 

Reggie Nettlecraft had grown up into an unwholesome, spotty, indeterminate young man, with a speckled necktie, and cuffs of which hewas inordinately proud, and which he insisted on "flashing" every secondminute. He was also evidently self-satisfied; which was odd, for I haveseldom seen anyone who afforded less cause for rational satisfaction. "Hullo, " he said, when I told him my name. "So it's you, is it, Cumberledge?" He glanced at my card. "St. Nathaniel's Hospital! Whatrot! Why, blow me tight if you haven't turned sawbones!"

"That is my profession, " I answered, unashamed. "And you?"

"Oh, I don't have any luck, you know, old man. They turned me outof Oxford because I had too much sense of humour for the authoritiesthere--beastly set of old fogeys! Objected to my 'chucking' oystershells at the tutors' windows--good old English custom, fast becomingobsolete. Then I crammed for the Army. But, bless your heart, aGENTLEMAN has no chance for the Army nowadays; a pack of blooming cads, with what they call 'intellect, ' read up for the exams, and don'tgive US a look-in; I call it sheer piffle. Then the Guv'nor set me onelectrical engineering--electrical engineering's played out. I put nostock in it; besides, it's such beastly fag; and then, you get yourhands dirty. So now I'm reading for the Bar; and if only my coach canput me up to tips enough to dodge the examiners, I expect to be calledsome time next summer. "

"And when you have failed for everything?" I inquired, just to test hissense of humour. 

He swallowed it like a roach. "Oh, when I've failed for everything, I shall stick up to the Guv'nor. Hang it all, a GENTLEMAN can't beexpected to earn his own livelihood. England's going to the dogs, that'swhere it is; no snug little sinecures left for chaps like you andme; all this beastly competition. And no respect for the feelings ofgentlemen, either! Why, would you believe it, Cumberground--we usedto call you Cumberground at Charterhouse, I remember, or was it FigTree?--I happened to get a bit lively in the Haymarket last week, aftera rattling good supper, and the chap at the police court--old cove witha squint--positively proposed to send me to prison, WITHOUT THE OPTIONOF A FINE!--I'll trouble you for that--send ME to prison just--forknocking down a common brute of a bobby. There's no mistake about it;England's NOT a country now for a gentleman to live in. "

"Then why not mark your sense of the fact by leaving it?" I inquired, with a smile. 

He shook his head. "What? Emigrate? No, thank you! I'm not taking any. None of your colonies for ME, IF you please. I shall stick to the oldship. I'm too much attached to the Empire. "

"And yet imperialists, " I said, "generally gush over the colonies--theEmpire on which the sun never sets. "

"The Empire in Leicester Squire!" he responded, gazing at me withunspoken contempt. "Have a whisky-and-soda, old chap? What, no? 'Neverdrink between meals?' Well, you DO surprise me! I suppose that comes ofbeing a sawbones, don't it?"

"Possibly, " I answered. "We respect our livers. " Then I went on to theostensible reason of my visit--the Charterhouse testimonial. He slappedhis thighs metaphorically, by way of suggesting the depleted conditionof his pockets. "Stony broke, Cumberledge, " he murmured; "stony broke!Honour bright! Unless Bluebird pulls off the Prince of Wales's Stakes, Ireally don't know how I'm to pay the Benchers. "

"It's quite unimportant, " I answered. "I was asked to ask you, and IHAVE asked you. "

"So I twig, my dear fellow. Sorry to have to say NO. But I'll tell youwhat I can do for you; I can put you upon a straight thing--"

I glanced at the mantelpiece. "I see you have a photograph of MissSissie Montague, " I broke in casually, taking it down and examiningit. "WITH an autograph, too. 'Reggie, from Sissie. ' You are a friend ofhers?"

"A friend of hers? I'll trouble you. She IS a clinker, Sissie is! Youshould see that girl smoke. I give you my word of honour, Cumberledge, she can consume cigarettes against any fellow I know in London. Hang itall, a girl like that, you know--well, one can't help admiring her! Everseen her?"

"Oh, yes; I know her. I called on her, in fact, night before last, atScarborough. "

He whistled a moment, then broke into an imbecile laugh. "My gum, " hecried; "this IS a start, this is! You don't mean to tell me YOU are theother Johnnie. "

"What other Johnnie?" I asked, feeling we were getting near it. 

He leaned back and laughed again. "Well, you know that girl Sissie, she's a clever one, she is, " he went on after a minute, staring at me. "She's a regular clinker! Got two strings to her bow; that's where thetrouble comes in. Me and another fellow. She likes me for love and theother fellow for money. Now, don't you come and tell me that YOU are theother fellow. "

"I have certainly never aspired to the young lady's hand, " I answered, cautiously. "But don't you know your rival's name, then?"

"That's Sissie's blooming cleverness. She's a caulker, Sissie is; youdon't take a rise out of Sissie in a hurry. She knows that if I knew whothe other bloke was, I'd blow upon her little game to him and put himoff her. And I WOULD, s'ep me taters; for I'm nuts on that girl. I tellyou, Cumberledge, she IS a clinker!"

"You seem to me admirably adapted for one another, " I answered, truthfully. I had not the slightest compunction in handing ReggieNettlecraft over to Sissie, nor in handing Sissie over to ReggieNettlecraft. 

"Adapted for one another? That's just it. There, you hit the right nailplump on the cocoanut, Cumberground! But Sissie's an artful one, she is. She's playing for the other Johnnie. He's got the dibs, you know; andSissie wants the dibs even more than she wants yours truly. "

"Got what?" I inquired, not quite catching the phrase. 

"The dibs, old man; the chink; the oof; the ready rhino. He rolls init, she says. I can't find out the chap's name, but I know his Guv'nor'ssomething or other in the millionaire trade somewhere across inAmerica. "

"She writes to you, I think?"

"That's so; every blooming day; but how the dummy did you come to knowit?"

"She lays letters addressed to you on the hall table at her lodgings inScarborough. "

"The dickens she does! Careless little beggar! Yes, she writes tome--pages. She's awfully gone on me, really. She'd marry me if it wasn'tfor the Johnnie with the dibs. She doesn't care for HIM: she wants hismoney. He dresses badly, don't you see; and, after all, the clothes makethe man! I'D like to get at him. I'D spoil his pretty face for him. " Andhe assumed a playfully pugilistic attitude. 

"You really want to get rid of this other fellow?" I asked, seeing mychance. 

"Get rid of him? Why, of course! Chuck him into the river some nice darknight if I could once get a look at him!"

"As a preliminary step, would you mind letting me see one of MissMontague's letters?" I inquired. 

He drew a long breath. "They're a bit affectionate, you know, " hemurmured, stroking his beardless chin in hesitation. "She's a hot 'un, Sissie is. She pitches it pretty warm on the affection-stop, I can tellyou. But if you really think you can give the other Johnnie a cut on thehead with her letters--well, in the interests of true love, which neverDOES run smooth, I don't mind letting you have a squint, as my friend, at one of her charming billy-doos. "

He took a bundle from a drawer, ran his eye over one or two with amaudlin air, and then selected a specimen not wholly unsuitable forpublication. "THERE'S one in the eye for C. , " he said, chuckling. "Whatwould C. Say to that, I wonder? She always calls him C. , you know; it'sso jolly non-committing. She says, 'I only wish that beastly old boreC. Were at Halifax--which is where he comes from and then I would flyat once to my own dear Reggie! But, hang it all, Reggie boy, what's thegood of true love if you haven't got the dibs? I MUST have my comforts. Love in a cottage is all very well in its way; but who's to pay for thefizz, Reggie?' That's her refinement, don't you see? Sissie's awfullyrefined. She was brought up with the tastes and habits of a lady. "

"Clearly so, " I answered. "Both her literary style and her liking forchampagne abundantly demonstrate it!" His acute sense of humour did notenable him to detect the irony of my observation. I doubt if it extendedmuch beyond oyster shells. He handed me the letter. I read it throughwith equal amusement and gratification. If Miss Sissie had written iton purpose in order to open Cecil Holsworthy's eyes, she couldn't havemanaged the matter better or more effectually. It breathed ardent love, tempered by a determination to sell her charms in the best and highestmatrimonial market. 

"Now, I know this man, C. , " I said when I had finished. "And I want toask whether you will let me show him Miss Montague's letter. It wouldset him against the girl, who, as a matter of fact, is wholly unwor--Imean totally unfitted for him. "

"Let you show it to him? Like a bird! Why, Sissie promised me herselfthat if she couldn't bring 'that solemn ass, C. , ' up to the scratch byChristmas, she'd chuck him and marry me. It's here, in writing. " And hehanded me another gem of epistolary literature. 

"You have no compunctions?" I asked again, after reading it. 

"Not a blessed compunction to my name. "

"Then neither have I, " I answered. 

I felt they both deserved it. Sissie was a minx, as Hilda rightlyjudged; while as for Nettlecraft--well, if a public school and anEnglish university leave a man a cad, a cad he will be, and there isnothing more to be said about it. 

I went straight off with the letters to Cecil Holsworthy. He read themthrough, half incredulously at first; he was too honest-natured himselfto believe in the possibility of such double-dealing--that one couldhave innocent eyes and golden hair and yet be a trickster. He read themtwice; then he compared them word for word with the simple affection andchildlike tone of his own last letter received from the same lady. Herversatility of style would have done honour to a practised literarycraftsman. At last he handed them back to me. "Do you think, " he said, "on the evidence of these, I should be doing wrong in breaking withher?"

"Wrong in breaking with her!" I exclaimed. "You would be doing wrong ifyou didn't, --wrong to yourself; wrong to your family; wrong, if I mayventure to say so, to Daphne; wrong even in the long run to the girlherself; for she is not fitted for you, and she IS fitted for ReggieNettlecraft. Now, do as I bid you. Sit down at once and write her aletter from my dictation. "

He sat down and wrote, much relieved that I took the responsibility offhis shoulders. 

"DEAR MISS MONTAGUE, " I began, "the inclosed letters have come intomy hands without my seeking it. After reading them, I feel that Ihave absolutely no right to stand between you and the man of your realchoice. It would not be kind or wise of me to do so. I release youat once, and consider myself released. You may therefore regard ourengagement as irrevocably cancelled. 

"Faithfully yours, "CECIL HOLSWORTHY. "

"Nothing more than that?" he asked, looking up and biting his pen. "Nota word of regret or apology?"

"Not a word, " I answered. "You are really too lenient. "

I made him take it out and post it before he could invent conscientiousscruples. Then he turned to me irresolutely. "What shall I do next?" heasked, with a comical air of doubt. 

I smiled. "My dear fellow, that is a matter for your own consideration. "

"But--do you think she will laugh at me?"

"Miss Montague?"

"No! Daphne. "

"I am not in not in Daphne's confidence, " I answered. "I don't know howshe feels. But, on the face of it, I think I can venture to assure youthat at least she won't laugh at you. "

He grasped my hand hard. "You don't mean to say so!" he cried. "Well, that's really very, kind of her! A girl of Daphne's high type! And I, who feel myself so utterly unworthy of her!"

"We are all unworthy of a good woman's love, " I answered. "But, thankHeaven, the good women don't seem to realise it. "

That evening, about ten, my new friend came back in a hurry to my roomsat St. Nathaniel's. Nurse Wade was standing there, giving her reportfor the night when he entered. His face looked some inches shorter andbroader than usual. His eyes beamed. His mouth was radiant. 

"Well, you won't believe it, Dr. Cumberledge, " he began; "but--"

"Yes, I DO believe it, " I answered. "I know it. I have read it already. "

"Read it!" he cried. "Where?"

I waved my hand towards his face. "In a special edition of the eveningpapers, " I answered, smiling. "Daphne has accepted you!"

He sank into an easy chair, beside himself with rapture. "Yes, yes; thatangel! Thanks to YOU, she has accepted me!"

"Thanks to Miss Wade, " I said, correcting him. "It is really all HERdoing. If SHE had not seen through the photograph to the face, andthrough the face to the woman and the base little heart of her, we mightnever have found her out. "

He turned to Hilda with eyes all gratitude. "You have given me thedearest and best girl on earth, " he cried, seizing both her hands. 

"And I have given Daphne a husband who will love and appreciate her, "Hilda answered, flushing. 

"You see, " I said, maliciously; "I told you they never find us out, Holsworthy!"

As for Reggie Nettlecraft and his wife, I should like to add that theyare getting on quite as well as could be expected. Reggie has joinedhis Sissie on the music-hall stage; and all those who have witnessed hisimmensely popular performance of the Drunken Gentleman before the BowStreet Police Court acknowledge without reserve that, after "failingfor everything, " he has dropped at last into his true vocation. Hisimpersonation of the part is said to be "nature itself. " I see no reasonto doubt it. 

CHAPTER III

THE EPISODE OF THE WIFE WHO DID HER DUTY

To make you understand my next yarn, I must go back to the date of myintroduction to Hilda. 

"It is witchcraft!" I said the first time I saw her, at Le Geyt'sluncheon-party. 

She smiled a smile which was bewitching, indeed, but by no meanswitch-like, --a frank, open smile with just a touch of natural femininetriumph in it. "No, not witchcraft, " she answered, helping herself withher dainty fingers to a burnt almond from the Venetian glass dish, --"notwitchcraft, --memory; aided, perhaps, by some native quickness ofperception. Though I say it myself, I never met anyone, I think, whosememory goes quite as far as mine does. "

"You don't mean quite as far BACK, " I cried, jesting; for she lookedabout twenty-four, and had cheeks like a ripe nectarine, just as pinkand just as softly downy. 

She smiled again, showing a row of semi-transparent teeth, with a gleamin the depths of them. She was certainly most attractive. She had thatindefinable, incommunicable, unanalysable personal quality which we knowas CHARM. "No, not as far BACK, " she repeated. "Though, indeed, I oftenseem to remember things that happened before I was born (like QueenElizabeth's visit to Kenilworth): I recollect so vividly all that Ihave heard or read about them. But as far IN EXTENT, I mean. I neverlet anything drop out of my memory. As this case shows you, I can recalleven quite unimportant and casual bits of knowledge when any chance cluehappens to bring them back to me. "

She had certainly astonished me. The occasion for my astonishment wasthe fact that when I handed her my card, "Dr. Hubert Ford Cumberledge, St. Nathaniel's Hospital, " she had glanced at it for a second andexclaimed, without sensible pause or break, "Oh, then, of course, you'rehalf Welsh, as I am. "

The instantaneous and apparent inconsecutiveness of her inference tookme aback. "Well, m'yes: I AM half Welsh, " I replied. "My mother camefrom Carnarvonshire. But, why THEN, and OF COURSE? I fail to perceiveyour train of reasoning. "

She laughed a sunny little laugh, like one well accustomed to receivesuch inquiries. "Fancy asking A WOMAN to give you 'the train ofreasoning' for her intuitions!" she cried, merrily. "That shows, Dr. Cumberledge, that you are a mere man--a man of science, perhaps, but NOTa psychologist. It also suggests that you are a confirmed bachelor. Amarried man accepts intuitions, without expecting them to be based onreasoning. . . . Well, just this once, I will stretch a point to enlightenyou. If I recollect right, your mother died about three years ago?"

"You are quite correct. Then you knew my mother?"

"Oh, dear me, no! I never even met her. Why THEN?"

Her look was mischievous. "But, unless I mistake, I think she came fromHendre Coed, near Bangor. "

"Wales is a village!" I exclaimed, catching my breath. "Every Welshperson seems to know all about every other. "

My new acquaintance smiled again. When she smiled she was irresistible:a laughing face protruding from a cloud of diaphanous drapery. "Now, shall I tell you how I came to know that?" she asked, poising a glacecherry on her dessert fork in front of her. "Shall I explain my trick, like the conjurers?"

"Conjurers never explain anything, " I answered. "They say: 'So, you see, THAT'S how it's done!'--with a swift whisk of the hand--and leave you asmuch in the dark as ever. Don't explain like the conjurers, but tell mehow you guessed it. "

She shut her eyes and seemed to turn her glance inward. 

"About three years ago, " she began slowly, like one who reconstructswith an effort a half-forgotten scene, "I saw a notice in theTimes--Births, Deaths, and Marriages--'On the 27th of October'--was itthe 27th?" The keen brown eyes opened again for a second and flashedinquiry into mine. 

"Quite right, " I answered, nodding. 

"I thought so. 'On the 27th of October, at Brynmor, Bournemouth, EmilyOlwen Josephine, widow of the late Thomas Cumberledge, sometime colonelof the 7th Bengal Regiment of Foot, and daughter of Iolo Gwyn Ford, Esq. , J. P. , of Hendre Coed, near Bangor. Am I correct?" She lifted herdark eyelashes once more and flooded me. 

"You are quite correct, " I answered, surprised. "And that is really allthat you knew of my mother?"

"Absolutely all. The moment I saw your card, I thought to myself, in abreath: 'Ford, Cumberledge; what do I know of those two names? I havesome link between them. Ah, yes; found Mrs. Cumberledge, wife of ColonelThomas Cumberledge, of the 7th Bengals, was a Miss Ford, daughter ofa Mr. Ford, of Bangor. ' That came to me like a lightning-gleam. Then Isaid to myself again, 'Dr. Hubert Ford Cumberledge must be their son. 'So there you have 'the train of reasoning. ' Women CAN reason--sometimes. I had to think twice, though, before I could recall the exact words ofthe Times notice. "

"And can you do the same with everyone?"

"Everyone! Oh, come, now: that is expecting too much! I have not read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested everyone's family announcements. I don't pretend to be the Peerage, the Clergy List, and the LondonDirectory rolled into one. I remembered YOUR family all the morevividly, no doubt, because of the pretty and unusual old Welsh names, 'Olwen' and 'Iolo Gwyn Ford, ' which fixed themselves on my memory bytheir mere beauty. Everything about Wales always attracts me; my Welshside is uppermost. But I have hundreds--oh, thousands--of such factsstored and pigeon-holed in my memory. If anybody else cares to try me, "she glanced round the table, "perhaps we may be able to test my powerthat way. "

Two or three of the company accepted her challenge, giving the fullnames of their sisters or brothers; and, in three cases out of five, my witch was able to supply either the notice of their marriage or someother like published circumstance. In the instance of Charlie Vere, itis true, she went wrong, just at first, though only in a singlesmall particular; it was not Charlie himself who was gazetted to asub-lieutenancy in the Warwickshire Regiment, but his brother Walter. However, the moment she was told of this slip, she corrected herselfat once, and added, like lightning, "Ah, yes: how stupid of me! I havemixed up the names. Charles Cassilis Vere got an appointment on the sameday in the Rhodesian Mounted Police, didn't he?" Which was in point offact quite accurate. 

But I am forgetting that all this time I have not even now introduced mywitch to you. 

Hilda Wade, when I first saw her, was one of the prettiest, cheeriest, and most graceful girls I have ever met--a dusky blonde, brown-eyed, brown-haired, with a creamy, waxen whiteness of skin that was yet warmand peach-downy. And I wish to insist from the outset upon the plainfact that there was nothing uncanny about her. In spite of her singularfaculty of insight, which sometimes seemed to illogical people almostweird or eerie, she was in the main a bright, well-educated, sensible, winsome, lawn-tennis-playing English girl. Her vivacious spirits rosesuperior to her surroundings, which were often sad enough. But shewas above all things wholesome, unaffected, and sparkling--a gleam ofsunshine. She laid no claim to supernatural powers; she held no dealingswith familiar spirits; she was simply a girl of strong personal charm, endowed with an astounding memory and a rare measure of feminineintuition. Her memory, she told me, she shared with her father and allher father's family; they were famous for their prodigious faculty inthat respect. Her impulsive temperament and quick instincts, on theother hand, descended to her, she thought, from her mother and her Welshancestry. 

Externally, she seemed thus at first sight little more than the ordinarypretty, light-hearted English girl, with a taste for field sports(especially riding), and a native love of the country. But at timesone caught in the brightened colour of her lustrous brown eyes certaincurious undercurrents of depth, of reserve, and of a questioningwistfulness which made you suspect the presence of profounder elementsin her nature. From the earliest moment of our acquaintance, indeed, I can say with truth that Hilda Wade interested me immensely. I feltdrawn. Her face had that strange quality of compelling attention forwhich we have as yet no English name, but which everybody recognises. You could not ignore her. She stood out. She was the sort of girl onewas constrained to notice. 

It was Le Geyts first luncheon-party since his second marriage. Big-bearded, genial, he beamed round on us jubilant. He was proud of hiswife and proud of his recent Q. C. -ship. The new Mrs. Le Geyt sat at thehead of the table, handsome, capable, self-possessed; a vivid, vigorouswoman and a model hostess. Though still quite young, she was large andcommanding. Everybody was impressed by her. "Such a good mother tothose poor motherless children!" all the ladies declared in a chorus ofapplause. And, indeed, she had the face of a splendid manager. 

I said as much in an undertone over the ices to Miss Wade, who satbeside me--though I ought not to have discussed them at their own table. "Hugo Le Geyt seems to have made an excellent choice, " I murmured. "Maisie and Ettie will be lucky, indeed, to be taken care of by such acompetent stepmother. Don't you think so?"

My witch glanced up at her hostess with a piercing dart of the keenbrown eyes, held her wine-glass half raised, and then electrified me byuttering, in the same low voice, audible to me alone, but quite clearlyand unhesitatingly, these astounding words:

"I think, before twelve mouths are out, MR. LE GEYT WILL HAVE MURDEREDHER!"

For a minute I could not answer, so startling was the effect of thisconfident prediction. One does not expect to be told such things atlunch, over the port and peaches, about one's dearest friends, besidetheir own mahogany. And the assured air of unfaltering conviction withwhich Hilda Wade said it to a complete stranger took my breath away. WHY did she think so at all? And IF she thought so why choose ME as therecipient of her singular confidences?

I gasped and wondered. 

"What makes you fancy anything so unlikely?" I asked aside at last, behind the babel of voices. "You quite alarm me. "

She rolled a mouthful of apricot ice reflectively on her tongue, andthen murmured, in a similar aside, "Don't ask me now. Some other timewill, do. But I mean what I say. Believe me; I do not speak at random. "

She was quite right, of course. To continue would have been equally rudeand foolish. I had perforce to bottle up my curiosity for the moment andwait till my sibyl was in the mood for interpreting. 

After lunch we adjourned to the drawing-room. Almost at once, Hilda Wadeflitted up with her brisk step to the corner where I was sitting. "Oh, Dr. Cumberledge, " she began, as if nothing odd had occurred before, "IWAS so glad to meet you and have a chance of talking to you, because IDO so want to get a nurse's place at St. Nathaniel's. "

"A nurse's place!" I exclaimed, a little surprised, surveying her dressof palest and softest Indian muslin; for she looked to me far too muchof a butterfly for such serious work. "Do you really mean it; or areyou one of the ten thousand modern young ladies who are in quest of aMission, without understanding that Missions are unpleasant? Nursing, Ican tell you, is not all crimped cap and becoming uniform. "

"I know that, " she answered, growing grave. "I ought to know it. I am anurse already at St. George's Hospital. "

"You are a nurse! And at St. George's! Yet you want to change toNathaniel's? Why? St. George's is in a much nicer part of London, andthe patients there come on an average from a much better class than oursin Smithfield. "

"I know that too; but. . . Sebastian is at St. Nathaniel's--and I want tobe near Sebastian. "

"Professor Sebastian!" I cried, my face lighting up with a gleam ofenthusiasm at our great teacher's name. "Ah, if it is to be underSebastian that you, desire, I can see you mean business. I know now youare in earnest. "

"In earnest?" she echoed, that strange deeper shade coming over her faceas she spoke, while her tone altered. "Yes, I think I am in earnest! Itis my object in life to be near Sebastian--to watch him and observe him. I mean to succeed. . . . But I have given you my confidence, perhaps toohastily, and I must implore you not to mention my wish to him. "

"You may trust me implicitly, " I answered. 

"Oh, yes; I saw that, " she put in, with a quick gesture. "Of course, Isaw by your face you were a man of honour--a man one could trust or Iwould not have spoken to you. But--you promise me?"

"I promise you, " I replied, naturally flattered. She was delicatelypretty, and her quaint, oracular air, so incongruous with the daintyface and the fluffy brown hair, piqued me not a little. That specialmysterious commodity of CHARM seemed to pervade all she did and said. So I added: "And I will mention to Sebastian that you wish for anurse's place at Nathaniel's. As you have had experience, and can berecommended, I suppose, by Le Geyt's sister, " with whom she had come, "no doubt you can secure an early vacancy. "

"Thanks so much, " she answered, with that delicious smile. It had aninfantile simplicity about it which contrasted most piquantly with herprophetic manner. 

"Only, " I went on, assuming a confidential tone, "you really MUSTtell me why you said that just now about Hugo Le Geyt. Recollect, yourDelphian utterances have gravely astonished and disquieted me. Hugo isone of my oldest and dearest friends; and I want to know why you haveformed this sudden bad opinion of him. "

"Not of HIM, but of HER, " she answered, to my surprise, taking a smallNorwegian dagger from the what-not and playing with it to distractattention. 

"Come, come, now, " I cried, drawing back. "You are trying to mystify me. This is deliberate seer-mongery. You are presuming on your powers. But Iam not the sort of man to be caught by horoscopes. I decline to believeit. "

She turned on me with a meaning glance. Those truthful eyes fixed me. "Iam going from here straight to my hospital, " she murmured, with a quietair of knowledge--talking, I mean to say, like one who really knows. "This room is not the place to discuss this matter, is it? If you willwalk back to St. George's with me, I think I can make you see andfeel that I am speaking, not at haphazard, but from observation andexperience. "

Her confidence roused my most vivid curiosity. When she left I left withher. The Le Geyts lived in one of those new streets of large houses onCampden Hill, so that our way eastward lay naturally through KensingtonGardens. 

It was a sunny June day, when light pierced even through the smoke ofLondon, and the shrubberies breathed the breath of white lilacs. "Now, what did you mean by that enigmatical saying?" I asked my new Cassandra, as we strolled down the scent-laden path. "Woman's intuition is all verywell in its way; but a mere man may be excused if he asks for evidence. "

She stopped short as I spoke, and gazed full into my eyes. Her handfingered her parasol handle. "I meant what I said, " she answered, withemphasis. "Within one year, Mr. Le Geyt will have murdered his wife. Youmay take my word, for it. "

"Le Geyt!" I cried. "Never! I know the man so well! A big, good-natured, kindly schoolboy! He is the gentlest and best of mortals. Le Geyt amurderer! Im--possible!"

Her eyes were far away. "Has it never occurred to you, " sheasked, slowly, with her pythoness air, "that there are murders andmurders?--murders which depend in the main upon the murderer. . . And alsomurders which depend in the main upon the victim?"

"The victim? What do you mean?"

"Well, there are brutal men who commit murder out of sheerbrutality--the ruffians of the slums; and there are sordid men whocommit murder for sordid money--the insurers who want to forestall theirpolicies, the poisoners who want to inherit property; but have youever realised that there are also murderers who become so by accident, through their victims' idiosyncrasy? I thought all the time while Iwas watching Mrs. Le Geyt, 'That woman is of the sort predestined tobe murdered. '. . . And when you asked me, I told you so. I may have beenimprudent; still, I saw it, and I said it. "

"But this is second sight!" I cried, drawing away. "Do you pretend toprevision?"

"No, not second sight; nothing uncanny, nothing supernatural. Butprevision, yes; prevision based, not on omens or auguries, but on solidfact--on what I have seen and noticed. "

"Explain yourself, oh, prophetess!"

She let the point of her parasol make a curved trail on the gravel, and followed its serpentine wavings with her eyes. "You know our housesurgeon?" she asked at last, looking up of a sudden. 

"What, Travers? Oh, intimately. "

"Then come to my ward and see. After you have seen, you will perhapsbelieve me. "

Nothing that I could say would get any further explanation out of herjust then. "You would laugh at me if I told you, " she persisted; "youwon't laugh when you have seen it. "

We walked on in silence as far as Hyde Park Corner. There my Sphinxtripped lightly up the steps of St. George's Hospital. "Get Mr. Travers's leave, " she said, with a nod, and a bright smile, "to visitNurse Wade's ward. Then come up to me there in five minutes. "

I explained to my friend the house surgeon that I wished to see certaincases in the accident ward of which I had heard; he smiled a restrainedsmile--"Nurse Wade, no doubt!" but, of course, gave me permission togo up and look at them. "Stop a minute, " he added, "and I'll come withyou. " When we got there, my witch had already changed her dress, and waswaiting for us demurely in the neat dove-coloured gown and smoothwhite apron of the hospital nurses. She looked even prettier and moremeaningful so than in her ethereal outside summer-cloud muslin. 

"Come over to this bed, " she said at once to Travers and myself, withoutthe least air of mystery. "I will show you what I mean by it. "

"Nurse Wade has remarkable insight, " Travers whispered to me as we went. 

"I can believe it, " I answered. 

"Look at this woman, " she went on, aside, in a low voice--"no, NOT thefirst bed; the one beyond it; Number 60. I don't want the patientto know you are watching her. Do you observe anything odd about herappearance?"

"She is somewhat the same type, " I began, "as Mrs. --"

Before I could get out the words "Le Geyt, " her warning eye andpuckering forehead had stopped me. "As the lady we were discussing, "she interposed, with a quiet wave of one hand. "Yes, in some pointsvery much so. You notice in particular her scanty hair--so thin andpoor--though she is young and good-looking?"

"It is certainly rather a feeble crop for a woman of her age, " Iadmitted. "And pale at that, and washy. "

"Precisely. It's done up behind about as big as a nutmeg. . . . Now, observe the contour of her back as she sits up there; it is curiouslycurved, isn't it?"

"Very, " I replied. "Not exactly a stoop, nor yet quite a hunch, butcertainly an odd spinal configuration. "

"Like our friend's, once more?"

"Like our friend's, exactly!"

Hilda Wade looked away, lest she should attract the patient's attention. "Well, that woman was brought in here, half-dead, assaulted by herhusband, " she went on, with a note of unobtrusive demonstration. 

"We get a great many such cases, " Travers put in, with true medicalunconcern, "very interesting cases; and Nurse Wade has pointed out to methe singular fact that in almost all instances the patients resemble oneanother physically. "

"Incredible!" I cried. "I can understand that there might well be a typeof men who assault their wives, but not, surely, a type of women who getassaulted. "

"That is because you know less about it than Nurse Wade, " Traversanswered, with an annoying smile of superior knowledge. 

Our instructress moved on to another bed, laying one gentle hand as shepassed on a patient's forehead. The patient glanced gratitude. "That oneagain, " she said once more, half indicating a cot at a little distance:"Number 74. She has much the same thin hair--sparse, weak, andcolourless. She has much the same curved back, and much the sameaggressive, self-assertive features. Looks capable, doesn't she? A bornhousewife!. . . Well, she, too, was knocked down and kicked half-dead theother night by her husband. "

"It is certainly odd, " I answered, "how very much they both recall--"

"Our friend at lunch! Yes, extraordinary. See here"; she pulled out apencil and drew the quick outline of a face in her note-book. "THATis what is central and essential to the type. They have THIS sort ofprofile. Women with faces like that ALWAYS get assaulted. "

Travers glanced over her shoulder. "Quite true, " he assented, with hisbourgeois nod. "Nurse Wade in her time has shown me dozens of them. Round dozens: bakers' dozens! They all belong to that species. In fact, when a woman of this type is brought in to us wounded now, I ask atonce, 'Husband?' and the invariable answer comes pat: 'Well, yes, sir;we had some words together. ' The effect of words, my dear fellow, issomething truly surprising. "

"They can pierce like a dagger, " I mused. 

"And leave an open wound behind that requires dressing, " Travers added, unsuspecting. Practical man, Travers!

"But WHY do they get assaulted--the women of this type?" I asked, stillbewildered. 

"Number 87 has her mother just come to see her, " my sorceressinterposed. "SHE'S an assault case; brought in last night; badly kickedand bruised about the head and shoulders. Speak to the mother. She'llexplain it all to you. "

Travers and I moved over to the cot her hand scarcely indicated. "Well, your daughter looks pretty comfortable this afternoon, in spite of thelittle fuss, " Travers began, tentatively. 

"Yus, she's a bit tidy, thanky, " the mother answered, smoothing hersoiled black gown, grown green with long service. "She'll git on naow, please Gord. But Joe most did for 'er. "

"How did it all happen?" Travers asked, in a jaunty tone, to draw herout. 

"Well, it was like this, sir, yer see. My daughter, she's a lidy askeeps 'erself TO 'erself, as the sayin' is, an' 'olds 'er 'ead up. Shekeeps up a proper pride, an' minds 'er 'ouse an' 'er little uns. Sheain't no gadabaht. But she 'AVE a tongue, she 'ave"; the mother loweredher voice cautiously, lest the "lidy" should hear. "I don't deny it thatshe 'AVE a tongue, at times, through myself 'avin' suffered from it. Andwhen she DO go on, Lord bless you, why, there ain't no stoppin' of 'er. "

"Oh, she has a tongue, has she?" Travers replied, surveying the "case"critically. "Well, you know, she looks like it. "

"So she do, sir; so she do. An' Joe, 'e's a man as wouldn't 'urt abiby--not when 'e's sober, Joe wouldn't. But 'e'd bin aht; that's whereit is; an' 'e cum 'ome lite, a bit fresh, through 'avin' bin at thefriendly lead; an' my daughter, yer see, she up an' give it to 'im. My word, she DID give it to 'im! An' Joe, 'e's a peaceable man when 'eain't a bit fresh; 'e's more like a friend to 'er than an 'usband, Joeis; but 'e lost 'is temper that time, as yer may say, by reason o' bein'fresh, an' 'e knocked 'er abaht a little, an' knocked 'er teeth aht. Sowe brought 'er to the orspital. "

The injured woman raised herself up in bed with a vindictive scowl, displaying as she did so the same whale-like curved back as in the other"cases. " "But we've sent 'im to the lockup, " she continued, the scowlgiving way fast to a radiant joy of victory as she contemplated hertriumph "an' wot's more, I 'ad the last word of 'im. 'An 'e'll git sixmonth for this, the neighbours says; an' when he comes aht again, myGord, won't 'e ketch it!"

"You look capable of punishing him for it, " I answered, and as I spoke, I shuddered; for I saw her expression was precisely the expressionMrs. Le Geyt's face had worn for a passing second when her husbandaccidentally trod on her dress as we left the dining-room. 

My witch moved away. We followed. "Well, what do you say to it now?"she asked, gliding among the beds with noiseless feet and ministeringfingers. 

"Say to it?" I answered. "That it is wonderful, wonderful. You havequite convinced me. "

"You would think so, " Travers put in, "if you had been in this ward asoften as I have, and observed their faces. It's a dead certainty. Sooneror later, that type of woman is cock-sure to be assaulted. "

"In a certain rank of life, perhaps, " I answered, still loth to believeit; "but not surely in ours. Gentlemen do not knock down their wives andkick their teeth out. "

My Sibyl smiled. "No; there class tells, " she admitted. "They takelonger about it, and suffer more provocation. They curb their tempers. But in the end, one day, they are goaded beyond endurance; and then--aconvenient knife--a rusty old sword--a pair of scissors--anythingthat comes handy, like that dagger this morning. One wild blow--halfunpremeditated--and. . . The thing is done! Twelve good men and true willfind it wilful murder. "

I felt really perturbed. "But can we do nothing, " I cried, "to warn poorHugo?"

"Nothing, I fear, " she answered. "After all, character must work itselfout in its interactions with character. He has married that woman, and he must take the consequences. Does not each of us in life sufferperforce the Nemesis of his own temperament?"

"Then is there not also a type of men who assault their wives?"

"That is the odd part of it--no. All kinds, good and bad, quick andslow, can be driven to it at last. The quick-tempered stab or kick;the slow devise some deliberate means of ridding themselves of theirburden. "

"But surely we might caution Le Geyt of his danger!"

"It is useless. He would not believe us. We cannot be at his elbow tohold back his hand when the bad moment comes. Nobody will be there, asa matter of fact; for women of this temperament--born naggers, in short, since that's what it comes to--when they are also ladies, graceful andgracious as she is; never nag at all before outsiders. To the world, they are bland; everybody says, 'What charming talkers!' They are'angels abroad, devils at home, ' as the proverb puts it. Some night shewill provoke him when they are alone, till she has reached his utmostlimit of endurance--and then, " she drew one hand across her dove-likethroat, "it will be all finished. "

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it. We human beings go straight like sheep to our naturaldestiny. "

"But--that is fatalism. "

"No, not fatalism: insight into temperament. Fatalists believe that yourlife is arranged for you beforehand from without; willy-nilly, you MUSTact so. I only believe that in this jostling world your life is mostlydetermined by your own character, in its interaction with the charactersof those who surround you. Temperament works itself out. It is your ownacts and deeds that make up Fate for you. "

For some months after this meeting neither Hilda Wade nor I saw anythingmore of the Le Geyts. They left town for Scotland at the end of theseason; and when all the grouse had been duly slaughtered and all thesalmon duly hooked, they went on to Leicestershire for the opening offox-hunting; so it was not till after Christmas that they returned toCampden Hill. Meanwhile, I had spoken to Dr. Sebastian about Miss Wade, and on my recommendation he had found her a vacancy at our hospital. "Amost intelligent girl, Cumberledge, " he remarked to me with a rare burstof approval--for the Professor was always critical--after she had beenat work for some weeks at St. Nathaniel's. "I am glad you introducedher here. A nurse with brains is such a valuable accessory--unless, ofcourse, she takes to THINKING. But Nurse Wade never THINKS; she is auseful instrument--does what she's told, and carries out one's ordersimplicitly. "

"She knows enough to know when she doesn't know, " I answered, "which isreally the rarest kind of knowledge. "

"Unrecorded among young doctors!" the Professor retorted, with hissardonic smile. "They think they understand the human body from top totoe, when, in reality--well, they might do the measles!"

Early in January, I was invited again to lunch with the Le Geyts. HildaWade was invited, too. The moment we entered the house, we were both ofus aware that some grim change had come over it. Le Geyt met us in thehall, in his old genial style, it is true; but still with a certainreserve, a curious veiled timidity which we had not known in him. Big and good-humoured as he was, with kindly eyes beneath the shaggyeyebrows, he seemed strangely subdued now; the boyish buoyancy had goneout of him. He spoke rather lower than was his natural key, and welcomedus warmly, though less effusively than of old. An irreproachablehousemaid, in a spotless cap, ushered us into the transfigureddrawing-room. Mrs. Le Geyt, in a pretty cloth dress, neatly tailor-made, rose to meet us, beaming the vapid smile of the perfect hostess--thatimpartial smile which falls, like the rain from Heaven, on good andbad indifferently. "SO charmed to see you again, Dr. Cumberledge!" shebubbled out, with a cheerful air--she was always cheerful, mechanicallycheerful, from a sense of duty. "It IS such a pleasure to meet dearHugo's old friends! AND Miss Wade, too; how delightful! You look sowell, Miss Wade! Oh, you're both at St. Nathaniel's now, aren't you?So you can come together. What a privilege for you, Dr. Cumberledge, tohave such a clever assistant--or, rather, fellow-worker. It must be agreat life, yours, Miss Wade; such a sphere of usefulness! If we canonly feel we are DOING GOOD--that is the main matter. For my own part, I like to be mixed up with every good work that's going on in myneighbourhood. I'm the soup-kitchen, you know, and I'm visitor at theworkhouse; and I'm the Dorcas Society, and the Mutual Improvement Class;and the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and to Children, and I'm sureI don't know how much else; so that, what with all that, and what withdear Hugo and the darling children"--she glanced affectionately atMaisie and Ettie, who sat bolt upright, very mute and still, in theirbest and stiffest frocks, on two stools in the corner--"I can hardlyfind time for my social duties. "

"Oh, dear Mrs. Le Geyt, " one of her visitors said with effusion, from beneath a nodding bonnet--she was the wife of a rural deanfrom Staffordshire--"EVERYBODY is agreed that YOUR social duties areperformed to a marvel. They are the envy of Kensington. We all of uswonder, indeed, how one woman can find time for all of it!"

Our hostess looked pleased. "Well, yes, " she answered, gazing downat her fawn-coloured dress with a half-suppressed smile ofself-satisfaction, "I flatter myself I CAN get through about as muchwork in a day as anybody!" Her eye wandered round her rooms with amodest air of placid self-approval which was almost comic. Everything inthem was as well-kept and as well-polished as good servants, thoroughlydrilled, could make it. Not a stain or a speck anywhere. A miracle ofneatness. Indeed, when I carelessly drew the Norwegian dagger from itsscabbard, as we waited for lunch, and found that it stuck in the sheath, I almost started to discover that rust could intrude into that orderlyhousehold. 

I recollected then how Hilda Wade had pointed out to me during those sixmonths at St. Nathaniel's that the women whose husbands assaulted themwere almost always "notable housewives, " as they say in America--goodsouls who prided themselves not a little on their skill in management. They were capable, practical mothers of families, with a boundlessbelief in themselves, a sincere desire to do their duty, as far as theyunderstood it, and a habit of impressing their virtues upon otherswhich was quite beyond all human endurance. Placidity was their note;provoking placidity. I felt sure it must have been of a woman of thistype that the famous phrase was coined--"Elle a toutes les vertus--etelle est insupportable. "

"Clara, dear, " the husband said, "shall we go in to lunch?"

"You dear, stupid boy! Are we not all waiting for YOU to give your armto Lady Maitland?"

The lunch was perfect, and it was perfectly served. The silver glowed;the linen was marked with H. C. Le G. In a most artistic monogram. I noticed that the table decorations were extremely pretty. Somebodycomplimented our hostess upon them. Mrs. Le Geyt nodded and smiled--"_I_arranged them. Dear Hugo, in his blundering way--the big darling--forgotto get me the orchids I had ordered. So I had to make shift with whatfew things our own wee conservatory afforded. Still, with a little tasteand a little ingenuity--" She surveyed her handiwork with just pride, and left the rest to our imaginations. 

"Only you ought to explain, Clara--" Le Geyt began, in a deprecatorytone. 

"Now, you darling old bear, we won't harp on that twice-told taleagain, " Clara interrupted, with a knowing smile. "Point da rechauffes!Let us leave one another's misdeeds and one another's explanations fortheir proper sphere--the family circle. The orchids did NOT turn up, that is the point; and I managed to make shift with the plumbago and thegeraniums. Maisie, my sweet, NOT that pudding, IF you please; too richfor you, darling. I know your digestive capacities better than you do. I have told you fifty times it doesn't agree with you. A small slice ofthe other one!"

"Yes, mamma, " Maisie answered, with a cowed and cowering air. I feltsure she would have murmured, "Yes, mamma, " in the selfsame tone if thesecond Mrs. Le Geyt had ordered her to hang herself. 

"I saw you out in the park, yesterday, on your bicycle, Ettie, " LeGeyt's sister, Mrs. Mallet, put in. "But do you know, dear, I didn'tthink your jacket was half warm enough. "

"Mamma doesn't like me to wear a warmer one, " the child answered, with avisible shudder of recollection, "though I should love to, Aunt Lina. "

"My precious Ettie, what nonsense--for a violent exercise likebicycling! Where one gets so hot! So unbecomingly hot! You'd be simplystifled, darling. " I caught a darted glance which accompanied the wordsand which made Ettie recoil into the recesses of her pudding. 

"But yesterday was so cold, Clara, " Mrs. Mallet went on, actuallyventuring to oppose the infallible authority. "A nipping morning. Andsuch a flimsy coat! Might not the dear child be allowed to judge forherself in a matter purely of her own feelings?"

Mrs. Le Geyt, with just the shadow of a shrug, was all sweetreasonableness. She smiled more suavely than ever. "Surely, Lina, " sheremonstrated, in her frankest and most convincing tone, "_I_ must knowbest what is good for dear Ettie, when I have been watching herdaily for more than six months past, and taking the greatest painsto understand both her constitution and her disposition. She needshardening, Ettie does. Hardening. Don't you agree with me, Hugo?"

Le Geyt shuffled uneasily in his chair. Big man as he was, with hisgreat black beard and manly bearing, I could see he was afraid to differfrom her overtly. "Well, --m--perhaps, Clara, " he began, peering fromunder the shaggy eyebrows, "it would be best for a delicate child likeEttie--"

Mrs. Le Geyt smiled a compassionate smile. "Ah, I forgot, " she cooed, sweetly. "Dear Hugo never CAN understand the upbringing of children. Itis a sense denied him. We women know"--with a sage nod. "They were wildlittle savages when I took them in hand first--weren't you, Maisie? Doyou remember, dear, how you broke the looking-glass in the boudoir, likean untamed young monkey? Talking of monkeys, Mr. Cotswould, HAVE youseen those delightful, clever, amusing French pictures at that place inSuffolk Street? There's a man there--a Parisian--I forget his honouredname--Leblanc, or Lenoir, or Lebrun, or something--but he's a mosthumorous artist, and he paints monkeys and storks and all sorts of queerbeasties ALMOST as quaintly and expressively as you do. Mind, I sayALMOST, for I never will allow that any Frenchman could do anythingQUITE so good, quite so funnily mock-human, as your marabouts andprofessors. "

"What a charming hostess Mrs. Le Geyt makes, " the painter observed tome, after lunch. "Such tact! Such discrimination!. . . AND, what a devotedstepmother!"

"She is one of the local secretaries of the Society for the Preventionof Cruelty to Children, " I said, drily. 

"And charity begins at home, " Hilda Wade added, in a significant aside. 

We walked home together as far as Stanhope Gate. Our sense of doomoppressed us. "And yet, " I said, turning to her, as we left thedoorstep, "I don't doubt Mrs. Le Geyt really believes she IS a modelstepmother!"

"Of course she believes it, " my witch answered. "She has no more doubtabout that than about anything else. Doubts are not in her line. Shedoes everything exactly as it ought to be done--who should know, if notshe?--and therefore she is never afraid of criticism. Hardening, indeed!that poor slender, tender, shrinking little Ettie! A frail exotic. Shewould harden her into a skeleton if she had her way. Nothing's muchharder than a skeleton, I suppose, except Mrs. Le Geyt's manner oftraining one. "

"I should be sorry to think, " I broke in, "that that sweet littlefloating thistle-down of a child I once knew was to be done to death byher. "

"Oh, as for that, she will NOT be done to death, " Hilda answered, in herconfident way. "Mrs. Le Geyt won't live long enough. "

I started. "You think not?"

"I don't think, I am sure of it. We are at the fifth act now. I watchedMr. Le Geyt closely all through lunch, and I'm more confident than everthat the end is coming. He is temporarily crushed; but he is like steamin a boiler, seething, seething, seething. One day she will sit on thesafety-valve, and the explosion will come. When it comes"--she raisedaloft one quick hand in the air as if striking a dagger home--"good-byeto her!"

For the next few months I saw much of Le Geyt; and the more I saw ofhim, the more I saw that my witch's prognosis was essentially correct. They never quarrelled; but Mrs. Le Geyt, in her unobtrusive way, held aquiet hand over her husband which became increasingly apparent. In themidst of her fancy-work (those busy fingers were never idle) she kepther eyes well fixed on him. Now and again I saw him glance at hismotherless girls with what looked like a tender, protecting regret;especially when "Clara" had been most openly drilling them; but he darednot interfere. She was crushing their spirit, as she was crushing theirfather's--and all, bear in mind, for the best of motives! She had theirinterest at heart; she wanted to do what was right for them. Her mannerto him and to them was always honey-sweet--in all externals; yet onecould somehow feel it was the velvet glove that masked the iron hand;not cruel, not harsh even, but severely, irresistibly, unflinchinglycrushing. "Ettie, my dear, get your brown hat at once. What's that?Going to rain? I did not ask you, my child, for YOUR opinion on theweather. My own suffices. A headache? Oh, nonsense! Headaches are causedby want of exercise. Nothing so good for a touch of headache as a nicebrisk walk in Kensington Gardens. Maisie, don't hold your sister's handlike that; it is imitation sympathy! You are aiding and abetting herin setting my wishes at naught. Now, no long faces! What _I_ require isCHEERFUL obedience. "

A bland, autocratic martinet: smiling, inexorable! Poor, pale Ettie grewthinner and wanner under her law daily, while Maisie's temper, naturallydocile, was being spoiled before one's eyes by persistent, needlessthwarting. 

As spring came on, however, I began to hope that things werereally mending. Le Geyt looked brighter; some of his own careless, happy-go-lucky self came back again at intervals. He told me once, witha wistful sigh, that he thought of sending the children to school in thecountry--it would be better for them, he said, and would take a littlework off dear Clara's shoulders; for never even to me was he disloyalto Clara. I encouraged him in the idea. He went on to say that thegreat difficulty in the way was. . . Clara. She was SO conscientious; shethought it her duty to look after the children herself, and couldn'tbear to delegate any part of that duty to others. Besides, she had suchan excellent opinion of the Kensington High School!

When I told Hilda Wade of this, she set her teeth together and answeredat once: "That settles it! The end is very near. HE will insist upontheir going, to save them from that woman's ruthless kindness; and SHEwill refuse to give up any part of what she calls her duty. HE willreason with her; he will plead for his children; SHE will be adamant. Not angry--it is never the way of that temperament to get angry--justcalmly, sedately, and insupportably provoking. When she goes too far, he will flare up at last; some taunt will rouse him; the explosion willcome; and. . . The children will go to their Aunt Lina, whom they doteupon. When all is said and done, it is the poor man I pity!"

"You said within twelve months. "

"That was a bow drawn at a venture. It may be a little sooner; it maybe a little later. But--next week or next month--it is coming: it iscoming!"

June smiled upon us once more; and on the afternoon of the 13th, theanniversary of our first lunch together at the Le Geyts, I was up at mywork in the accident ward at St. Nathaniel's. "Well, the ides of Junehave come, Sister Wade!" I said, when I met her, parodying Caesar. 

"But not yet gone, " she answered; and a profound sense of forebodingspread over her speaking face as she uttered the words. 

Her oracle disquieted me. "Why, I dined there last night, " I cried; "andall seemed exceptionally well. "

"The calm before the storm, perhaps, " she murmured. 

Just at that moment I heard a boy crying in the street: "Pall mallGazette; 'ere y'are; speshul edishun! Shocking tragedy at the West-end!Orful murder! 'Ere y'are! Spechul Globe! Pall Mall, extry speshul!"

A weird tremor broke over me. I walked down into the street and boughta paper. There it stared me in the face on the middle page: "Tragedyat Campden Hill: Well-known Barrister Murders his Wife. SensationalDetails. "

I looked closer and read. It was as I feared. The Le Geyts! After I lefttheir house, the night before, husband and wife must have quarrelled, no doubt over the question of the children's schooling; and at someprovoking word, as it seemed, Hugo must have snatched up a knife--"alittle ornamental Norwegian dagger, " the report said, "which happenedto lie close by on the cabinet in the drawing-room, " and plunged itinto his wife's heart. "The unhappy lady died instantaneously, by allappearances, and the dastardly crime was not discovered by the servantstill eight o'clock this morning. Mr. Le Geyt is missing. "

I rushed up with the news to Nurse Wade, who was at work in the accidentward. She turned pale, but bent over her patient and said nothing. 

"It is fearful to think!" I groaned out at last; "for us who knowall--that poor Le Geyt will be hanged for it! Hanged for attempting toprotect his children!"

"He will NOT be hanged, " my witch answered, with the same unquestioningconfidence as ever. 

"Why not?" I asked, astonished once more at this bold prediction. 

She went on bandaging the arm of the patient whom she was attending. "Because. . . He will commit suicide, " she replied, without moving amuscle. 

"How do you know that?"

She stuck a steel safety-pin with deft fingers into the roll of lint. "When I have finished my day's work, " she answered slowly, stillcontinuing the bandage, "I may perhaps find time to tell you. "

CHAPTER IV

THE EPISODE OF THE MAN WHO WOULD NOT COMMIT SUICIDE

After my poor friend Le Geyt had murdered his wife, in a sudden accessof uncontrollable anger, under the deepest provocation, the policenaturally began to inquire for him. It is a way they have; the policeare no respecters of persons; neither do they pry into the question ofmotives. They are but poor casuists. A murder is for them a murder, anda murderer a murderer; it is not their habit to divide and distinguishbetween case and case with Hilda Wade's analytical accuracy. 

As soon as my duties at St. Nathaniel's permitted me, on the evening ofthe discovery, I rushed round to Mrs. Mallet's, Le Geyt's sister. Ihad been detained at the hospital for some hours, however, watching acritical case; and by the time I reached Great Stanhope Street I foundHilda Wade, in her nurse's dress, there before me. Sebastian, it seemed, had given her leave out for the evening. She was a supernumerary nurse, attached to his own observation-cots as special attendant for scientificpurposes, and she could generally get an hour or so whenever sherequired it. 

Mrs. Mallet had been in the breakfast-room with Hilda before I arrived;but as I reached the house she rushed upstairs to wash her red eyes andcompose herself a little before the strain of meeting me; so I had theopportunity for a few words alone first with my prophetic companion. 

"You said just now at Nathaniel's, " I burst out, "that Le Geyt wouldnot be hanged: he would commit suicide. What did you mean by that? Whatreason had you for thinking so?"

Hilda sank into a chair by the open window, pulled a flower abstractedlyfrom the vase at her side, and began picking it to pieces, floret afterfloret, with twitching fingers. She was deeply moved. "Well, considerhis family history, " she burst out at last, looking up at me with herlarge brown eyes as she reached the last petal. "Heredity counts. . . . Andafter such a disaster!"

She said "disaster, " not "crime"; I noted mentally the reservationimplied in the word. 

"Heredity counts, " I answered. "Oh, yes. It counts much. But what aboutLe Geyt's family history?" I could not recall any instance of suicideamong his forbears. 

"Well--his mother's father was General Faskally, you know, " she replied, after a pause, in her strange, oblique manner. "Mr. Le Geyt is GeneralFaskally's eldest grandson. "

"Exactly, " I broke in, with a man's desire for solid fact in place ofvague intuition. "But I fail to see quite what that has to do with it. "

"The General was killed in India during the Mutiny. "

"I remember, of course--killed, bravely fighting. "

"Yes; but it was on a forlorn hope, for which he volunteered, and inthe course of which he is said to have walked straight into an almostobvious ambuscade of the enemy's. "

"Now, my dear Miss Wade"--I always dropped the title of "Nurse, " byrequest, when once we were well clear of Nathaniel's, --"I have everyconfidence, you are aware, in your memory and your insight; but I doconfess I fail to see what bearing this incident can have on poor Hugo'schances of being hanged or committing suicide. "

She picked a second flower, and once more pulled out petal after petal. As she reached the last again, she answered, slowly: "You must haveforgotten the circumstances. It was no mere accident. General Faskallyhad made a serious strategical blunder at Jhansi. He had sacrificedthe lives of his subordinates needlessly. He could not bear to face thesurvivors. In the course of the retreat, he volunteered to go on thisforlorn hope, which might equally well have been led by an officer oflower rank; and he was permitted to do so by Sir Colin in command, as ameans of retrieving his lost military character. He carried his point, but he carried it recklessly, taking care to be shot through the hearthimself in the first onslaught. That was virtual suicide--honourablesuicide to avoid disgrace, at a moment of supreme remorse and horror. "

"You are right, " I admitted, after a minute's consideration. "I see itnow--though I should never have thought of it. "

"That is the use of being a woman, " she answered. 

I waited a second once more, and mused. "Still, that is only onedoubtful case, " I objected. 

"There was another, you must remember: his uncle Alfred. "

"Alfred Le Geyt?"

"No; HE died in his bed, quietly. Alfred Faskally. "

"What a memory you have!" I cried, astonished. "Why, that was before ourtime--in the days of the Chartist riots!"

She smiled a certain curious sibylline smile of hers. Her earnest facelooked prettier than ever. "I told you I could remember many things thathappened before I was born, " she answered. "THIS is one of them. "

"You remember it directly?"

"How impossible! Have I not often explained to you that I am no diviner?I read no book of fate; I call no spirits from the vasty deep. I simplyremember with exceptional clearness what I read and hear. And I havemany times heard the story about Alfred Faskally. "

"So have I--but I forget it. "

"Unfortunately, I CAN'T forget. That is a sort of disease with me. . . . Hewas a special constable in the Chartist riots; and being a very strongand powerful man, like his nephew Hugo, he used his truncheon--hisspecial constable's baton, or whatever you call it--with excessive forceupon a starveling London tailor in the mob near Charing Cross. The manwas hit on the forehead--badly hit, so that he died almost immediatelyof concussion of the brain. A woman rushed out of the crowd at once, seized the dying man, laid his head on her lap, and shrieked out ina wildly despairing voice that he was her husband, and the father ofthirteen children. Alfred Faskally, who never meant to kill the man, or even to hurt him, but who was laying about him roundly, withoutrealising the terrific force of his blows, was so horrified at what hehad done when he heard the woman's cry, that he rushed off straight toWaterloo Bridge in an agony of remorse and--flung himself over. He wasdrowned instantly. "

"I recall the story now, " I answered; "but, do you know, as it was toldme, I think they said the mob THREW Faskally over in their desire forvengeance. "

"That is the official account, as told by the Le Geyts and theFaskallys; they like to have it believed their kinsman was murdered, notthat he committed suicide. But my grandfather"--I started; during thetwelve months that I had been brought into daily relations with HildaWade, that was the first time I had heard her mention any member of herown family, except once her mother--"my grandfather, who knew him well, and who was present in the crowd at the time, assured me many times thatAlfred Faskally really jumped over of his own accord, NOT pursued by themob, and that his last horrified words as he leaped were, 'I never meantit! I never meant it!' However, the family have always had luck in theirsuicides. The jury believed the throwing-over story, and found a verdictof 'wilful murder' against some person or persons unknown. "

"Luck in their suicides! What a curious phrase! And you say, ALWAYS. Were there other cases, then?"

"Constructively, yes; one of the Le Geyts, you must recollect, went downwith his ship (just like his uncle, the General, in India) when he mighthave quitted her. It is believed he had given a mistaken order. Youremember, of course; he was navigating lieutenant. Another, Marcus, wasSAID to have shot himself by accident while cleaning his gun--after aquarrel with his wife. But you have heard all about it. 'The wrong wason my side, ' he moaned, you know, when they picked him up, dying, in thegun-room. And one of the Faskally girls, his cousin, of whom his wifewas jealous--that beautiful Linda--became a Catholic, and went into aconvent at once on Marcus's death; which, after all, in such cases, ismerely a religious and moral way of committing suicide--I mean, for awoman who takes the veil just to cut herself off from the world, and whohas no vocation, as I hear she had not. "

She filled me with amazement. "That is true, " I exclaimed, "when onecomes to think of it. It shows the same temperament in fibre. . . . But Ishould never have thought of it. "

"No? Well, I believe it is true, for all that. In every case, onesees they choose much the same way of meeting a reverse, a blunder, anunpremeditated crime. The brave way is to go through with it, and facethe music, letting what will come; the cowardly way is to hide one'shead incontinently in a river, a noose, or a convent cell. "

"Le Geyt is not a coward, " I interposed, with warmth. 

"No, not, a coward--a manly spirited, great-hearted gentleman--butstill, not quite of the bravest type. He lacks one element. The Le Geytshave physical courage--enough and to spare--but their moral couragefails them at a pinch. They rush into suicide or its equivalent atcritical moments, out of pure boyish impulsiveness. "

A few minutes later, Mrs. Mallet came in. She was not broken down--onthe contrary, she was calm--stoically, tragically, pitiably calm;with that ghastly calmness which is more terrible by far than the mostdemonstrative grief. Her face, though deadly white, did not move amuscle. Not a tear was in her eyes. Even her bloodless hands hardlytwitched at the folds of her hastily assumed black gown. She clenchedthem after a minute when she had grasped mine silently; I could see thatthe nails dug deep into the palms in her painful resolve to keep herselffrom collapsing. 

Hilda Wade, with infinite sisterly tenderness, led her over to a chairby the window in the summer twilight, and took one quivering hand inhers. "I have been telling Dr. Cumberledge, Lina, about what I most fearfor your dear brother, darling; and. . . I think. . . He agrees with me. "

Mrs. Mallet turned to me, with hollow eyes, still preserving her tragiccalm. "I am afraid of it, too, " she said, her drawn lips tremulous. "Dr. Cumberledge, we must get him back! We must induce him to face it!"

"And yet, " I answered, slowly, turning it over in my own mind; "hehas run away at first. Why should he do that if he means--to commitsuicide?" I hated to utter the words before that broken soul; but therewas no way out of it. 

Hilda interrupted me with a quiet suggestion. "How do you know he hasrun away?" she asked. "Are you not taking it for granted that, if hemeant suicide, he would blow his brains out in his own house? But surelythat would not be the Le Geyt way. They are gentle-natured folk; theywould never blow their brains out or cut their throats. For all we know, he may have made straight for Waterloo Bridge, "--she framed her lips tothe unspoken words, unseen by Mrs. Mallet, --"like his uncle Alfred. "

"That is true, " I answered, lip-reading. "I never thought of thateither. "

"Still, I do not attach importance to this idea, " she went on. "I havesome reason for thinking he has run away. . . Elsewhere; and if so, ourfirst task must be to entice him back again. "

"What are your reasons?" I asked, humbly. Whatever they might be, I knewenough of Hilda Wade by this time to know that she had probably goodgrounds for accepting them. 

"Oh, they may wait for the present, " she answered. "Other things aremore pressing. First, let Lina tell us what she thinks of most moment. "

Mrs. Mallet braced herself up visibly to a distressing effort. "You haveseen the body, Dr. Cumberledge?" she faltered. 

"No, dear Mrs. Mallet, I have not. I came straight from Nathaniel's. Ihave had no time to see it. "

"Dr. Sebastian has viewed it by my wish--he has been so kind--and hewill be present as representing the family at the post-mortem. He notesthat the wound was inflicted with a dagger--a small ornamental Norwegiandagger, which always lay, as I know, on the little what-not by the bluesofa. "

I nodded assent. "Exactly; I have seen it there. "

"It was blunt and rusty--a mere toy knife--not at all the sort of weapona man would make use of who designed to commit a deliberate murder. Thecrime, if there WAS a crime (which we do not admit), must therefore havebeen wholly unpremeditated. "

I bowed my head. "For us who knew Hugo that goes without saying. "

She leaned forward eagerly. "Dr. Sebastian has pointed out to me a lineof defence which would probably succeed--if we could only induce poorHugo to adopt it. He has examined the blade and scabbard, and finds thatthe dagger fits its sheath very tight, so that it can only be withdrawnwith considerable violence. The blade sticks. " (I nodded again. ) "Itneeds a hard pull to wrench it out. . . . He has also inspected thewound, and assures me its character is such that it MIGHT have beenself-inflicted. " She paused now and again, and brought out her wordswith difficulty. "Self-inflicted, he suggests; therefore, that THIS mayhave happened. It is admitted--WILL be admitted--the servants overheardit--we can make no reservation there--a difference of opinion, analtercation, even, took place between Hugo and Clara that evening"--shestarted suddenly--"why, it was only last night--it seems like ages--analtercation about the children's schooling. Clara held strong views onthe subject of the children"--her eyes blinked hard--"which Hugo did notshare. We throw out the hint, then, that Clara, during the course of thedispute--we must call it a dispute--accidentally took up this dagger andtoyed with it. You know her habit of toying, when she had no knitting orneedlework. In the course of playing with it (we suggest) she tried topull the knife out of its sheath; failed; held it up, so, point upward;pulled again; pulled harder--with a jerk, at last the sheath came off;the dagger sprang up; it wounded Clara fatally. Hugo, knowing that theyhad disagreed, knowing that the servants had heard, and seeing herfall suddenly dead before him, was seized with horror--the Le Geytimpulsiveness!--lost his head; rushed out; fancied the accident would bemistaken for murder. But why? A Q. C. , don't you know! Recently married!Most attached to his wife. It is plausible, isn't it?"

"So plausible, " I answered, looking it straight in the face, "that. . . Ithas but one weak point. We might make a coroner's jury or even a commonjury accept it, on Sebastian's expert evidence. Sebastian can workwonders; but we could never make--"

Hilda Wade finished the sentence for me as I paused: "Hugo Le Geytconsent to advance it. "

I lowered my head. "You have said it, " I answered. 

"Not for the children's sake?" Mrs. Mallet cried, with clasped hands. 

"Not for the children's sake, even, " I answered. "Consider for a moment, Mrs. Mallet: IS it true? Do you yourself BELIEVE it?"

She threw herself back in her chair with a dejected face. "Oh, as forthat, " she cried, wearily, crossing her hands, "before you and Hilda, who know all, what need to prevaricate? How CAN I believe it? Weunderstand how it came about. That woman! That woman!"

"The real wonder is, " Hilda murmured, soothing her white hand, "that hecontained himself so long!"

"Well, we all know Hugo, " I went on, as quietly as I was able; "and, knowing Hugo, we know that he might be urged to commit this wild act ina fierce moment of indignation--righteous indignation on behalf of hismotherless girls, under tremendous provocation. But we also knowthat, having once committed it, he would never stoop to disown it by asubterfuge. "

The heart-broken sister let her head drop faintly. "So Hilda told me, "she murmured; "and what Hilda says in these matters is almost alwaysfinal. "

We debated the question for some minutes more. Then Mrs. Mallet criedat last: "At any rate, he has fled for the moment, and his flight alonebrings the worst suspicion upon him. That is our chief point. We mustfind out where he is; and if he has gone right away, we must bring himback to London. "

"Where do you think he has taken refuge?"

"The police, Dr. Sebastian has ascertained, are watching the railwaystations, and the ports for the Continent. "

"Very like the police!" Hilda exclaimed, with more than a touch ofcontempt in her voice. "As if a clever man-of-the-world like HugoLe Geyt would run away by rail, or start off to the Continent! EveryEnglishman is noticeable on the Continent. It would be sheer madness!"

"You think he has not gone there, then?" I cried, deeply interested. 

"Of course not. That is the point I hinted at just now. He has defendedmany persons accused of murder, and he often spoke to me of theirincredible folly, when trying to escape, in going by rail, or in settingout from England for Paris. An Englishman, he used to say, is leastobserved in his own country. In this case, I think I KNOW where he hasgone, how he went there. "

"Where, then?"

"WHERE comes last; HOW first. It is a question of inference. "

"Explain. We know your powers. "

"Well, I take it for granted that he killed her--we must not mincematters--about twelve o'clock; for after that hour, the servants toldLina, there was quiet in the drawing-room. Next, I conjecture, he wentupstairs to change his clothes: he could not go forth on the world inan evening suit; and the housemaid says his black coat and trousers werelying as usual on a chair in his dressing-room--which shows at leastthat he was not unduly flurried. After that, he put on another suit, no doubt--WHAT suit I hope the police will not discover too soon; forI suppose you must just accept the situation that we are conspiring todefeat the ends of justice. "

"No, no!" Mrs. Mallet cried. "To bring him back voluntarily, that he mayface his trial like a man!"

"Yes, dear. That is quite right. However, the next thing, of course, would be that he would shave in whole or in part. His big black beardwas so very conspicuous; he would certainly get rid of that beforeattempting to escape. The servants being in bed, he was not pressed fortime; he had the whole night before him. So, of course, he shaved. On the other hand, the police, you may be sure, will circulate hisphotograph--we must not shirk these points"--for Mrs. Mallet wincedagain--"will circulate his photograph, BEARD AND ALL; and that willreally be one of our great safeguards; for the bushy beard so masks theface that, without it, Hugo would be scarcely recognisable. I conclude, therefore, that he must have shorn himself BEFORE leaving home; thoughnaturally I did not make the police a present of the hint by gettingLina to ask any questions in that direction of the housemaid. "

"You are probably right, " I answered. "But would he have a razor?"

"I was coming to that. No; certainly he would not. He had not shaved foryears. And they kept no men-servants; which makes it difficult for himto borrow one from a sleeping man. So what he would do would doubtlessbe to cut off his beard, or part of it, quite close, with a pair ofscissors, and then get himself properly shaved next morning in the firstcountry town he came to. "

"The first country town?"

"Certainly. That leads up to the next point. We must try to be cool andcollected. " She was quivering with suppressed emotion herself, as shesaid it, but her soothing hand still lay on Mrs. Mallet's. "The nextthing is--he would leave London. "

"But not by rail, you say?"

"He is an intelligent man, and in the course of defending others hasthought about this matter. Why expose himself to the needless risk andobservation of a railway station? No; I saw at once what he woulddo. Beyond doubt, he would cycle. He always wondered it was not doneoftener, under similar circumstances. "

"But has his bicycle gone?"

"Lina looked. It has not. I should have expected as much. I told her tonote that point very unobtrusively, so as to avoid giving the police theclue. She saw the machine in the outer hall as usual. "

"He is too good a criminal lawyer to have dreamt of taking his own, "Mrs. Mallet interposed, with another effort. 

"But where could he have hired or bought one at that time of night?" Iexclaimed. 

"Nowhere--without exciting the gravest suspicion. Therefore, I conclude, he stopped in London for the night, sleeping at an hotel, withoutluggage, and paying for his room in advance. It is frequently done, andif he arrived late, very little notice would be taken of him. Big hotelsabout the Strand, I am told, have always a dozen such casual bachelorguests every evening. "

"And then?"

"And then, this morning, he would buy a new bicycle--a different makefrom his own, at the nearest shop; would rig himself out, atsome ready-made tailor's, with a fresh tourist suit--probablyan ostentatiously tweedy bicycling suit; and, with that in hisluggage-carrier, would make straight on his machine for the country. He could change in some copse, and bury his own clothes, avoiding theblunders he has seen in others. Perhaps he might ride for the firsttwenty or thirty miles out of London to some minor side-station, andthen go on by train towards his destination, quitting the rail againat some unimportant point where the main west road crosses the GreatWestern or the South-Western line. "

"Great Western or South-Western? Why those two in particular? Then, youhave settled in your own mind which direction he has taken?"

"Pretty well. I judge by analogy. Lina, your brother was brought up inthe West Country, was he not?"

Mrs. Mallet gave a weary nod. "In North Devon, " she answered; "on thewild stretch of moor about Hartland and Clovelly. "

Hilda Wade seemed to collect herself. "Now, Mr. Le Geyt is essentiallya Celt--a Celt in temperament, " she went on; "he comes by origin andancestry from a rough, heather-clad country; he belongs to the moorland. In other words, his type is the mountaineer's. But a mountaineer'sinstinct in similar circumstances is--what? Why, to fly straight to hisnative mountains. In an agony of terror, in an access of despair, whenall else fails, he strikes a bee-line for the hills he loves; rationallyor irrationally, he seems to think he can hide there. Hugo Le Geyt, withhis frank boyish nature, his great Devonian frame, is sure to have doneso. I know his mood. He has made for the West Country!"

"You are, right, Hilda, " Mrs. Mallet exclaimed, with conviction. "I'mquite sure, from what I know of Hugo, that to go to the West would behis first impulse. "

"And the Le Geyts are always governed by first impulses, " mycharacter-reader added. 

She was quite correct. From the time we two were at Oxford together--Ias an undergraduate, he as a don--I had always noticed that marked traitin my dear old friend's temperament. 

After a short pause, Hilda broke the silence again. "The sea again; thesea! The Le Geyts love the water. Was there any place on the sea wherehe went much as a boy--any lonely place, I mean, in that North Devondistrict?"

Mrs. Mallet reflected a moment. "Yes, there was a little bay--a meregap in high cliffs, with some fishermen's huts and a few yardsof beach--where he used to spend much of his holidays. It was aweird-looking break in a grim sea-wall of dark-red rocks, where the tiderose high, rolling in from the Atlantic. "

"The very thing! Has he visited it since he grew up?"

"To my knowledge, never. "

Hilda's voice had a ring of certainty. "Then THAT is where we shall findhim, dear! We must look there first. He is sure to revisit just such asolitary spot by the sea when trouble overtakes him. "

Later in the evening, as we were walking home towards Nathaniel'stogether, I asked Hilda why she had spoken throughout with suchunwavering confidence. "Oh, it was simple enough, " she answered. "Therewere two things that helped me through, which I didn't like to mentionin detail before Lina. One was this: the Le Geyts have all of them aninstinctive horror of the sight of blood; therefore, they almost nevercommit suicide by shooting themselves or cutting their throats. Marcus, who shot himself in the gun-room, was an exception to both rules; henever minded blood; he could cut up a deer. But Hugo refused to be adoctor, because he could not stand the sight of an operation; and evenas a sportsman he never liked to pick up or handle the game he had shothimself; he said it sickened him. He rushed from that room last night, I feel sure, in a physical horror at the deed he had done; and by nowhe is as far as he can get from London. The sight of his act drove himaway; not craven fear of an arrest. If the Le Geyts kill themselves--aseafaring race on the whole--their impulse is to trust to water. "

"And the other thing?"

"Well, that was about the mountaineer's homing instinct. I have oftennoticed it. I could give you fifty instances, only I didn't like tospeak of them before Lina. There was Williams, for example, the Dolgellyman who killed a game-keeper at Petworth in a poaching affray; he wastaken on Cader Idris, skulking among rocks, a week later. Then therewas that unhappy young fellow, Mackinnon, who shot his sweetheart atLeicester; he made, straight as the crow flies, for his home in theIsle of Skye, and there drowned himself in familiar waters. Lindner, theTyrolese, again, who stabbed the American swindler at Monte Carlo, was tracked after a few days to his native place, St. Valentin, inthe Zillerthal. It is always so. Mountaineers in distress fly to theirmountains. It is a part of their nostalgia. I know it from within, too:if _I_ were in poor Hugo LeGeyt's place, what do you think I would do?Why, hide myself at once in the greenest recesses of our Carnarvonshiremountains. "

"What an extraordinary insight into character you have!" I cried. "You seem to divine what everybody's action will be under givencircumstances. "

She paused, and held her parasol half poised in her hand. "Characterdetermines action, " she said, slowly, at last. "That is the secretof the great novelists. They put themselves behind and within theircharacters, and so make us feel that every act of their personagesis not only natural but even--given the conditions--inevitable. We recognise that their story is the sole logical outcome of theinteraction of their dramatis personae. Now, _I_ am not a greatnovelist; I cannot create and imagine characters and situations. But Ihave something of the novelist's gift; I apply the same method to thereal life of the people around me. I try to throw myself into the personof others, and to feel how their character will compel them to act ineach set of circumstances to which they may expose themselves. "

"In one word, " I said, "you are a psychologist. "

"A psychologist, " she assented; "I suppose so; and the police--well, thepolice are not; they are at best but bungling materialists. They requirea CLUE. What need of a CLUE if you can interpret character?"

So certain was Hilda Wade of her conclusions, indeed, that Mrs. Malletbegged me next day to take my holiday at once--which I could easilydo--and go down to the little bay in the Hartland district of which shehad spoken, in search of Hugo. I consented. She herself proposed to setout quietly for Bideford, where she could be within easy reach of me, inorder to hear of my success or failure; while Hilda Wade, whose summervacation was to have begun in two days' time, offered to ask for anextra day's leave so as to accompany her. The broken-hearted sisteraccepted the offer; and, secrecy being above all things necessary, we set off by different routes: the two women by Waterloo, myself byPaddington. 

We stopped that night at different hotels in Bideford; but next morning, Hilda rode out on her bicycle, and accompanied me on mine for a mile ortwo along the tortuous way towards Hartland. "Take nothing for granted, "she said, as we parted; "and be prepared to find poor Hugo Le Geyt'sappearance greatly changed. He has eluded the police and their 'clues'so far; therefore, I imagine he must have largely altered his dress andexterior. "

"I will find him, " I answered, "if he is anywhere within twenty miles ofHartland. "

She waved her hand to me in farewell. I rode on after she left metowards the high promontory in front, the wildest and least-visited partof North Devon. Torrents of rain had fallen during the night; the slimycart-ruts and cattle-tracks on the moor were brimming with water. Itwas a lowering day. The clouds drifted low. Black peat-bogs filled thehollows; grey stone homesteads, lonely and forbidding, stood out hereand there against the curved sky-line. Even the high road was uneven andin places flooded. For an hour I passed hardly a soul. At last, near acrossroad with a defaced finger-post, I descended from my machine, andconsulted my ordnance map, on which Mrs. Mallet had marked ominously, with a cross of red rink, the exact position of the little fishinghamlet where Hugo used to spend his holidays. I took the turning whichseemed to me most likely to lead to it; but the tracks were so confused, and the run of the lanes so uncertain--let alone the map being someyears out of date--that I soon felt I had lost my bearings. By a littlewayside inn, half hidden in a deep combe, with bog on every side, Idescended and asked for a bottle of ginger-beer; for the day was hot andclose, in spite of the packed clouds. As they were opening the bottle, Iinquired casually the way to the Red Gap bathing-place. 

The landlord gave me directions which confused me worse than ever, ending at last with the concise remark: "An' then, zur, two or dree moreturns to the right an' to the left 'ull bring 'ee right up alongzide o'ut. "

I despaired of finding the way by these unintelligible sailing-orders;but just at that moment, as luck would have it, another cyclist flewpast--the first soul I had seen on the road that morning. He was a manwith the loose-knit air of a shop assistant, badly got up in arather loud and obtrusive tourist suit of brown homespun, with baggyknickerbockers and thin thread stockings. I judged him a gentleman onthe cheap at sight. "Very Stylish; this Suit Complete, only thirty-sevenand sixpence!" The landlady glanced out at him with a friendly nod. Heturned and smiled at her, but did not see me; for I stood in the shadebehind the half-open door. He had a short black moustache and a notunpleasing, careless face. His features, I thought, were better than hisgarments. 

However, the stranger did not interest me just then I was far too fullof more important matters. "Why don't 'ee taake an' vollow thik thergen'leman, zur?" the landlady said, pointing one large red hand afterhim. "Ur do go down to Urd Gap to zwim every marnin'. Mr. Jan Smith, o'Oxford, they do call un. 'Ee can't go wrong if 'ee do vollow un to theGap. Ur's lodgin' up to wold Varmer Moore's, an' ur's that vond o' thezay, the vishermen do tell me, as wasn't never any gen'leman like un. "

I tossed off my ginger-beer, jumped on to my machine, and followedthe retreating brown back of Mr. John Smith, of Oxford--surely a mostnon-committing name--round sharp corners and over rutty lanes, tire-deepin mud, across the rusty-red moor, till, all at once, at a turn, a gapof stormy sea appeared wedge-shape between two shelving rock-walls. 

It was a lonely spot. Rocks hemmed it in; big breakers walled it. Thesou'-wester roared through the gap. I rode down among loose stones andwater-worn channels in the solid grit very carefully. But the man inbrown had torn over the wild path with reckless haste, zigzagging madly, and was now on the little three-cornered patch of beach, undressinghimself with a sort of careless glee, and flinging his clothes downanyhow on the shingle beside him. Something about the action caught myeye. That movement of the arm! It was not--it could not be--no, no, notHugo!

A very ordinary person; and Le Geyt bore the stamp of a born gentleman. 

He stood up bare at last. He flung out his arms, as if to welcomethe boisterous wind to his naked bosom. Then, with a sudden burst ofrecognition, the man stood revealed. We had bathed together a hundredtimes in London and elsewhere. The face, the clad figure, the dress, allwere different. But the body--the actual frame and make of the man--thewell-knit limbs, the splendid trunk--no disguise could alter. It was LeGeyt himself--big, powerful, vigorous. 

That ill-made suit, those baggy knickerbockers, the slouched cap, thethin thread stockings, had only distorted and hidden his figure. Nowthat I saw him as he was, he came out the same bold and manly form asever. 

He did not notice me. He rushed down with a certain wild joy into theturbulent water, and, plunging in with a loud cry, buffeted the hugewaves with those strong curving arms of his. The sou'-wester was rising. Each breaker as it reared caught him on its crest and tumbled him overlike a cork, but like a cork he rose again. He was swimming now, armover arm, straight out seaward. I saw the lifted hands between the crestand the trough. For a moment I hesitated whether I ought to stripand follow him. Was he doing as so many others of his house haddone--courting death from the water?

But some strange hand restrained me. Who was I that I should standbetween Hugo Le Geyt and the ways of Providence?

The Le Geyts loved ever the ordeal by water. 

Presently, he turned again. Before he turned, I had taken theopportunity to look hastily at his clothes. Hilda Wade had surmisedaright once more. The outer suit was a cheap affair from a bigready-made tailor's in St. Martin's Lane--turned out by the thousand;the underclothing, on the other hand, was new and unmarked, but finein quality--bought, no doubt, at Bideford. An eerie sense of doom stoleover me. I felt the end was near. I withdrew behind a big rock, andwaited there unseen till Hugo had landed. He began to dress again, without troubling to dry himself. I drew a deep breath of relief. Thenthis was not suicide!

By the time he had pulled on his vest and drawers, I came out suddenlyfrom my ambush and faced him. A fresh shock awaited me. I could hardlybelieve my eyes. It was NOT Le Geyt--no, nor anything like him!

Nevertheless, the man rose with a little cry and advanced, halfcrouching, towards me. "YOU are not hunting me down--with the police?"he exclaimed, his neck held low and his forehead wrinkling. 

The voice--the voice was Le Geyt's. It was an unspeakable mystery. "Hugo, " I cried, "dear Hugo--hunting you down?--COULD you imagine it?"

He raised his head, strode forward, and grasped my hand. "Forgive me, Cumberledge, " he cried. "But a proscribed and hounded man! If you knewwhat a relief it is to me to get out on the water!"

"You forget all there?"

"I forget IT--the red horror!"

"You meant just now to drown yourself?"

"No! If I had meant it I would have done it. . . . Hubert, for mychildren's sake, I WILL not commit suicide!"

"Then listen!" I cried. I told him in a few words of his sister'sscheme--Sebastian's defence--the plausibility of the explanation--thewhole long story. He gazed at me moodily. Yet it was not Hugo!

"No, no, " he said, shortly; and as he spoke it was HE. "I have done it;I have killed her; I will not owe my life to a falsehood. "

"Not for the children's sake?"

He dashed his hand down impatiently. "I have a better way for thechildren. I will save them still. . . . Hubert, you are not afraid to speakto a murderer?"

"Dear Hugo--I know all; and to know all is to forgive all. "

He grasped my hand once more. "Know ALL!" he cried, with a despairinggesture. "Oh, no; no one knows ALL but myself; not even the children. But the children know much; THEY will forgive me. Lina knows something;SHE will forgive me. You know a little; YOU forgive me. The world cannever know. It will brand my darlings as a murderer's children. "

"It was the act of a minute, " I interposed. "And--though she is dead, poor lady, and one must speak no ill of her--we can at least gatherdimly, for your children's sake, how deep was the provocation. "

He gazed at me fixedly. His voice was like lead. "For the children'ssake--yes, " he answered, as in a dream. "It was all for the children! Ihave killed her--murdered her--she has paid her penalty; and, poor deadsoul, I will utter no word against her--the woman I have murdered! Butone thing I will say: If omniscient justice sends me for this to eternalpunishment, I can endure it gladly, like a man, knowing that so I haveredeemed my Marian's motherless girls from a deadly tyranny. "

It was the only sentence in which he ever alluded to her. 

I sat down by his side and watched him closely. Mechanically, methodically, he went on with his dressing. The more he dressed, the less could I believe it was Hugo. I had expected to find himclose-shaven; so did the police, by their printed notices. Insteadof that, he had shaved his beard and whiskers, but only trimmed hismoustache; trimmed it quite short, so as to reveal the boyish cornersof the mouth--a trick which entirely altered his rugged expression. But that was not all; what puzzled me most was the eyes--they were notHugo's. At first I could not imagine why. By degrees the truth dawnedupon me. His eyebrows were naturally thick and shaggy--great overhanginggrowth, interspersed with many of those stiff long hairs to which Darwincalled attention in certain men as surviving traits from a monkey-likeancestor. In order to disguise himself, Hugo had pulled out all thesecoarser hairs, leaving nothing on his brows but the soft and closelypressed coat of down which underlies the longer bristles in all suchcases. This had wholly altered the expression of the eyes, which nolonger looked out keenly from their cavernous penthouse; but beingdeprived of their relief, had acquired a much more ordinary and lessindividual aspect. From a good-natured but shaggy giant, my old friendwas transformed by his shaving and his costume into a well-fed andwell-grown, but not very colossal, commercial gentleman. Hugo wasscarcely six feet high, indeed, though by his broad shoulders and bushybeard he had always impressed one with such a sense of size; and nowthat the hirsuteness had been got rid of, and the dress altered, hehardly struck one as taller or bigger than the average of his fellows. 

We sat for some minutes and talked. Le Geyt would not speak of Clara;and when I asked him his intentions, he shook his head moodily. "I shallact for the best, " he said--"what of best is left--to guard the dearchildren. It was a terrible price to pay for their redemption; but itwas the only one possible, and, in a moment of wrath, I paid it. Now, Ihave to pay, in turn, myself. I do not shirk it. "

"You will come back to London, then, and stand your trial?" I asked, eagerly. 

"Come back TO LONDON?" he cried, with a face of white panic. Hithertohe had seemed to me rather relieved in expression than otherwise;his countenance had lost its worn and anxious look; he was no longerwatching each moment over his children's safety. "Come back. . . TOLONDON. . . And face my trial! Why, did you think, Hubert, 'twas the courtor the hanging I was shirking? No, no; not that; but IT--the red horror!I must get away from IT to the sea--to the water--to wash away thestain--as far from IT--that red pool--as possible!"

I answered nothing. I left him to face his own remorse in silence. 

At last he rose to go, and held one foot undecided on his bicycle. 

"I leave myself in Heaven's hands, " he said, as he lingered. "IT willrequite. . . . The ordeal is by water. "

"So I judged, " I answered. 

"Tell Lina this from me, " he went on, still loitering: "that if she willtrust me, I will strive to do the best that remains for my darlings. Iwill do it, Heaven helping. She will know WHAT, to-morrow. "

He mounted his machine and sailed off. My eyes followed him up the pathwith sad forebodings. 

All day long I loitered about the Gap. It consisted of two bays--the oneI had already seen, and another, divided from it by a saw-edge of rock. In the further cove crouched a few low stone cottages. A broad-bottomedsailing boat lay there, pulled up high on the beach. About threeo'clock, as I sat and watched, two men began to launch it. The sea ranhigh; tide coming in; the sou'-wester still increasing in force to agale; at the signal-staff on the cliff, the danger-cone was hoisted. White spray danced in air. Big black clouds rolled up seething fromwindward; low thunder rumbling; a storm threatened. 

One of the men was Le Geyt, the other a fisherman. 

He jumped in, and put off through the surf with an air of triumph. Hewas a splendid sailor. His boat leapt through the breakers and flewbefore the wind with a mere rag of canvas. "Dangerous weather to beout!" I exclaimed to the fisherman, who stood with hands buried in hispockets, watching him. 

"Ay that ur be, zur!" the man answered. "Doan't like the look o' ut. Butthik there gen'leman, 'ee's one o' Oxford, 'ee do tell me; and they'm amain venturesome lot, they college volk. 'Ee's off by 'isself droo thestarm, all so var as Lundy!"

"Will he reach it?" I asked, anxiously, having my own idea on thesubject. 

"Doan't seem like ut, zur, do ut? Ur must, an' ur mustn't, an' yit againur must. Powerful 'ard place ur be to maake in a starm, to be zure, Lundy. Zaid the Lord 'ould dezide. But ur 'ouldn't be warned, ur'ouldn't; an' voolhardy volk, as the zayin' is, must go their ownvoolhardy waay to perdition!"

It was the last I saw of Le Geyt alive. Next morning the lifeless bodyof "the man who was wanted for the Campden Hill mystery" was cast up bythe waves on the shore of Lundy. The Lord had decided. 

Hugo had not miscalculated. "Luck in their suicides, " Hilda Wade said;and, strange to say, the luck of the Le Geyts stood him in goodstead still. By a miracle of fate, his children were not branded asa murderer's daughters. Sebastian gave evidence at the inquest on thewife's body: "Self-inflicted--a recoil--accidental--I am SURE of it. "His specialist knowledge--his assertive certainty, combined with thatarrogant, masterful manner of his, and his keen, eagle eye, overbore thejury. Awed by the great man's look, they brought in a submissiveverdict of "Death by misadventure. " The coroner thought it a most properfinding. Mrs. Mallet had made the most of the innate Le Geyt horrorof blood. The newspapers charitably surmised that the unhappy husband, crazed by the instantaneous unexpectedness of his loss, had wanderedaway like a madman to the scenes of his childhood, and had there beendrowned by accident while trying to cross a stormy sea to Lundy, undersome wild impression that he would find his dead wife alive on theisland. Nobody whispered MURDER. Everybody dwelt on the utter absence ofmotive--a model husband!--such a charming young wife, and such a devotedstepmother. We three alone knew--we three, and the children. 

On the day when the jury brought in their verdict at the adjournedinquest on Mrs. Le Geyt, Hilda Wade stood in the room, trembling andwhite-faced, awaiting their decision. When the foreman uttered thewords, "Death by misadventure, " she burst into tears of relief. "He didwell!" she cried to me, passionately. "He did well, that poor father! Heplaced his life in the hands of his Maker, asking only for mercy to hisinnocent children. And mercy has been shown to him and to them. He wastaken gently in the way he wished. It would have broken my heart forthose two poor girls if the verdict had gone otherwise. He knew howterrible a lot it is to be called a murderer's daughter. "

I did not realise at the time with what profound depth of personalfeeling she said it. 

CHAPTER V

THE EPISODE OF THE NEEDLE THAT DID NOT MATCH

"Sebastian is a great man, " I said to Hilda Wade, as I sat one afternoonover a cup of tea she had brewed for me in her own little sitting-room. It is one of the alleviations of an hospital doctor's lot that he maydrink tea now and again with the Sister of his ward. "Whatever else youchoose to think of him, you must admit he is a very great man. "

I admired our famous Professor, and I admired Hilda Wade: 'twas amatter of regret to me that my two admirations did not seem in returnsufficiently to admire one another. "Oh, yes, " Hilda answered, pouringout my second cup; "he is a very great man. I never denied that. Thegreatest man, on the whole, I think, that I have ever come across. "

"And he has done splendid work for humanity, " I went on, growingenthusiastic. 

"Splendid work! Yes, splendid! (Two lumps, I believe?) He has done more, I admit, for medical science than any other man I ever met. "

I gazed at her with a curious glance. "Then why, dear lady, do you keeptelling me he is cruel?" I inquired, toasting my feet on the fender. "Itseems contradictory. "

She passed me the muffins, and smiled her restrained smile. 

"Does the desire to do good to humanity in itself imply a benevolentdisposition?" she answered, obliquely. 

"Now you are talking in paradox. Surely, if a man works all his lifelong for the good of mankind, that shows he is devoured by sympathy forhis species. "

"And when your friend Mr. Bates works all his life long at observing, and classifying lady-birds, I suppose that shows he is devoured bysympathy for the race of beetles!"

I laughed at her comical face, she looked at me so quizzically. "Butthen, " I objected, "the cases are not parallel. Bates kills and collectshis lady-birds; Sebastian cures and benefits humanity. "

Hilda smiled her wise smile once more, and fingered her apron. "Are thecases so different as you suppose?" she went on, with her quick glance. "Is it not partly accident? A man of science, you see, early in life, takes up, half by chance, this, that, or the other particular formof study. But what the study is in itself, I fancy, does not greatlymatter; do not mere circumstances as often as not determine it? Surelyit is the temperament, on the whole, that tells: the temperament that isor is not scientific. "

"How do you mean? You ARE so enigmatic!"

"Well, in a family of the scientific temperament, it seems to me, onebrother may happen to go in for butterflies--may he not?--and anotherfor geology, or for submarine telegraphs. Now, the man who happens totake up butterflies does not make a fortune out of his hobby--there isno money in butterflies; so we say, accordingly, he is an unpracticalperson, who cares nothing for business, and who is only happy when he isout in the fields with a net, chasing emperors and tortoise-shells. Butthe man who happens to fancy submarine telegraphy most likely invents alot of new improvements, takes out dozens of patents, finds money flowin upon him as he sits in his study, and becomes at last a peer and amillionaire; so then we say, What a splendid business head he has got, to be sure, and how immensely he differs from his poor wool-gatheringbrother, the entomologist, who can only invent new ways of hatchingout wire-worms! Yet all may really depend on the first chance directionwhich led one brother as a boy to buy a butterfly net, and sent theother into the school laboratory to dabble with an electric wheel and acheap battery. "

"Then you mean to say it is chance that has made Sebastian?"

Hilda shook her pretty head. "By no means. Don't be so stupid. We bothknow Sebastian has a wonderful brain. Whatever was the work he undertookwith that brain in science, he would carry it out consummately. He is aborn thinker. It is like this, don't you know. " She tried to arrange herthoughts. "The particular branch of science to which Mr. Hiram Maxim'smind happens to have been directed was the making of machine-guns--andhe slays his thousands. The particular branch to which Sebastian's mindhappens to have been directed was medicine--and he cures as many as Mr. Maxim kills. It is a turn of the hand that makes all the difference. "

"I see, " I said. "The aim of medicine happens to be a benevolent one. "

"Quite so; that's just what I mean. The aim is benevolent; and Sebastianpursues that aim with the single-minded energy of a lofty, gifted, anddevoted nature--but not a good one!'

"Not good?"

"Oh, no. To be quite frank, he seems to me to pursue it ruthlessly, cruelly, unscrupulously. He is a man of high ideals, but withoutprinciple. In that respect he reminds one of the great spirits of theItalian Renaissance--Benvenuto Cellini and so forth--men who could porefor hours with conscientious artistic care over the detail of a hem in asculptured robe, yet could steal out in the midst of their disinterestedtoil to plunge a knife in the back of a rival. "

"Sebastian would not do that, " I cried. "He is wholly free from the meanspirit of jealousy. "

"No, Sebastian would not do that. You are quite right there; there isno tinge of meanness in the man's nature. He likes to be first inthe field; but he would acclaim with delight another man's scientifictriumph--if another anticipated him; for would it not mean a triumph foruniversal science?--and is not the advancement of science Sebastian'sreligion? But. . . He would do almost as much, or more. He would stab aman without remorse, if he thought that by stabbing him he could advanceknowledge. "

I recognised at once the truth of her diagnosis. "Nurse Wade, " I cried, "you are a wonderful woman! I believe you are right; but--how did youcome to think of it?"

A cloud passed over her brow. "I have reason to know it, " she answered, slowly. Then her voice changed. "Take another muffin. "

I helped myself and paused. I laid down my cup, and gazed at her. What abeautiful, tender, sympathetic face! And yet, how able! She stirred thefire uneasily. I looked and hesitated. I had often wondered why I neverdared ask Hilda Wade one question that was nearest my heart. I think itmust have been because I respected her so profoundly. The deeper youradmiration and respect for a woman, the harder you find it in the endto ask her. At last I ALMOST made up my mind. "I cannot think, " I began, "what can have induced a girl like you, with means and friends, withbrains and"--I drew back, then I plumped it out--"beauty, to take tosuch a life as this--a life which seems, in many ways, so unworthy ofyou!"

She stirred the fire more pensively than ever, and rearranged themuffin-dish on the little wrought-iron stand in font of the grate. "Andyet, " she murmured, looking down, "what life can be better than theservice of one's kind? You think it a great life for Sebastian!"

"Sebastian! He is a man. That is different; quite different. But awoman! Especially YOU, dear lady, for whom one feels that nothingis quite high enough, quite pure enough, quite good enough. I cannotimagine how--"

She checked me with one wave of her gracious hand. Her movements werealways slow and dignified. "I have a Plan in my life, " she answeredearnestly, her eyes meeting mine with a sincere, frank gaze; "a Plan towhich I have resolved to sacrifice everything. It absorbs my being. Tillthat Plan is fulfilled--" I saw the tears were gathering fast on herlashes. She suppressed them with an effort. "Say no more, " she added, faltering. "Infirm of purpose! I WILL not listen. "

I leant forward eagerly, pressing my advantage. The air was electric. Waves of emotion passed to and fro. "But surely, " I cried, "you do notmean to say--"

She waved me aside once more. "I will not put my hand to the plough, and then look back, " she answered, firmly. "Dr. Cumberledge, spare me. I came to Nathaniel's for a purpose. I told you at the time what thatpurpose was--in part: to be near Sebastian. I want to be near him. . . Foran object I have at heart. Do not ask me to reveal it; do not ask me toforego it. I am a woman, therefore weak. But I need your aid. Help me, instead of hindering me. "

"Hilda, " I cried, leaning forward, with quiverings of my heart, "I willhelp you in whatever way you will allow me. But let me at any rate helpyou with the feeling that I am helping one who means in time--"

At that moment, as unkindly fate would have it, the door opened, andSebastian entered. 

"Nurse Wade, " he began, in his iron voice, glancing about him with sterneyes, "where are those needles I ordered for that operation? We must beready in time before Nielsen comes. . . . Cumberledge, I shall want you. "

The golden opportunity had come and gone. It was long before I found asimilar occasion for speaking to Hilda. 

Every day after that the feeling deepened upon me that Hilda was thereto watch Sebastian. WHY, I did not know; but it was growing certainthat a life-long duel was in progress between these two--a duel of somestrange and mysterious import. 

The first approach to a solution of the problem which I obtained camea week or two later. Sebastian was engaged in observing a case wherecertain unusual symptoms had suddenly supervened. It was a case of someobscure affection of the heart. I will not trouble you here with theparticular details. We all suspected a tendency to aneurism. Hilda Wadewas in attendance, as she always was on Sebastian's observation cases. We crowded round, watching. The Professor himself leaned over the cotwith some medicine for external application in a basin. He gave it toHilda to hold. I noticed that as she held it her fingers trembled, andthat her eyes were fixed harder than ever upon Sebastian. He turnedround to his students. "Now this, " he began, in a very unconcernedvoice, as if the patient were a toad, "is a most unwonted turn for thedisease to take. It occurs very seldom. In point of fact, I have onlyobserved the symptom once before; and then it was fatal. The patient inthat instance"--he paused dramatically--"was the notorious poisoner, Dr. Yorke-Bannerman. "

As he uttered the words, Hilda Wade's hands trembled more than ever, andwith a little scream she let the basin fall, breaking it into fragments. 

Sebastian's keen eyes had transfixed her in a second. "How did youmanage to do that?" he asked, with quiet sarcasm, but in a tone full ofmeaning. 

"The basin was heavy, " Hilda faltered. "My hands were trembling--and itsomehow slipped through them. I am not. . . Quite myself. . . Not quite wellthis afternoon. I ought not to have attempted it. "

The Professor's deep-set eyes peered out like gleaming lights frombeneath their overhanging brows. "No; you ought not to have attemptedit, " he answered, withering her with a glance. "You might have let thething fall on the patient and killed him. As it is, can't you seeyou have agitated him with the flurry? Don't stand there holding yourbreath, woman: repair your mischief. Get a cloth and wipe it up, andgive ME the bottle. "

With skilful haste he administered a little sal volatile and nux vomicato the swooning patient; while Hilda set about remedying the damage. "That's better, " Sebastian said, in a mollified tone, when she hadbrought another basin. There was a singular note of cloaked triumph inhis voice. "Now, we'll begin again. . . . I was just saying, gentlemen, before this accident, that I had seen only ONE case of this peculiarform of the tendency before; and that case was the notorious"--he kepthis glittering eyes fixed harder on Hilda than ever--"the notorious Dr. Yorke-Bannerman. "

_I_ was watching Hilda, too. At the words, she trembled violently allover once more, but with an effort restrained herself. Their looksmet in a searching glance. Hilda's air was proud and fearless: inSebastian's, I fancied I detected, after a second, just a tinge ofwavering. 

"You remember Yorke-Bannerman's case, " he went on. "He committed amurder--"

"Let ME take the basin!" I cried, for I saw Hilda's hands giving way asecond time, and I was anxious to spare her. 

"No, thank you, " she answered low, but in a voice that was full ofsuppressed defiance. "I will wait and hear this out. I PREFER to stophere. "

As for Sebastian, he seemed now not to notice her, though I was awareall the time of a sidelong glance of his eye, parrot-wise, inher direction. "He committed a murder, " he went on, "by means ofaconitine--then an almost unknown poison; and, after committing it, hisheart being already weak, he was taken himself with symptoms of aneurismin a curious form, essentially similar to these; so that he died beforethe trial--a lucky escape for him. "

He paused rhetorically once more; then he added in the same tone:"Mental agitation and the terror of detection no doubt accelerated thefatal result in that instance. He died at once from the shock ofthe arrest. It was a natural conclusion. Here we may hope for a moresuccessful issue. "

He spoke to the students, of course, but I could see for all that thathe was keeping his falcon eye fixed hard on Hilda's face. I glancedaside at her. She never flinched for a second. Neither said anythingdirectly to the other; still, by their eyes and mouths, I knew somestrange passage of arms had taken place between them. Sebastian's tonewas one of provocation, of defiance, I might almost say of challenge. Hilda's air I took rather for the air of calm and resolute, but assured, resistance. He expected her to answer; she said nothing. Instead ofthat, she went on holding the basin now with fingers that WOULD nottremble. Every muscle was strained. Every tendon was strung. I could seeshe held herself in with a will of iron. 

The rest of the episode passed off quietly. Sebastian, having deliveredhis bolt, began to think less of Hilda and more of the patient. Hewent on with his demonstration. As for Hilda, she gradually relaxed hermuscles, and, with a deep-drawn breath, resumed her natural attitude. The tension was over. They had had their little skirmish, whatever itmight mean, and had it out; now, they called a truce over the patient'sbody. 

When the case had been disposed of, and the students dismissed, I wentstraight into the laboratory to get a few surgical instruments I hadchanced to leave there. For a minute or two, I mislaid my clinicalthermometer, and began hunting for it behind a wooden partition in thecorner of the room by the place for washing test-tubes. As I stoopeddown, turning over the various objects about the tap in my search, Sebastian's voice came to me. He had paused outside the door, andwas speaking in his calm, clear tone, very low, to Hilda. "So NOW weunderstand one another, Nurse Wade, " he said, with a significant sneer. "I know whom I have to deal with!"

"And _I_ know, too, " Hilda answered, in a voice of placid confidence. 

"Yet you are not afraid?"

"It is not _I_ who have cause for fear. The accused may tremble, not theprosecutor. "

"What! You threaten?"

"No; I do not threaten. Not in words, I mean. My presence here is initself a threat, but I make no other. You know now, unfortunately, WHY Ihave come. That makes my task harder. But I will NOT give it up. I willwait and conquer. "

Sebastian answered nothing. He strode into the laboratory alone, tall, grim, unbending, and let himself sink into his easy chair, looking upwith a singular and somewhat sinister smile at his bottles of microbes. After a minute he stirred the fire, and bent his head forward, brooding. He held it between his hands, with his elbows on his knees, and gazedmoodily straight before him into the glowing caves of white-hot coalin the fireplace. That sinister smile still played lambent around thecorners of his grizzled moustaches. 

I moved noiselessly towards the door, trying to pass behind himunnoticed. But, alert as ever, his quick ears detected me. With a suddenstart, he raised his head and glanced round. "What! you here?" hecried, taken aback. For a second he appeared almost to lose hisself-possession. 

"I came for my clinical, " I answered, with an unconcerned air. "I havesomehow managed to mislay it in the laboratory. "

My carefully casual tone seemed to reassure him. He peered about himwith knit brows. "Cumberledge, " he asked at last, in a suspicious voice, "did you hear that woman?"

"The woman in 93? Delirious?"

"No, no. Nurse Wade?"

"Hear her?" I echoed, I must candidly admit with intent to deceive. "When she broke the basin?"

His forehead relaxed. "Oh! it is nothing, " he muttered, hastily. "A merepoint of discipline. She spoke to me just now, and I thought her toneunbecoming in a subordinate. . . . Like Korah and his crew, she takes toomuch upon her. . . . We must get rid of her, Cumberledge; we must get ridof her. She is a dangerous woman!"

"She is the most intelligent nurse we have ever had in the place, sir, "I objected, stoutly. 

He nodded his head twice. "Intelligent--je vous l'accorde; butdangerous--dangerous!"

Then he turned to his papers, sorting them out one by one with apreoccupied face and twitching fingers. I recognised that he desired tobe left alone, so I quitted the laboratory. 

I cannot quite say WHY, but ever since Hilda Wade first came toNathaniel's my enthusiasm for Sebastian had been cooling continuously. Admiring his greatness still, I had doubts as to his goodness. That dayI felt I positively mistrusted him. I wondered what his passage of armswith Hilda might mean. Yet, somehow, I was shy of alluding to it beforeher. 

One thing, however, was clear to me now--this great campaign that wasbeing waged between the nurse and the Professor had reference to thecase of Dr. Yorke-Bannerman. 

For a time, nothing came of it; the routine of the hospital went on asusual. The patient with the suspected predisposition to aneurism keptfairly well for a week or two, and then took a sudden turn for theworse, presenting at times most unwonted symptoms. He died unexpectedly. Sebastian, who had watched him every hour, regarded the matter as ofprime importance. "I'm glad it happened here, " he said, rubbing hishands. "A grand opportunity. I wanted to catch an instance like thisbefore that fellow in Paris had time to anticipate me. They're all onthe lookout. Von Strahlendorff, of Vienna, has been waiting for justsuch a patient for years. So have I. Now fortune has favoured me. Luckyfor us he died! We shall find out everything. "

We held a post-mortem, of course, the condition of the blood being whatwe most wished to observe; and the autopsy revealed some unexpecteddetails. One remarkable feature consisted in a certain undescribed andimpoverished state of the contained bodies which Sebastian, with hiseager zeal for science, desired his students to see and identify. He said it was likely to throw much light on other ill-understoodconditions of the brain and nervous system, as well as on the peculiarfaint odour of the insane, now so well recognised in all large asylums. In order to compare this abnormal state with the aspect of the healthycirculating medium, he proposed to examine a little good living bloodside by side with the morbid specimen under the microscope. Nurse Wadewas in attendance in the laboratory, as usual. The Professor, standingby the instrument, with one hand on the brass screw, had got thediseased drop ready arranged for our inspection beforehand, and wasgloating over it himself with scientific enthusiasm. "Grey corpuscles, you will observe, " he said, "almost entirely deficient. Red, poor innumber, and irregular in outline. Plasma, thin. Nuclei, feeble. A stateof body which tells severely against the due rebuilding of the wastedtissues. Now compare with typical normal specimen. " He removed his eyefrom the microscope, and wiped a glass slide with a clean cloth ashe spoke. "Nurse Wade, we know of old the purity and vigour of yourcirculating fluid. You shall have the honour of advancing science oncemore. Hold up your finger. "

Hilda held up her forefinger unhesitatingly. She was used to suchrequests; and, indeed, Sebastian had acquired by long experience thefaculty of pinching the finger-tip so hard, and pressing the point of aneedle so dexterously into a minor vessel, that he could draw at once asmall drop of blood without the subject even feeling it. 

The Professor nipped the last joint between his finger and thumb for amoment till it was black at the end; then he turned to the saucer at hisside, which Hilda herself had placed there, and chose from it, cat-like, with great deliberation and selective care, a particular needle. Hilda'seyes followed his every movement as closely and as fearlessly asever. Sebastian's hand was raised, and he was just about to pierce thedelicate white skin, when, with a sudden, quick scream of terror, shesnatched her hand away hastily. 

The Professor let the needle drop in his astonishment. "What did you dothat for?" he cried, with an angry dart of the keen eyes. "This is notthe first time I have drawn your blood. You KNEW I would not hurt you. "

Hilda's face had grown strangely pale. But that was not all. I believeI was the only person present who noticed one unobtrusive piece ofsleight-of-hand which she hurriedly and skilfully executed. When theneedle slipped from Sebastian's hand, she leant forward even as shescreamed, and caught it, unobserved, in the folds of her apron. Thenher nimble fingers closed over it as if by magic, and conveyed it witha rapid movement at once to her pocket. I do not think even Sebastianhimself noticed the quick forward jerk of her eager hands, which wouldhave done honour to a conjurer. He was too much taken aback by herunexpected behaviour to observe the needle. 

Just as she caught it, Hilda answered his question in a somewhatflurried voice. "I--I was afraid, " she broke out, gasping. "One getsthese little accesses of terror now and again. I--I feel rather weak. I don't think I will volunteer to supply any more normal blood thismorning. "

Sebastian's acute eyes read her through, as so often. With a trenchantdart he glanced from her to me. I could see he began to suspect aconfederacy. "That will do, " he went on, with slow deliberateness. "Better so. Nurse Wade, I don't know what's beginning to come over you. You are losing your nerve--which is fatal in a nurse. Only the other dayyou let fall and broke a basin at a most critical moment; and now, youscream aloud on a trifling apprehension. " He paused and glanced aroundhim. "Mr. Callaghan, " he said, turning to our tall, red-haired Irishstudent, "YOUR blood is good normal, and YOU are not hysterical. " Heselected another needle with studious care. "Give me your finger. "

As he picked out the needle, I saw Hilda lean forward again, alertand watchful, eyeing him with a piercing glance; but, after a second'sconsideration, she seemed to satisfy herself, and fell back without aword. I gathered that she was ready to interfere, had occasion demanded. But occasion did not demand; and she held her peace quietly. 

The rest of the examination proceeded without a hitch. For a minute ortwo, it is true, I fancied that Sebastian betrayed a certain suppressedagitation--a trifling lack of his accustomed perspicuity and hisluminous exposition. But, after meandering for a while through a fewvague sentences, he soon recovered his wonted calm; and as he went onwith his demonstration, throwing himself eagerly into the case, hisusual scientific enthusiasm came back to him undiminished. He waxedeloquent (after his fashion) over the "beautiful" contrast betweenCallaghan's wholesome blood, "rich in the vivifying architectonic greycorpuscles which rebuild worn tissues, " and the effete, impoverished, unvitalised fluid which stagnated in the sluggish veins of the deadpatient. The carriers of oxygen had neglected their proper task; thegranules whose duty it was to bring elaborated food-stuffs to supplythe waste of brain and nerve and muscle had forgotten their cunning. The bricklayers of the bodily fabric had gone out on strike; the wearyscavengers had declined to remove the useless by-products. His vividtongue, his picturesque fancy, ran away with him. I had never heard himtalk better or more incisively before; one could feel sure, as he spoke, that the arteries of his own acute and teeming brain at that momentof exaltation were by no means deficient in those energetic and highlyvital globules on whose reparative worth he so eloquently descanted. "Sure, the Professor makes annywan see right inside wan's own vascularsystem, " Callaghan whispered aside to me, in unfeigned admiration. 

The demonstration ended in impressive silence. As we streamed out of thelaboratory, aglow with his electric fire, Sebastian held me back with abent motion of his shrivelled forefinger. I stayed behind unwillingly. "Yes, sir?" I said, in an interrogative voice. 

The Professor's eyes were fixed intently on the ceiling. His look wasone of rapt inspiration. I stood and waited. "Cumberledge, " he said atlast, coming back to earth with a start, "I see it more plainly each daythat goes. We must get rid of that woman. "

"Of Nurse Wade?" I asked, catching my breath. 

He roped the grizzled moustache, and blinked the sunken eyes. "She haslost nerve, " he went on, "lost nerve entirely. I shall suggest that shebe dismissed. Her sudden failures of stamina are most embarrassing atcritical junctures. "

"Very well, sir, " I answered, swallowing a lump in my throat. To say thetruth, I was beginning to be afraid on Hilda's account. That morning'sevents had thoroughly disquieted me. 

He seemed relieved at my unquestioning acquiescence. "She is a dangerousedged-tool; that's the truth of it, " he went on, still twirling hismoustache with a preoccupied air, and turning over his stock ofneedles. "When she's clothed and in her right mind, she is a valuableaccessory--sharp and trenchant like a clean, bright lancet; but when sheallows one of these causeless hysterical fits to override her tone, sheplays one false at once--like a lancet that slips, or grows dulland rusty. " He polished one of the needles on a soft square of newchamois-leather while he spoke, as if to give point and illustration tohis simile. 

I went out from him, much perturbed. The Sebastian I had once admiredand worshipped was beginning to pass from me; in his place I found avery complex and inferior creation. My idol had feet of clay. I was lothto acknowledge it. 

I stalked along the corridor moodily towards my own room. As I passedHilda Wade's door, I saw it half ajar. She stood a little within, andbeckoned me to enter. 

I passed in and closed the door behind me. Hilda looked at me withtrustful eyes. Resolute still, her face was yet that of a huntedcreature. "Thank Heaven, I have ONE friend here, at least!" she said, slowly seating herself. "You saw me catch and conceal the needle?"

"Yes, I saw you. "

She drew it forth from her purse, carefully but loosely wrapped up in asmall tag of tissue-paper. "Here it is!" she said, displaying it. "Now, I want you to test it. "

"In a culture?" I asked; for I guessed her meaning. 

She nodded. "Yes, to see what that man has done to it. "

"What do you suspect?"

She shrugged her graceful shoulders half imperceptibly. 

"How should I know? Anything!"

I gazed at the needle closely. "What made you distrust it?" I inquiredat last, still eyeing it. 

She opened a drawer, and took out several others. "See here, " she said, handing me one; "THESE are the needles I keep in antiseptic wool--theneedles with which I always supply the Professor. You observe theirshape--the common surgical patterns. Now, look at THIS needle, withwhich the Professor was just going to prick my finger! You can see foryourself at once it is of bluer steel and of a different manufacture. "

"That is quite true, " I answered, examining it with my pocket lens, which I always carry. "I see the difference. But how did you detect it?"

"From his face, partly; but partly, too, from the needle itself. I hadmy suspicions, and I was watching him closely. Just as he raised thething in his hand, half concealing it, so, and showing only the point, I caught the blue gleam of the steel as the light glanced off it. It wasnot the kind I knew. Then I withdrew my hand at once, feeling sure hemeant mischief. "

"That was wonderfully quick of you!"

"Quick? Well, yes. Thank Heaven, my mind works fast; my perceptions arerapid. Otherwise--" she looked grave. "One second more, and it wouldhave been too late. The man might have killed me. "

"You think it is poisoned, then?"

Hilda shook her head with confident dissent. "Poisoned? Oh, no. Heis wiser now. Fifteen years ago, he used poison. But science has madegigantic strides since then. He would not needlessly expose himselfto-day to the risks of the poisoner. "

"Fifteen years ago he used poison?"

She nodded, with the air of one who knows. "I am not speaking atrandom, " she answered. "I say what I know. Some day I will explain. Forthe present, it is enough to tell you I know it. "

"And what do you suspect now?" I asked, the weird sense of her strangepower deepening on me every second. 

She held up the incriminated needle again. 

"Do you see this groove?" she asked, pointing to it with the tip ofanother. 

I examined it once more at the light with the lens. A longitudinalgroove, apparently ground into one side of the needle, lengthwise, bymeans of a small grinding-stone and emery powder, ran for a quarter ofan inch above the point. This groove seemed to me to have been producedby an amateur, though he must have been one accustomed to delicatemicroscopic manipulation; for the edges under the lens showed slightlyrough, like the surface of a file on a small scale: not smooth andpolished, as a needle-maker would have left them. I said so to Hilda. 

"You are quite right, " she answered. "That is just what it shows. I feelsure Sebastian made that groove himself. He could have bought groovedneedles, it is true, such as they sometimes use for retaining smallquantities of lymphs and medicines; but we had none in stock, and tobuy them would be to manufacture evidence against himself, in case ofdetection. Besides, the rough, jagged edge would hold the material hewished to inject all the better, while its saw-like points would tearthe flesh, imperceptibly, but minutely, and so serve his purpose. "

"Which was?"

"Try the needle, and judge for yourself. I prefer you should find out. You can tell me to-morrow. "

"It was quick of you to detect it!" I cried, still turning thesuspicious object over. "The difference is so slight. "

"Yes; but you tell me my eyes are as sharp as the needle. Besides, I hadreason to doubt; and Sebastian himself gave me the clue by selectinghis instrument with too great deliberation. He had put it there withthe rest, but it lay a little apart; and as he picked it up gingerly, I began to doubt. When I saw the blue gleam, my doubt was at onceconverted into certainty. Then his eyes, too, had the look which I knowmeans victory. Benign or baleful, it goes with his triumphs. I have seenthat look before, and when once it lurks scintillating in the luminousdepths of his gleaming eyeballs, I recognise at once that, whatever hisaim, he has succeeded in it. "

"Still, Hilda, I am loth--"

She waved her hand impatiently. "Waste no time, " she cried, in anauthoritative voice. "If you happen to let that needle rub carelesslyagainst the sleeve of your coat you may destroy the evidence. Take itat once to your room, plunge it into a culture, and lock it up safe ata proper temperature--where Sebastian cannot get at it--till theconsequences develop. "

I did as she bid me. By this time, I was not wholly unprepared for theresult she anticipated. My belief in Sebastian had sunk to zero, and wasrapidly reaching a negative quantity. 

At nine the next morning, I tested one drop of the culture under themicroscope. Clear and limpid to the naked eye, it was alive with smallobjects of a most suspicious nature, when properly magnified. Iknew those hungry forms. Still, I would not decide offhand on my ownauthority in a matter of such moment. Sebastian's character was atstake--the character of the man who led the profession. I called inCallaghan, who happened to be in the ward, and asked him to put his eyeto the instrument for a moment. He was a splendid fellow for the use ofhigh powers, and I had magnified the culture 300 diameters. "What do youcall those?" I asked, breathless. 

He scanned them carefully with his experienced eye. "Is it the microbesye mean?" he answered. "An' what 'ud they be, then, if it wasn't thebacillus of pyaemia?"

"Blood-poisoning!" I ejaculated, horror-struck. 

"Aye; blood-poisoning: that's the English of it. "

I assumed an air of indifference. "I made them that myself, " I rejoined, as if they were mere ordinary experimental germs; "but I wantedconfirmation of my own opinion. You're sure of the bacillus?"

"An' haven't I been keeping swarms of those very same bacteria underclose observation for Sebastian for seven weeks past? Why, I know themas well as I know me own mother. "

"Thank you, " I said. "That will do. " And I carried off the microscope, bacilli and all, into Hilda Wade's sitting-room. "Look yourself!" Icried to her. 

She stared at them through the instrument with an unmoved face. "Ithought so, " she answered shortly. "The bacillus of pyaemia. A mostvirulent type. Exactly what I expected. "

"You anticipated that result?"

"Absolutely. You see, blood-poisoning matures quickly, and kills almostto a certainty. Delirium supervenes so soon that the patient has nochance of explaining suspicions. Besides, it would all seem so verynatural! Everybody would say: 'She got some slight wound, whichmicrobes from some case she was attending contaminated. ' You may be sureSebastian thought out all that. He plans with consummate skill. He haddesigned everything. "

I gazed at her, uncertain. "And what will you DO?" I asked. "Exposehim?"

She opened both her palms with a blank gesture of helplessness. "Itis useless!" she answered. "Nobody would believe me. Consider thesituation. YOU know the needle I gave you was the one Sebastian meant touse--the one he dropped and I caught--BECAUSE you are a friend of mine, and because you have learned to trust me. But who else would credit it?I have only my word against his--an unknown nurse's against the greatProfessor's. Everybody would say I was malicious or hysterical. Hysteriais always an easy stone to fling at an injured woman who asks forjustice. They would declare I had trumped up the case to forestall mydismissal. They would set it down to spite. We can do nothing againsthim. Remember, on his part, the utter absence of overt motive. "

"And you mean to stop on here, in close attendance on a man who hasattempted your life?" I cried, really alarmed for her safety. 

"I am not sure about that, " she answered. "I must take time to think. Mypresence at Nathaniel's was necessary to my Plan. The Plan fails for thepresent. I have now to look round and reconsider my position. "

"But you are not safe here now, " I urged, growing warm. "If Sebastianreally wishes to get rid of you, and is as unscrupulous as you suppose, with his gigantic brain he can soon compass his end. What he plans heexecutes. You ought not to remain within the Professor's reach one hourlonger. "

"I have thought of that, too, " she replied, with an almost unearthlycalm. "But there are difficulties either way. At any rate, I am gladhe did not succeed this time. For, to have killed me now, would havefrustrated my Plan"--she clasped her hands--"my Plan is ten thousandtimes dearer than life to me!"

"Dear lady!" I cried, drawing a deep breath, "I implore you in thisstrait, listen to what I urge. Why fight your battle alone? Why refuseassistance? I have admired you so long--I am so eager to help you. Ifonly you will allow me to call you--"

Her eyes brightened and softened. Her whole bosom heaved. I felt in aflash she was not wholly indifferent to me. Strange tremors in the airseemed to play about us. But she waved me aside once more. "Don't pressme, " she said, in a very low voice. "Let me go my own way. It is hardenough already, this task I have undertaken, without YOUR making itharder. . . . Dear friend, dear friend, you don't quite understand. Thereare TWO men at Nathaniel's whom I desire to escape--because they bothalike stand in the way of my Purpose. " She took my hands in hers. "Eachin a different way, " she murmured once more. "But each I must avoid. One is Sebastian. The other--" she let my hand drop again, and brokeoff suddenly. "Dear Hubert, " she cried, with a catch, "I cannot help it:forgive me!"

It was the first time she had ever called me by my Christian name. Themere sound of the word made me unspeakably happy. 

Yet she waved me away. "Must I go?" I asked, quivering. 

"Yes, yes: you must go. I cannot stand it. I must think this thing out, undisturbed. It is a very great crisis. "

That afternoon and evening, by some unhappy chance, I was fully engagedin work at the hospital. Late at night a letter arrived for me. Iglanced at it in dismay. It bore the Basingstoke postmark. But, tomy alarm and surprise, it was in Hilda's hand. What could this changeportend? I opened it, all tremulous. 

"DEAR HUBERT, --" I gave a sigh of relief. It was no longer "Dear Dr. Cumberledge" now, but "Hubert. " That was something gained, at any rate. I read on with a beating heart. What had Hilda to say to me?

"DEAR HUBERT, --By the time this reaches you, I shall be far away, irrevocably far, from London. With deep regret, with fierce searchingsof spirit, I have come to the conclusion that, for the Purpose I havein view, it would be better for me at once to leave Nathaniel's. Where Igo, or what I mean to do, I do not wish to tell you. Of your charity, I pray, refrain from asking me. I am aware that your kindness andgenerosity deserve better recognition. But, like Sebastian himself, I amthe slave of my Purpose. I have lived for it all these years, and it isstill very dear to me. To tell you my plans would interfere with thatend. Do not, therefore, suppose I am insensible to your goodness. . . . Dear Hubert, spare me--I dare not say more, lest I say too much. I darenot trust myself. But one thing I MUST say. I am flying from YOU quiteas much as from Sebastian. Flying from my own heart, quite as much asfrom my enemy. Some day, perhaps, if I accomplish my object, I may tellyou all. Meanwhile, I can only beg of you of your kindness to trust me. We shall not meet again, I fear, for years. But I shall never forgetyou--you, the kind counsellor, who have half turned me aside from mylife's Purpose. One word more, and I should falter. --In very greathaste, and amid much disturbance, yours ever affectionately andgratefully, "HILDA. "

It was a hurried scrawl in pencil, as if written in a train. I feltutterly dejected. Was Hilda, then, leaving England?

Rousing myself after some minutes, I went straight to Sebastian'srooms, and told him in brief terms that Nurse Wade had disappeared at amoment's notice, and had sent a note to tell me so. 

He looked up from his work, and scanned me hard, as was his wont. "Thatis well, " he said at last, his eyes glowing deep; "she was getting toogreat a hold on you, that young woman!"

"She retains that hold upon me, sir, " I answered curtly. 

"You are making a grave mistake in life, my dear Cumberledge, " he wenton, in his old genial tone, which I had almost forgotten. "Before yougo further, and entangle yourself more deeply, I think it is only rightthat I should undeceive you as to this girl's true position. She ispassing under a false name, and she comes of a tainted stock. . . . NurseWade, as she chooses to call herself, is a daughter of the notoriousmurderer, Yorke-Bannerman. "

My mind leapt back to the incident of the broken basin. Yorke-Bannerman's name had profoundly moved her. Then I thought ofHilda's face. Murderers, I said to myself, do not beget such daughtersas that. Not even accidental murderers, like my poor friend Le Geyt. Isaw at once the prima facie evidence was strongly against her. But I hadfaith in her still. I drew myself up firmly, and stared him back full inthe face. "I do not believe it, " I answered, shortly. 

"You do not believe it? I tell you it is so. The girl herself as good asacknowledged it to me. "

I spoke slowly and distinctly. "Dr. Sebastian, " I said, confronting him, "let us be quite clear with one another. I have found you out. I knowhow you tried to poison that lady. To poison her with bacilli which_I_ detected. I cannot trust your word; I cannot trust your inferences. Either she is not Yorke-Bannerman's daughter at all, or else. . . Yorke-Bannerman was NOT a murderer. . . . " I watched his face closely. Conviction leaped upon me. "And someone else was, " I went on. "I mightput a name to him. "

With a stern white face, he rose and opened the door. He pointed to itslowly. "This hospital is not big enough for you and me abreast, " hesaid, with cold politeness. "One or other of us must go. Which, I leaveto your good sense to determine. "

Even at that moment of detection and disgrace, in one man's eyes, atleast, Sebastian retained his full measure of dignity. 

CHAPTER VI

THE EPISODE OF THE LETTER WITH THE BASINGSTOKE POSTMARK

I have a vast respect for my grandfather. He was a man of forethought. He left me a modest little income of seven hundred a-year, wellinvested. Now, seven hundred a-year is not exactly wealth; but it is anunobtrusive competence; it permits a bachelor to move about the worldand choose at will his own profession. _I_ chose medicine; but I wasnot wholly dependent upon it. So I honoured my grandfather's wisedisposition of his worldly goods; though, oddly enough, my cousinTom (to whom he left his watch and five hundred pounds) speaks MOSTdisrespectfully of his character and intellect. 

Thanks to my grandfather's silken-sailed barque, therefore, when I foundmyself practically dismissed from Nathaniel's I was not thrown on mybeam-ends, as most young men in my position would have been; I hadtime and opportunity for the favourite pastime of looking about me. Ofcourse, had I chosen, I might have fought the case to the bitter endagainst Sebastian; he could not dismiss me--that lay with the committee. But I hardly cared to fight. In the first place, though I had foundhim out as a man, I still respected him as a great teacher; and in thesecond place (which is always more important), I wanted to find andfollow Hilda. 

To be sure, Hilda, in that enigmatic letter of hers, had implored me notto seek her out; but I think you will admit there is one request whichno man can grant to the girl he loves--and that is the request to keepaway from her. If Hilda did not want ME, I wanted Hilda; and, being aman, I meant to find her. 

My chances of discovering her whereabouts, however, I had to confessto myself (when it came to the point) were extremely slender. She hadvanished from my horizon, melted into space. My sole hint of a clueconsisted in the fact that the letter she sent me had been posted atBasingstoke. Here, then, was my problem: given an envelope with theBasingstoke postmark, to find in what part of Europe, Asia, Africa, orAmerica the writer of it might be discovered. It opened up a fine fieldfor speculation. 

When I set out to face this broad puzzle, my first idea was: "I must askHilda. " In all circumstances of difficulty, I had grown accustomed tosubmitting my doubts and surmises to her acute intelligence; and herinstinct almost always supplied the right solution. But now Hilda wasgone; it was Hilda herself I wished to track through the labyrinth ofthe world. I could expect no assistance in tracking her from Hilda. 

"Let me think, " I said to myself, over a reflective pipe, with feetpoised on the fender. "How would Hilda herself have approached thisproblem? Imagine I'm Hilda. I must try to strike a trail by applying herown methods to her own character. She would have attacked the question, no doubt, "--here I eyed my pipe wisely, --"from the psychologicalside. She would have asked herself"--I stroked my chin--"what such atemperament as hers was likely to do under such-and-such circumstances. And she would have answered it aright. But then"--I puffed away once ortwice--"SHE is Hilda. "

When I came to reconnoitre the matter in this light, I became at onceaware how great a gulf separated the clumsy male intelligence fromthe immediate and almost unerring intuitions of a clever woman. I amconsidered no fool; in my own profession, I may venture to say, I wasSebastian's favourite pupil. Yet, though I asked myself over and overagain where Hilda would be likely to go--Canada, China, Australia--asthe outcome of her character, in these given conditions, I got noanswer. I stared at the fire and reflected. I smoked two successivepipes, and shook out the ashes. "Let me consider how Hilda's temperamentwould work, " I said, looking sagacious. I said it several times--butthere I stuck. I went no further. The solution would not come. I feltthat in order to play Hilda's part, it was necessary first to haveHilda's head-piece. Not every man can bend the bow of Ulysses. 

As I turned the problem over in my mind, however, one phrase at lastcame back to me--a phrase which Hilda herself had let fall when we weredebating a very similar point about poor Hugo Le Geyt: "If I were in hisplace, what do you think I would do?--why, hide myself at once in thegreenest recesses of our Carnarvonshire mountains. "

She must have gone to Wales, then. I had her own authority for sayingso. . . . And yet--Wales? Wales? I pulled myself up with a jerk. In thatcase, how did she come to be passing by Basingstoke?

Was the postmark a blind? Had she hired someone to take the lettersomewhere for her, on purpose to put me off on a false track? I couldhardly think so. Besides, the time was against it. I saw Hilda atNathaniel's in the morning; the very same evening I received theenvelope with the Basingstoke postmark. 

"If I were in his place. " Yes, true; but, now I come to think on it, WERE the positions really parallel? Hilda was not flying for her lifefrom justice; she was only endeavouring to escape Sebastian--andmyself. The instances she had quoted of the mountaineer's curious hominginstinct--the wild yearning he feels at moments of great straits to buryhimself among the nooks of his native hills--were they not all instancesof murderers pursued by the police? It was abject terror that drovethese men to their burrows. But Hilda was not a murderer; she was notdogged by remorse, despair, or the myrmidons of the law; it was murdershe was avoiding, not the punishment of murder. That made, of course, anobvious difference. "Irrevocably far from London, " she said. Wales isa suburb. I gave up the idea that it was likely to prove her place ofrefuge from the two men she was bent on escaping. Hong-Kong, after all, seemed more probable than Llanberis. 

That first failure gave me a clue, however, as to the best way ofapplying Hilda's own methods. "What would such a person do under thecircumstances?" that was her way of putting the question. Clearly, then, I must first decide what WERE the circumstances. Was Sebastian speakingthe truth? Was Hilda Wade, or was she not, the daughter of the supposedmurderer, Dr. Yorke-Bannerman?

I looked up as much of the case as I could, in unobtrusive ways, amongthe old law-reports, and found that the barrister who had had charge ofthe defence was my father's old friend, Mr. Horace Mayfield, a man ofelegant tastes, and the means to gratify them. 

I went to call on him on Sunday evening at his artistically luxurioushouse in Onslow Gardens. A sedate footman answered the bell. Fortunately, Mr. Mayfield was at home, and, what is rarer, disengaged. You do not always find a successful Q. C. At his ease among his books, beneath the electric light, ready to give up a vacant hour to friendlycolloquy. 

"Remember Yorke-Bannerman's case?" he said, a huge smile breaking slowlylike a wave over his genial fat face--Horace Mayfield resembles a greatgood-humoured toad, with bland manners and a capacious double chin--"Ishould just say I DID! Bless my soul--why, yes, " he beamed, "I wasYorke-Bannerman's counsel. Excellent fellow, Yorke-Bannerman--mostunfortunate end, though--precious clever chap, too! Had an astoundingmemory. Recollected every symptom of every patient he ever attended. AndSUCH an eye! Diagnosis? It was clairvoyance! A gift--no less. Knew whatwas the matter with you the moment he looked at you. "

That sounded like Hilda. The same surprising power of recalling facts;the same keen faculty for interpreting character or the signs offeeling. "He poisoned somebody, I believe, " I murmured, casually. "Anuncle of his, or something. "

Mayfield's great squat face wrinkled; the double chin, folding down onthe neck, became more ostentatiously double than ever. "Well, I can'tadmit that, " he said, in his suave voice, twirling the string of hiseye-glass. "I was Yorke-Bannerman's advocate, you see; and therefore Iwas paid not to admit it. Besides, he was a friend of mine, and Ialways liked him. But I WILL allow that the case DID look a trifle blackagainst him. "

"Ha? Looked black, did it?" I faltered. 

The judicious barrister shrugged his shoulders. A genial smile spreadoilily once more over his smooth face. "None of my business to say so, "he answered, puckering the corners of his eyes. "Still, it was a longtime ago; and the circumstances certainly WERE suspicious. Perhaps, onthe whole, Hubert, it was just as well the poor fellow died before thetrial came off; otherwise"--he pouted his lips--"I might have hadmy work cut out to save him. " And he eyed the blue china gods on themantelpiece affectionately. 

"I believe the Crown urged money as the motive?" I suggested. 

Mayfield glanced inquiry at me. "Now, why do you want to know all this?"he asked, in a suspicious voice, coming back from his dragons. "It isirregular, very, to worm information out of an innocent barrister inhis hours of ease about a former client. We are a guileless race, welawyers; don't abuse our confidence. "

He seemed an honest man, I thought, in spite of his mocking tone. Itrusted him, and made a clean breast of it. "I believe, " I answered, with an impressive little pause, "I want to marry Yorke-Bannerman'sdaughter. "

He gave a quick start. "What, Maisie?" he exclaimed. 

I shook my head. "No, no; that is not the name, " I replied. 

He hesitated a moment. "But there IS no other, " he hazarded cautiouslyat last. "I knew the family. "

"I am not sure of it, " I went on. "I have merely my suspicions. I am inlove with a girl, and something about her makes me think she is probablya Yorke-Bannerman. "

"But, my dear Hubert, if that is so, " the great lawyer went on, wavingme off with one fat hand, "it must be at once apparent to you that _I_am the last person on earth to whom you ought to apply for information. Remember my oath. The practice of our clan: the seal of secrecy!"

I was frank once more. "I do not know whether the lady I mean is or isnot Yorke-Bannerman's daughter, " I persisted. "She may be, and shemay not. She gives another name--that's certain. But whether she is orisn't, one thing I know--I mean to marry her. I believe in her; I trusther. I only seek to gain this information now because I don't know whereshe is--and I want to track her. "

He crossed his big hands with an air of Christian resignation, andlooked up at the panels of the coffered ceiling. "In that, " he answered, "I may honestly say, I can't help you. Humbug apart, I have not knownMrs. Yorke-Bannerman's address--or Maisie's either--ever since my poorfriend's death. Prudent woman, Mrs. Yorke-Bannerman! She went away, Ibelieve, to somewhere in North Wales, and afterwards to Brittany. Butshe probably changed her name; and--she did not confide in me. "

I went on to ask him a few questions about the case, premising that Idid so in the most friendly spirit. "Oh, I can only tell you what ispublicly known, " he answered, beaming, with the usual professionalpretence of the most sphinx-like reticence. "But the plain facts, asuniversally admitted, were these. I break no confidence. Yorke-Bannermanhad a rich uncle from whom he had expectations--a certain Admiral ScottPrideaux. This uncle had lately made a will in Yorke-Bannerman'sfavour; but he was a cantankerous old chap--naval, you knowautocratic--crusty--given to changing his mind with each change ofthe wind, and easily offended by his relations--the sort of cheerful oldparty who makes a new will once every month, disinheriting the nephewhe last dined with. Well, one day the Admiral was taken ill, at his ownhouse, and Yorke-Bannerman attended him. OUR contention was--I speaknow as my old friend's counsel--that Scott Prideaux, getting as tired oflife as we were all tired of him, and weary of this recurrent worry ofwill-making, determined at last to clear out for good from a world wherehe was so little appreciated, and, therefore, tried to poison himself. "

"With aconitine?" I suggested, eagerly. 

"Unfortunately, yes; he made use of aconitine for that otherwiselaudable purpose. Now, as ill luck would have it"--Mayfield's wrinklesdeepened--"Yorke-Bannerman and Sebastian, then two rising doctorsengaged in physiological researches together, had just been occupied inexperimenting upon this very drug--testing the use of aconitine. Indeed, you will no doubt remember"--he crossed his fat hands againcomfortably--"it was these precise researches on a then little-knownpoison that first brought Sebastian prominently before the public. Whatwas the consequence?" His smooth, persuasive voice flowed on as if Iwere a concentrated jury. "The Admiral grew rapidly worse, and insistedupon calling in a second opinion. No doubt he didn't like the aconitinewhen it came to the pinch--for it DOES pinch, I can tell you--andrepented him of his evil. Yorke-Bannerman suggested Sebastian as thesecond opinion; the uncle acquiesced; Sebastian was called in, and, of course, being fresh from his researches, immediately recognised thesymptoms of aconitine poisoning. "

"What! Sebastian found it out?" I cried, starting. 

"Oh, yes! Sebastian. He watched the case from that point to the end; andthe oddest part of it all was this--that though he communicated withthe police, and himself prepared every morsel of food that the poor oldAdmiral took from that moment forth, the symptoms continually increasedin severity. The police contention was that Yorke-Bannerman somehowmanaged to put the stuff into the milk beforehand; my own theory was--ascounsel for the accused"--he blinked his fat eyes--"that old Prideauxhad concealed a large quantity of aconitine in the bed, before hisillness, and went on taking it from time to time--just to spite hisnephew. "

"And you BELIEVE that, Mr. Mayfield?"

The broad smile broke concentrically in ripples over the great lawyer'sface. His smile was Mayfield's main feature. He shrugged his shouldersand expanded his big hands wide open before him. "My dear Hubert, "he said, with a most humorous expression of countenance, "you are aprofessional man yourself; therefore you know that every professionhas its own little courtesies--its own small fictions. I wasYorke-Bannerman's counsel, as well as his friend. 'Tis a point of honourwith us that no barrister will ever admit a doubt as to a client'sinnocence--is he not paid to maintain it?--and to my dying day I willconstantly maintain that old Prideaux poisoned himself. Maintain itwith that dogged and meaningless obstinacy with which we always clingto whatever is least provable. . . . Oh, yes! He poisoned himself; andYorke-Bannerman was innocent. . . . But still, you know, it WAS the sort ofcase where an acute lawyer, with a reputation to make, would prefer tobe for the Crown rather than for the prisoner. "

"But it was never tried, " I ejaculated. 

"No, happily for us, it was never tried. Fortune favoured us. Yorke-Bannerman had a weak heart, a conveniently weak heart, which theinquest sorely affected; and besides, he was deeply angry at whathe persisted in calling Sebastian's defection. He evidently thoughtSebastian ought to have stood by him. His colleague preferred the claimsof public duty--as he understood them, I mean--to those of privatefriendship. It was a very sad case--for Yorke-Bannerman was really acharming fellow. But I confess I WAS relieved when he died unexpectedlyon the morning of his arrest. It took off my shoulders a most seriousburden. "

"You think, then, the case would have gone against him?"

"My dear Hubert, " his whole face puckered with an indulgent smile, "ofcourse the case must have gone against us. Juries are fools; but theyare not such fools as to swallow everything--like ostriches: to let methrow dust in their eyes about so plain an issue. Consider the facts, consider them impartially. Yorke-Bannerman had easy access to aconitine;had whole ounces of it in his possession; he treated the uncle from whomhe was to inherit; he was in temporary embarrassments--that came out atthe inquest; it was known that the Admiral had just made a twenty-thirdwill in his favour, and that the Admiral's wills were liable toalteration every time a nephew ventured upon an opinion in politics, religion, science, navigation, or the right card at whist, differing bya shade from that of the uncle. The Admiral died of aconitine poisoning;and Sebastian observed and detailed the symptoms. Could anything beplainer--I mean, could any combination of fortuitous circumstances"--heblinked pleasantly again--"be more adverse to an advocate sincerelyconvinced of his client's innocence--as a professional duty?" And hegazed at me comically. 

The more he piled up the case against the man who I now felt sure wasHilda's father, the less did I believe him. A dark conspiracy seemed toloom up in the background. "Has it ever occurred to you, " I asked, atlast, in a very tentative tone, "that perhaps--I throw out the hint asthe merest suggestion--perhaps it may have been Sebastian who--"

He smiled this time till I thought his smile would swallow him. 

"If Yorke-Bannerman had NOT been my client, " he mused aloud, "I mighthave been inclined to suspect rather that Sebastian aided him to avoidjustice by giving him something violent to take, if he wishedit: something which might accelerate the inevitable action of theheart-disease from which he was suffering. Isn't THAT more likely?"

I saw there was nothing further to be got out of Mayfield. His opinionwas fixed; he was a placid ruminant. But he had given me already muchfood for thought. I thanked him for his assistance, and returned on footto my rooms at the hospital. 

I was now, however, in a somewhat different position for tracking Hildafrom that which I occupied before my interview with the famous counsel. I felt certain by this time that Hilda Wade and Maisie Yorke-Bannermanwere one and the same person. To be sure, it gave me a twinge to thinkthat Hilda should be masquerading under an assumed name; but I waivedthat question for the moment, and awaited her explanations. The greatpoint now was to find Hilda. She was flying from Sebastian to maturea new plan. But whither? I proceeded to argue it out on her ownprinciples; oh, how lamely! The world is still so big! Mauritius, theArgentine, British Columbia, New Zealand!

The letter I had received bore the Basingstoke postmark. Now a personmay be passing Basingstoke on his way either to Southampton or Plymouth, both of which are ports of embarcation for various foreign countries. I attached importance to that clue. Something about the tone of Hilda'sletter made me realise that she intended to put the sea between us. Inconcluding so much, I felt sure I was not mistaken. Hilda had too bigand too cosmopolitan a mind to speak of being "irrevocably far fromLondon, " if she were only going to some town in England, or even toNormandy, or the Channel Islands. "Irrevocably far" pointed rather to adestination outside Europe altogether--to India, Africa, America: not toJersey, Dieppe, or Saint-Malo. 

Was it Southampton or Plymouth to which she was first bound?--that wasthe next question. I inclined to Southampton. For the sprawling lines(so different from her usual neat hand) were written hurriedly ina train, I could see; and, on consulting Bradshaw, I found that thePlymouth expresses stop longest at Salisbury, where Hilda would, therefore, have been likely to post her note if she were going to thefar west; while some of the Southampton trains stop at Basingstoke, which is, indeed, the most convenient point on that route for sendingoff a letter. This was mere blind guesswork, to be sure, compared withHilda's immediate and unerring intuition; but it had some probabilityin its favour, at any rate. Try both: of the two, she was likelier to begoing to Southampton. 

My next move was to consult the list of outgoing steamers. Hilda hadleft London on a Saturday morning. Now, on alternate Saturdays, thesteamers of the Castle line sail from Southampton, where they call totake up passengers and mails. Was this one of those alternate Saturdays?I looked at the list of dates: it was. That told further in favourof Southampton. But did any steamer of any passenger line sail fromPlymouth on the same day? None, that I could find. Or from Southamptonelsewhere? I looked them all up. The Royal Mail Company's boats starton Wednesdays; the North German Lloyd's on Wednesdays and Sundays. Those were the only likely vessels I could discover. Either, then, Iconcluded, Hilda meant to sail on Saturday by the Castle line forSouth Africa, or else on Sunday by North German Lloyd for some part ofAmerica. 

How I longed for one hour of Hilda to help me out with her almostinfallible instinct. I realised how feeble and fallacious was my owngroping in the dark. Her knowledge of temperament would have revealed toher at once what I was trying to discover, like the police she despised, by the clumsy "clues" which so roused her sarcasm. 

However, I went to bed and slept on it. Next morning I determined to setout for Southampton on a tour of inquiry to all the steamboat agencies. If that failed, I could go on to Plymouth. 

But, as chance would have it, the morning post brought me an unexpectedletter, which helped me not a little in unravelling the problem. Itwas a crumpled letter, written on rather soiled paper, in an uneducatedhand, and it bore, like Hilda's, the Basingstoke postmark. 

"Charlotte Churtwood sends her duty to Dr. Cumberledge, " it said, withsomewhat uncertain spelling, "and I am very sorry that I was not ableto Post the letter to you in London, as the lady ast me, but after hertrain ad left has I was stepping into mine the Ingine started and I wasknocked down and badly hurt and the lady gave me a half-sovering toPost it in London has soon as I got there but bein unable to do so Inow return it dear sir not knowing the lady's name and adress she havingtrusted me through seeing me on the platform, and perhaps you can sendit back to her, and was very sorry I could not Post it were she ast me, but time bein an objeck put it in the box in Basingstoke station and nowinclose post office order for ten Shillings whitch dear sir kindly letthe young lady have from your obedient servant, "CHARLOTTE CHURTWOOD. "

In the corner was the address: "11, Chubb's Cottages, Basingstoke. "

The happy accident of this letter advanced things for me greatly--thoughit also made me feel how dependent I was upon happy accidents, whereHilda would have guessed right at once by mere knowledge of character. Still, the letter explained many things which had hitherto puzzled me. I had felt not a little surprise that Hilda, wishing to withdraw fromme and leave no traces, should have sent off her farewell letter fromBasingstoke--so as to let me see at once in what direction she wastravelling. Nay, I even wondered at times whether she had really postedit herself at Basingstoke, or given it to somebody who chanced to begoing there to post for her as a blind. But I did not think she woulddeliberately deceive me; and, in my opinion, to get a letter posted atBasingstoke would be deliberate deception, while to get it posted inLondon was mere vague precaution. I understood now that she had writtenit in the train, and then picked out a likely person as she passed totake it to Waterloo for her. 

Of course, I went straight down to Basingstoke, and called at once atChubb's Cottages. It was a squalid little row on the outskirts of thetown. I found Charlotte Churtwood herself exactly such a girl as Hilda, with her quick judgment of character, might have hit upon for such apurpose. She was a conspicuously honest and transparent country servant, of the lumpy type, on her way to London to take a place as housemaid. Her injuries were severe, but not dangerous. "The lady saw me on theplatform, " she said, "and beckoned to me to come to her. She ast mewhere I was going, and I says, 'To London, miss. ' Says she, smilingkind-like, 'Could you post a letter for me, certain sure?' Says I, 'Youcan depend upon me. ' An' then she give me the arf-sovering, an' says, says she, 'Mind, it's VERY par-tickler; if the gentleman don't get it, 'e'll fret 'is 'eart out. ' An' through 'aving a young man o' my own, as is a groom at Andover, o' course I understood 'er, sir. An' then, feeling all full of it, as yu may say, what with the arf-sovering, andwhat with one thing and what with another, an' all of a fluster with notbeing used to travelling, I run up, when the train for London come in, an' tried to scramble into it, afore it 'ad quite stopped moving. An'a guard, 'e rushes up, an' 'Stand back!' says 'e; 'wait till the trainstops, ' says 'e, an' waves his red flag at me. But afore I could standback, with one foot on the step, the train sort of jumped away from me, and knocked me down like this; and they say it'll be a week now aforeI'm well enough to go on to London. But I posted the letter all thesame, at Basingstoke station, as they was carrying me off; an' I tookdown the address, so as to return the arf-sovering. " Hilda was right, asalways. She had chosen instinctively the trustworthy person, --chosen herat first sight, and hit the bull's-eye. 

"Do you know what train the lady was in?" I asked, as she paused. "Wherewas it going, did you notice?"

"It was the Southampton train, sir. I saw the board on the carriage. "

That settled the question. "You are a good and an honest girl, " Isaid, pulling out my purse; "and you came to this misfortune throughtrying--too eagerly--to help the young lady. A ten-pound note is notovermuch as compensation for your accident. Take it, and get well. Ishould be sorry to think you lost a good place through your anxiety tohelp us. "

The rest of my way was plain sailing now. I hurried on straight toSouthampton. There my first visit was to the office of the Castle line. I went to the point at once. Was there a Miss Wade among the passengersby the Dunottar Castle?

No; nobody of that name on the list. 

Had any lady taken a passage at the last moment?

The clerk perpended. Yes; a lady had come by the mail train from London, with no heavy baggage, and had gone on board direct, taking what cabinshe could get. A young lady in grey. Quite unprepared. Gave no name. Called away in a hurry. 

What sort of lady?

Youngish; good-looking; brown hair and eyes, the clerk thought; a sortof creamy skin; and a--well, a mesmeric kind of glance that seemed to goright through you. 

"That will do, " I answered, sure now of my quarry. "To which port didshe book?"

"To Cape Town. "

"Very well, " I said, promptly. "You may reserve me a good berth in thenext outgoing steamer. "

It was just like Hilda's impulsive character to rush off in this way ata moment's notice; and just like mine to follow her. But it piqued me alittle to think that, but for the accident of an accident, I might neverhave tracked her down. If the letter had been posted in London as sheintended, and not at Basingstoke, I might have sought in vain for herfrom then till Doomsday. 

Ten days later, I was afloat on the Channel, bound for South Africa. 

I always admired Hilda's astonishing insight into character and motive;but I never admired it quite so profoundly as on the glorious day whenwe arrived at Cape Town. I was standing on deck, looking out for thefirst time in my life on that tremendous view--the steep and massivebulk of Table Mountain, --a mere lump of rock, dropped loose from thesky, with the long white town spread gleaming at its base, and thesilver-tree plantations that cling to its lower slopes and merge bydegrees into gardens and vineyards--when a messenger from the shore cameup to me tentatively. 

"Dr. Cumberledge?" he said, in an inquiring tone. 

I nodded. "That is my name. "

"I have a letter for you, sir. "

I took it, in great surprise. Who on earth in Cape Town could haveknown I was coming? I had not a friend to my knowledge in the colony. I glanced at the envelope. My wonder deepened. That prescient brain! Itwas Hilda's handwriting. 

I tore it open and read:

"MY DEAR HUBERT, --I KNOW you will come; I KNOW you will follow me. SoI am leaving this letter at Donald Currie & Co. 's office, giving theiragent instructions to hand it to you as soon as you reach Cape Town. I am quite sure you will track me so far at least; I understand yourtemperament. But I beg you, I implore you, to go no further. You willruin my plan if you do. And I still adhere to it. It is good of you tocome so far; I cannot blame you for that. I know your motives. Butdo not try to find me out. I warn you, beforehand, it will be quiteuseless. I have made up my mind. I have an object in life, and, dear asyou are to me--THAT I will not pretend to deny--I can never allow evenYOU to interfere with it. So be warned in time. Go back quietly by thenext steamer. 

"Your ever attached and grateful, "HILDA. "

I read it twice through with a little thrill of joy. Did any man evercourt so strange a love? Her very strangeness drew me. But go back bythe next steamer! I felt sure of one thing: Hilda was far too good ajudge of character to believe that I was likely to obey that mandate. 

I will not trouble you with the remaining stages of my quest. Exceptfor the slowness of South African mail coaches, they were comparativelyeasy. It is not so hard to track strangers in Cape Town as strangers inLondon. I followed Hilda to her hotel, and from her hotel upcountry, stage after stage--jolted by rail, worse jolted bymule-waggon--inquiring, inquiring, inquiring--till I learned at last shewas somewhere in Rhodesia. 

That is a big address; but it does not cover as many names as it coverssquare miles. In time I found her. Still, it took time; and before wemet, Hilda had had leisure to settle down quietly to her new existence. People in Rhodesia had noted her coming, as a new portent, because ofone strange peculiarity. She was the only woman of means who had evergone up of her own free will to Rhodesia. Other women had gone thereto accompany their husbands, or to earn their livings; but that a ladyshould freely select that half-baked land as a place of residence--alady of position, with all the world before her where to choose--thatpuzzled the Rhodesians. So she was a marked person. Most people solvedthe vexed problem, indeed, by suggesting that she had designs againstthe stern celibacy of a leading South African politician. "Depend uponit, " they said, "it's Rhodes she's after. " The moment I arrived atSalisbury, and stated my object in coming, all the world in the new townwas ready to assist me. The lady was to be found (vaguely speaking) ona young farm to the north--a budding farm, whose general direction wasexpansively indicated to me by a wave of the arm, with South Africanuncertainty. 

I bought a pony at Salisbury--a pretty little seasoned sorrel mare--andset out to find Hilda. My way lay over a brand-new road, or whatpasses for a road in South Africa--very soft and lumpy, like an Englishcart-track. I am a fair cross-country rider in our own Midlands, but Inever rode a more tedious journey than that one. I had crawled severalmiles under a blazing sun along the shadeless new track, on my Africanpony, when, to my surprise I saw, of all sights in the world, a bicyclecoming towards me. 

I could hardly believe my eyes. Civilisation indeed! A bicycle in theseremotest wilds of Africa!

I had been picking my way for some hours through a desolate plateau--thehigh veldt--about five thousand feet above the sea level, and entirelytreeless. In places, to be sure, a few low bushes of prickly aspect rosein tangled clumps; but for the most part the arid table-land was coveredby a thick growth of short brown grass, about nine inches high, burnt upin the sun, and most wearisome to look at. The distressing nakedness ofa new country confronted me. Here and there a bald farm or two had beenliterally pegged out--the pegs were almost all one saw of them as yet;the fields were in the future. Here and there, again, a scattered rangeof low granite hills, known locally as kopjes--red, rocky prominences, flaunting in the sunshine--diversified the distance. But the roaditself, such as it was, lay all on the high plain, looking down now andagain into gorges or kloofs, wooded on their slopes with scrubbytrees, and comparatively well-watered. In the midst of all this crude, unfinished land, the mere sight of a bicycle, bumping over the rubblyroad, was a sufficient surprise; but my astonishment reached a climaxwhen I saw, as it drew near, that it was ridden by a woman!

One moment later I had burst into a wild cry, and rode forward to herhurriedly. "Hilda!" I shouted aloud, in my excitement: "Hilda!"

She stepped lightly from her pedals, as if it had been in the park: headerect and proud; eyes liquid, lustrous. I dismounted, trembling, andstood beside her. In the wild joy of the moment, for the first time inmy life, I kissed her fervently. Hilda took the kiss, unreproving. Shedid not attempt to refuse me. 

"So you have come at last!" she murmured, with a glow on her face, half nestling towards me, half withdrawing, as if two wills tore herin different directions. "I have been expecting you for some days; and, somehow, to-day, I was almost certain you were coming!"

"Then you are not angry with me?" I cried. "You remember, you forbademe!"

"Angry with you? Dear Hubert, could I ever be angry with you, especiallyfor thus showing me your devotion and your trust? I am never angry withyou. When one knows, one understands. I have thought of you so often;sometimes, alone here in this raw new land, I have longed for you tocome. It is inconsistent of me, of course; but I am so solitary, solonely!"

"And yet you begged me not to follow you!"

She looked up at me shyly--I was not accustomed to see Hilda shy. Hereyes gazed deep into mine beneath the long, soft lashes. "I begged younot to follow me, " she repeated, a strange gladness in her tone. "Yes, dear Hubert, I begged you--and I meant it. Cannot you understand thatsometimes one hopes a thing may never happen--and is supremely happybecause it happens, in spite of one? I have a purpose in life for whichI live: I live for it still. For its sake I told you you must not cometo me. Yet you HAVE come, against my orders; and--" she paused, and drewa deep sigh--"oh, Hubert, I thank you for daring to disobey me!"

I clasped her to my bosom. She allowed me, half resisting. "I am tooweak, " she murmured. "Only this morning, I made up my mind that whenI saw you I would implore you to return at once. And now that you arehere--" she laid her little hand confidingly in mine--"see how foolish Iam!--I cannot dismiss you. "

"Which means to say, Hilda, that, after all, you are still a woman!"

"A woman; oh, yes; very much a woman! Hubert, I love you; I half wish Idid not. "

"Why, darling?" I drew her to me. 

"Because--if I did not, I could send you away--so easily! As it is--Icannot let you stop--and. . . I cannot dismiss you. "

"Then divide it, " I cried gaily; "do neither; come away with me!"

"No, no; nor that, either. I will not stultify my whole past life. Iwill not dishonour my dear father's memory. "

I looked around for something to which to tether my horse. A bridleis in one's way--when one has to discuss important business. There wasreally nothing about that seemed fit for the purpose. Hilda saw whatI sought, and pointed mutely to a stunted bush beside a big graniteboulder which rose abruptly from the dead level of the grass, affordinga little shade from that sweltering sunlight. I tied my mare to thegnarled root--it was the only part big enough--and sat down by Hilda'sside, under the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land. I realised atthat moment the force and appropriateness of the Psalmist's simile. Thesun beat fiercely on the seeding grasses. Away on the southern horizonwe could faintly perceive the floating yellow haze of the prairie fireslit by the Mashonas. 

"Then you knew I would come?" I began, as she seated herself on theburnt-up herbage, while my hand stole into hers, to nestle therenaturally. 

She pressed it in return. "Oh, yes; I knew you would come, " sheanswered, with that strange ring of confidence in her voice. "Of courseyou got my letter at Cape Town?"

"I did, Hilda--and I wondered at you more than ever as I read it. But ifyou KNEW I would come, why write to prevent me?"

Her eyes had their mysterious far-away air. She looked out uponinfinity. "Well, I wanted to do my best to turn you aside, " she said, slowly. "One must always do one's best, even when one feels and believesit is useless. That surely is the first clause in a doctor's or anurse's rubric. "

"But WHY didn't you want me to come?" I persisted. "Why fight againstyour own heart? Hilda, I am sure--I KNOW you love me. "

Her bosom rose and fell. Her eyes dilated. "Love you?" she cried, looking away over the bushy ridges, as if afraid to trust herself. "Oh, yes, Hubert, I love you! It is not for that that I wish to avoid you. Or, rather, it is just because of that. I cannot endure to spoil yourlife--by a fruitless affection. "

"Why fruitless?" I asked, leaning forward. 

She crossed her hands resignedly. "You know all by this time, " sheanswered. "Sebastian would tell you, of course, when you went toannounce that you were leaving Nathaniel's. He could not do otherwise;it is the outcome of his temperament--an integral part of his nature. "

"Hilda, " I cried, "you are a witch! How COULD you know that? I can'timagine. "

She smiled her restrained, Chaldean smile. "Because I KNOW Sebastian, "she answered, quietly. "I can read that man to the core. He is simpleas a book. His composition is plain, straightforward, quite natural, uniform. There are no twists and turns in him. Once learn the key, and it discloses everything, like an open sesame. He has a giganticintellect, a burning thirst for knowledge; one love, one hobby--science;and no moral instincts. He goes straight for his ends; and whatevercomes in his way, " she dug her little heel in the brown soil, "hetramples on it as ruthlessly as a child will trample on a worm or abeetle. "

"And yet, " I said, "he is so great. "

"Yes, great, I grant you; but the easiest character to unravel thatI have ever met. It is calm, austere, unbending, yet not in the leastdegree complex. He has the impassioned temperament, pushed to itshighest pitch; the temperament that runs deep, with irresistible force;but the passion that inspires him, that carries him away headlong, as love carries some men, is a rare and abstract one--the passion ofscience. "

I gazed at her as she spoke, with a feeling akin to awe. "It mustdestroy the plot-interest of life for you, Hilda, " I cried--out therein the vast void of that wild African plateau--"to foresee so well whateach person will do--how each will act under such given circumstances. "

She pulled a bent of grass and plucked off its dry spikelets one byone. "Perhaps so, " she answered, after a meditative pause; "though, ofcourse, all natures are not equally simple. Only with great souls canyou be sure beforehand like that, for good or for evil. It is essentialto anything worth calling character that one should be able to predictin what way it will act under given circumstances--to feel certain, 'This man will do nothing small or mean, ' 'That one could never actdishonestly, or speak deceitfully. ' But smaller natures are morecomplex. They defy analysis, because their motives are not consistent. "

"Most people think to be complex is to be great, " I objected. 

She shook her head. "That is quite a mistake, " she answered. "Greatnatures are simple, and relatively predictable, since their motivesbalance one another justly. Small natures are complex, and hard topredict, because small passions, small jealousies, small discordsand perturbations come in at all moments, and override for a time thepermanent underlying factors of character. Great natures, good or bad, are equably poised; small natures let petty motives intervene to upsettheir balance. "

"Then you knew I would come, " I exclaimed, half pleased to find Ibelonged inferentially to her higher category. 

Her eyes beamed on me with a beautiful light. "Knew you would come? Oh, yes. I begged you not to come; but I felt sure you were too deeply inearnest to obey me. I asked a friend in Cape Town to telegraph yourarrival; and almost ever since the telegram reached me I have beenexpecting you and awaiting you. "

"So you believed in me?"

"Implicitly--as you in me. That is the worst of it, Hubert. If you didNOT believe in me, I could have told you all--and then, you would haveleft me. But, as it is, you KNOW all--and yet, you want to cling to me. "

"You know I know all--because Sebastian told me?"

"Yes; and I think I even know how you answered him. "

"How?"

She paused. The calm smile lighted up her face once more. Then shedrew out a pencil. "You think life must lack plot-interest for me, " shebegan, slowly, "because, with certain natures, I can partially guessbeforehand what is coming. But have you not observed that, in readinga novel, part of the pleasure you feel arises from your consciousanticipation of the end, and your satisfaction in seeing that youanticipated correctly? Or part, sometimes, from the occasionalunexpectedness of the real denouement? Well, life is like that. I enjoyobserving my successes, and, in a way, my failures. Let me show you whatI mean. I think I know what you said to Sebastian--not the words, ofcourse, but the purport; and I will write it down now for you. Set downYOUR version, too. And then we will compare them. "

It was a crucial test. We both wrote for a minute or two. Somehow, inHilda's presence, I forgot at once the strangeness of the scene, theweird oddity of the moment. That sombre plain disappeared for me. I wasonly aware that I was with Hilda once more--and therefore in Paradise. Pison and Gihon watered the desolate land. Whatever she did seemed to mesupremely right. If she had proposed to me to begin a ponderous work onMedical Jurisprudence, under the shadow of the big rock, I should havebegun it incontinently. 

She handed me her slip of paper; I took it and read: "Sebastian toldyou I was Dr. Yorke-Bannerman's daughter. And you answered, 'If so, Yorke-Bannerman was innocent, and YOU are the poisoner. ' Is not thatcorrect?"

I handed her in answer my own paper. She read it with a faint flush. When she came to the words: "Either she is not Yorke-Bannerman'sdaughter; or else, Yorke-Bannerman was not a poisoner, and someone elsewas--I might put a name to him, " she rose to her feet with a great rushof long-suppressed feeling, and clasped me passionately. "My Hubert!"she cried, "I read you aright. I knew it! I was sure of you!"

I folded her in my arms, there, on the rusty-red South African desert. "Then, Hilda dear, " I murmured, "you will consent to marry me?"

The words brought her back to herself. She unfolded my arms with slowreluctance. "No, dearest, " she said, earnestly, with a face where pridefought hard against love. "That is WHY, above all things, I did not wantyou to follow me. I love you; I trust you: you love me; you trust me. But I never will marry anyone till I have succeeded in clearing myfather's memory. I KNOW he did not do it; I KNOW Sebastian did. But thatis not enough. I must prove it, I must prove it!"

"I believe it already, " I answered. "What need, then, to prove it?"

"To you, Hubert? Oh, no; not to you. There I am safe. But to the worldthat condemned him--condemned him untried. I must vindicate him; I mustclear him!"

I bent my face close to hers. "But may I not marry you first?" Iasked--"and after that, I can help you to clear him. "

She gazed at me fearlessly. "No, no!" she cried, clasping her hands;"much as I love you, dear Hubert, I cannot consent to it. I am tooproud!--too proud! I will not allow the world to say--not even to sayfalsely"--her face flushed crimson; her voice dropped low--"I willnot allow them to say those hateful words, 'He married a murderer'sdaughter. '"

I bowed my head. "As you will, my darling, " I answered. "I am content towait. I trust you in this, too. Some day, we will prove it. "

And all this time, preoccupied as I was with these deeper concerns, Ihad not even asked where Hilda lived, or what she was doing!

CHAPTER VII

THE EPISODE OF THE STONE THAT LOOKED ABOUT IT

Hilda took me back with her to the embryo farm where she had pitched hertent for the moment; a rough, wild place. It lay close to the main roadfrom Salisbury to Chimoio. 

Setting aside the inevitable rawness and newness of all thingsRhodesian, however, the situation itself was not wholly unpicturesque. Aramping rock or tor of granite, which I should judge at a rough guess toextend to an acre in size, sprang abruptly from the brown grass of theupland plain. It rose like a huge boulder. Its summit was crowned by thecovered grave of some old Kaffir chief--a rude cairn of big stonesunder a thatched awning. At the foot of this jagged and cleft rock thefarmhouse nestled--four square walls of wattle-and-daub, sheltered byits mass from the sweeping winds of the South African plateau. A streambrought water from a spring close by: in front of the house--rare sightin that thirsty land--spread a garden of flowers. It was an oasis in thedesert. But the desert itself stretched grimly all round. I could neverquite decide how far the oasis was caused by the water from the spring, and how far by Hilda's presence. 

"Then you live here?" I cried, gazing round--my voice, I suppose, betraying my latent sense of the unworthiness of the position. 

"For the present, " Hilda answered, smiling. "You know, Hubert, I have noabiding city anywhere, till my Purpose is fulfilled. I came here becauseRhodesia seemed the farthest spot on earth where a white woman just nowcould safely penetrate--in order to get away from you and Sebastian. "

"That is an unkind conjunction!" I exclaimed, reddening. 

"But I mean it, " she answered, with a wayward little nod. "I wantedbreathing-space to form fresh plans. I wanted to get clear away fora time from all who knew me. And this promised best. . . . But nowadays, really, one is never safe from intrusion anywhere. "

"You are cruel, Hilda!"

"Oh, no. You deserve it. I asked you not to come--and you came in spiteof me. I have treated you very nicely under the circumstances, I think. I have behaved like an angel. The question is now, what ought I to donext? You have upset my plans so. "

"Upset your plans? How?"

"Dear Hubert, "--she turned to me with an indulgent smile, --"for a cleverman, you are really TOO foolish! Can't you see that you have betrayed mywhereabouts to Sebastian? _I_ crept away secretly, like a thief in thenight, giving no name or place; and, having the world to ransack, hemight have found it hard to track me; for HE had not YOUR clue of theBasingstoke letter--nor your reason for seeking me. But now that YOUhave followed me openly, with your name blazoned forth in the company'spassenger-lists, and your traces left plain in hotels and stages acrossthe map of South Africa--why, the spoor is easy. If Sebastian cares tofind us, he can follow the scent all through without trouble. "

"I never thought of that!" I cried, aghast. 

She was forbearance itself. "No, I knew you would never think of it. Youare a man, you see. I counted that in. I was afraid from the first youwould wreck all by following me. "

I was mutely penitent. "And yet, you forgive me, Hilda?"

Her eyes beamed tenderness. "To know all, is to forgive all, " sheanswered. "I have to remind you of that so often! How can I helpforgiving, when I know WHY you came--what spur it was that drove you?But it is the future we have to think of now, not the past. And I mustwait and reflect. I have NO plan just at present. "

"What are you doing at this farm?" I gazed round at it, dissatisfied. 

"I board here, " Hilda answered, amused at my crestfallen face. "But, ofcourse, I cannot be idle; so I have found work to do. I ride out onmy bicycle to two or three isolated houses about, and give lessons tochildren in this desolate place, who would otherwise grow up ignorant. It fills my time, and supplies me with something besides myself to thinkabout. "

"And what am _I_ to do?" I cried, oppressed with a sudden sense ofhelplessness. 

She laughed at me outright. "And is this the first moment that thatdifficulty has occurred to you?" she asked, gaily. "You have hurried allthe way from London to Rhodesia without the slightest idea of what youmean to do now you have got here?"

I laughed at myself in turn. "Upon my word, Hilda, " I cried, "I set outto find you. Beyond the desire to find you, I had no plan in my head. That was an end in itself. My thoughts went no farther. "

She gazed at me half saucily. "Then don't you think, sir, the best thingyou can do, now you HAVE found me, is--to turn back and go home again?"

"I am a man, " I said, promptly, taking a firm stand. "And you area judge of character. If you really mean to tell me you think THATlikely--well, I shall have a lower opinion of your insight into men thanI have been accustomed to harbour. "

Her smile was not wholly without a touch of triumph. 

"In that case, " she went on, "I suppose the only alternative is for youto remain here. "

"That would appear to be logic, " I replied. "But what can I do? Set upin practice?"

"I don't see much opening, " she answered. "If you ask my advice, Ishould say there is only one thing to be done in Rhodesia just now--turnfarmer. "

"It IS done, " I answered, with my usual impetuosity. "Since YOU say theword, I am a farmer already. I feel an interest in oats that is simplyabsorbing. What steps ought I to take first in my present condition?"

She looked at me, all brown with the dust of my long ride. "I wouldsuggest, " she said slowly, "a good wash, and some dinner. "

"Hilda, " I cried, surveying my boots, or what was visible of them, "that is REALLY clever of you. A wash and some dinner! So practical, sotimely! The very thing! I will see to it. "

Before night fell, I had arranged everything. I was to buy the next farmfrom the owner of the one where Hilda lodged; I was also to learnthe rudiments of South African agriculture from him for a valuableconsideration; and I was to lodge in his house while my own wasbuilding. He gave me his views on the cultivation of oats. He gave themat some length--more length than perspicuity. I knew nothing about oats, save that they were employed in the manufacture of porridge--which Idetest; but I was to be near Hilda once more, and I was prepared toundertake the superintendence of the oat from its birth to its reapingif only I might be allowed to live so close to Hilda. 

The farmer and his wife were Boers, but they spoke English. Mr. JanWillem Klaas himself was a fine specimen of the breed--tall, erect, broad-shouldered, and genial. Mrs. Klaas, his wife, was mainlysuggestive, in mind and person, of suet-pudding. There was one prattlinglittle girl of three years old, by name Sannie, a most engaging child;and also a chubby baby. 

"You are betrothed, of course?" Mrs. Klaas said to Hilda before me, with the curious tactlessness of her race, when we made our firstarrangement. 

Hilda's face flushed. "No; we are nothing to one another, " sheanswered--which was only true formally. "Dr. Cumberledge had a post atthe same hospital in London where I was a nurse; and he thought he wouldlike to try Rhodesia. That is all. "

Mrs. Klaas gazed from one to other of us suspiciously. "You English arestrange!" she answered, with a complacent little shrug. "But there--fromEurope! Your ways, we know, are different. "

Hilda did not attempt to explain. It would have been impossible to makethe good soul understand. Her horizon was so simple. She was a harmlesshousewife, given mostly to dyspepsia and the care of her little ones. Hilda had won her heart by unfeigned admiration for the chubby baby. Toa mother, that covers a multitude of eccentricities, such as one expectsto find in incomprehensible English. Mrs. Klaas put up with me becauseshe liked Hilda. 

We spent some months together on Klaas's farm. It was a dreary place, save for Hilda. The bare daub-and-wattle walls; the clumps of misshapenand dusty prickly-pears that girt round the thatched huts of the Kaffirworkpeople; the stone-penned sheep-kraals, and the corrugated iron roofof the bald stable for the waggon oxen--all was as crude and ugly as anew country can make things. It seemed to me a desecration that Hildashould live in such an unfinished land--Hilda, whom I imagined as movingby nature through broad English parks, with Elizabethan cottages andimmemorial oaks--Hilda, whose proper atmosphere seemed to be one ofcoffee-coloured laces, ivy-clad abbeys, lichen-incrusted walls--all thatis beautiful and gracious in time-honoured civilisations. 

Nevertheless, we lived on there in a meaningless sort of way--I hardlyknew why. To me it was a puzzle. When I asked Hilda, she shook her headwith her sibylline air and answered, confidently: "You do not understandSebastian as well as I do. We have to wait for HIM. The next move ishis. Till he plays his piece, I cannot tell how I may have to checkmatehim. "

So we waited for Sebastian to advance a pawn. Meanwhile, I toyed withSouth African farming--not very successfully, I must admit. Nature didnot design me for growing oats. I am no judge of oxen, and my views onthe feeding of Kaffir sheep raised broad smiles on the black faces of myMashona labourers. 

I still lodged at Tant Mettie's, as everybody called Mrs. Klaas; she wascourtesy aunt to the community at large, while Oom Jan Willem was itscourtesy uncle. They were simple, homely folk, who lived up to theirreligious principles on an unvaried diet of stewed ox-beef and bread;they suffered much from chronic dyspepsia, due in part, at least, nodoubt, to the monotony of their food, their life, their interests. Onecould hardly believe one was still in the nineteenth century; thesepeople had the calm, the local seclusion of the prehistoric epoch. For them, Europe did not exist; they knew it merely as a place wheresettlers came from. What the Czar intended, what the Kaiser designed, never disturbed their rest. A sick ox, a rattling tile on the roof, meant more to their lives than war in Europe. The one break in thesameness of their daily routine was family prayers; the one weeklyevent, going to church at Salisbury. Still, they had a singleenthusiasm. Like everybody else for fifty miles around, they believedprofoundly in the "future of Rhodesia. " When I gazed about me at the rawnew land--the weary flat of red soil and brown grasses--I felt at leastthat, with a present like that, it had need of a future. 

I am not by disposition a pioneer; I belong instinctively to the oldcivilisations. In the midst of rudimentary towns and incipient fields, Iyearn for grey houses, a Norman church, an English thatched cottage. 

However, for Hilda's sake, I braved it out, and continued to learn theA B C of agriculture on an unmade farm with great assiduity from Oom JanWillem. 

We had been stopping some months at Klaas's together when businesscompelled me one day to ride in to Salisbury. I had ordered some goodsfor my farm from England which had at last arrived. I had now to arrangefor their conveyance from the town to my plot of land--a portentousmatter. Just as I was on the point of leaving Klaas's, and wastightening the saddle-girth on my sturdy little pony, Oom Jan Willemhimself sidled up to me with a mysterious air, his broad face allwrinkled with anticipatory pleasure. He placed a sixpence in my palm, glancing about him on every side as he did so, like a conspirator. 

"What am I to buy with it?" I asked, much puzzled, and suspectingtobacco. Tant Mettie declared he smoked too much for a church elder. 

He put his finger to his lips, nodded, and peered round. "Lollipopsfor Sannie, " he whispered low, at last, with a guilty smile. "But"--heglanced about him again--"give them to me, please, when Tant Mettieisn't looking. " His nod was all mystery. 

"You may rely on my discretion, " I replied, throwing the time-honouredprejudices of the profession to the winds, and well pleased to aid andabet the simple-minded soul in his nefarious designs against littleSannie's digestive apparatus. He patted me on the back. "PEPPERMINTlollipops, mind!" he went on, in the same solemn undertone. "Sannielikes them best--peppermint. "

I put my foot in the stirrup, and vaulted into my saddle. "They shallnot be forgotten, " I answered, with a quiet smile at this pretty littleevidence of fatherly feeling. I rode off. It was early morning, beforethe heat of the day began. Hilda accompanied me part of the way on herbicycle. She was going to the other young farm, some eight miles off, across the red-brown plateau, where she gave lessons daily to theten-year old daughter of an English settler. It was a labour of love;for settlers in Rhodesia cannot afford to pay for what are beautifullydescribed as "finishing governesses"; but Hilda was of the sort whocannot eat the bread of idleness. She had to justify herself to her kindby finding some work to do which should vindicate her existence. 

I parted from her at a point on the monotonous plain where one rubblyroad branched off from another. Then I jogged on in the full morning sunover that scorching plain of loose red sand all the way to Salisbury. Not a green leaf or a fresh flower anywhere. The eye ached at the hotglare of the reflected sunlight from the sandy level. 

My business detained me several hours in the half-built town, with itsflaunting stores and its rough new offices; it was not till towardsafternoon that I could get away again on my sorrel, across the blazingplain once more to Klaas's. 

I moved on over the plateau at an easy trot, full of thoughts of Hilda. What could be the step she expected Sebastian to take next? She did notknow, herself, she had told me; there, her faculty failed her. But SOMEstep he WOULD take; and till he took it she must rest and be watchful. 

I passed the great tree that stands up like an obelisk in the midst ofthe plain beyond the deserted Matabele village. I passed the low clumpsof dry karroo-bushes by the rocky kopje. I passed the fork of therubbly roads where I had parted from Hilda. At last, I reached the long, rolling ridge which looks down upon Klaas's, and could see in the slantsunlight the mud farmhouse and the corrugated iron roof where the oxenwere stabled. 

The place looked more deserted, more dead-alive than ever. Not a blackboy moved in it. Even the cattle and Kaffir sheep were nowhere tobe seen. . . . But then it was always quiet; and perhaps I noticed theobtrusive air of solitude and sleepiness even more than usual, because Ihad just returned from Salisbury. All things are comparative. After thelost loneliness of Klaas's farm, even brand-new Salisbury seemed busyand bustling. 

I hurried on, ill at ease. But Tant Mettie would, doubtless, have a cupof tea ready for me as soon as I arrived, and Hilda would be waiting atthe gate to welcome me. 

I reached the stone enclosure, and passed up through the flower-garden. To my great surprise, Hilda was not there. As a rule, she came to meetme, with her sunny smile. But perhaps she was tired, or the sun on theroad might have given her a headache. I dismounted from my mare, and called one of the Kaffir boys to take her to the stable. Nobodyanswered. . . . I called again. Still silence. . . . I tied her up to thepost, and strode over to the door, astonished at the solitude. I beganto feel there was something weird and uncanny about this home-coming. Never before had I known Klaas's so entirely deserted. 

I lifted the latch and opened the door. It gave access at once to thesingle plain living-room. There, all was huddled. For a moment my eyeshardly took in the truth. There are sights so sickening that the brainat the first shock wholly fails to realise them. 

On the stone slab floor of the low living-room Tant Mettie lay dead. Her body was pierced through by innumerable thrusts, which I somehowinstinctively recognised as assegai wounds. By her side lay Sannie, the little prattling girl of three, my constant playmate, whom I hadinstructed in cat's-cradle, and taught the tales of Cinderella and RedRiding Hood. My hand grasped the lollipops in my pocket convulsively. She would never need them. Nobody else was about. What had become of OomJan Willem--and the baby?

I wandered out into the yard, sick with the sight I had already seen. There Oom Jan Willem himself lay stretched at full length; a bullet hadpierced his left temple; his body was also riddled through with assegaithrusts. 

I saw at once what this meant. A rising of the Matabele!

I had come back from Salisbury, unknowing it, into the midst of a revoltof bloodthirsty savages. 

Yet, even if I had known, I must still have hurried home with all speedto Klaas's--to protect Hilda. 

Hilda? Where was Hilda? A breathless sinking crept over me. 

I staggered out into the open. It was impossible to say what horrormight not have happened. The Matabele might even now be lurking aboutthe kraal--for the bodies were hardly cold. But Hilda? Hilda? Whatevercame, I must find Hilda. 

Fortunately, I had my loaded revolver in my belt. Though we had not inthe least anticipated this sudden revolt--it broke like a thunder-clapfrom a clear sky--the unsettled state of the country made even women goarmed about their daily avocations. 

I strode on, half maddened. Beside the great block of granite whichsheltered the farm there rose one of those rocky little hillocks ofloose boulders which are locally known in South Africa by the Dutch nameof kopjes. I looked out upon it drearily. Its round brown ironstones laypiled irregularly together, almost as if placed there in some earlierage by the mighty hands of prehistoric giants. My gaze on it was blank. I was thinking, not of it, but of Hilda, Hilda. 

I called the name aloud: "Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!"

As I called, to my immense surprise, one of the smooth round boulders onthe hillside seemed slowly to uncurl, and to peer about it cautiously. Then it raised itself in the slant sunlight, put a hand to its eyes, and gazed out upon me with a human face for a moment. After that itdescended, step by step, among the other stones, with a white objectin its arms. As the boulder uncurled and came to life, I was aware, bydegrees. . . Yes, yes, it was Hilda, with Tant Mettie's baby!

In the fierce joy of that discovery I rushed forward to her, trembling, and clasped her in my arms. I could find no words but "Hilda! Hilda!"

"Are they gone?" she asked, staring about her with a terrified air, though still strangely preserving her wonted composure of manner. 

"Who gone? The Matabele?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Did you see them, Hilda?"

"For a moment--with black shields and assegais, all shouting madly. Youhave been to the house, Hubert? You know what has happened?"

"Yes, yes, I know--a rising. They have massacred the Klaases. "

She nodded. "I came back on my bicycle, and, when I opened the door, found Tant Mettie and little Sannie dead. Poor, sweet little Sannie! OomJan was lying shot in the yard outside. I saw the cradle overturned, and looked under it for the baby. They did not kill her--perhaps did notnotice her. I caught her up in my arms, and rushed out to my machine, thinking to make for Salisbury, and give the alarm to the men there. One must try to save others--and YOU were coming, Hubert! Then Iheard horses' hoofs--the Matabele returning. They dashed back, mounted, --stolen horses from other farms, --they have taken poor OomJan's, --and they have gone on, shouting, to murder elsewhere! I flungdown my machine among the bushes as they came, --I hope they have notseen it, --and I crouched here between the boulders, with the baby in myarms, trusting for protection to the colour of my dress, which is justlike the ironstone. "

"It is a perfect deception, " I answered, admiring her instinctivecleverness even then. "I never so much as noticed you. "

"No, nor the Matabele either, for all their sharp eyes. They passed bywithout stopping. I clasped the baby hard, and tried to keep it fromcrying--if it had cried, all would have been lost; but they passed justbelow, and swept on toward Rozenboom's. I lay still for a while, notdaring to look out. Then I raised myself warily, and tried to listen. Just at that moment, I heard a horse's hoofs ring out once more. Icouldn't tell, of course, whether it was YOU returning, or one of theMatabele, left behind by the others. So I crouched again. . . . Thank God, you are safe, Hubert!"

All this took a moment to say, or was less said than hinted. "Now, whatmust we do?" I cried. "Bolt back again to Salisbury?"

"It is the only thing possible--if my machine is unhurt. They may havetaken it. . . Or ridden over and broken it. "

We went down to the spot, and picked it up where it lay, half-concealedamong the brittle, dry scrub of milk-bushes. I examined the bearingscarefully; though there were hoof-marks close by, it had received nohurt. I blew up the tire, which was somewhat flabby, and went on tountie my sturdy pony. The moment I looked at her I saw the poor littlebrute was wearied out with her two long rides in the sweltering sun. Herflanks quivered. "It is no use, " I cried, patting her, as she turned tome with appealing eyes that asked for water. "She CAN'T go back as faras Salisbury; at least, till she has had a feed of corn and a drink. Even then, it will be rough on her. "

"Give her bread, " Hilda suggested. "That will hearten her more thancorn. There is plenty in the house; Tant Mettie baked this morning. "

I crept in reluctantly to fetch it. I also brought out from the dressera few raw eggs, to break into a tumbler and swallow whole; for Hildaand I needed food almost as sorely as the poor beast herself. There wassomething gruesome in thus rummaging about for bread and meat in thedead woman's cupboard, while she herself lay there on the floor; but onenever realises how one will act in these great emergencies until theycome upon one. Hilda, still calm with unearthly calmness, took a coupleof loaves from my hand, and began feeding the pony with them. "Go anddraw water for her, " she said, simply, "while I give her the bread; thatwill save time. Every minute is precious. "

I did as I was bid, not knowing each moment but that the insurgentswould return. When I came back from the spring with the bucket, the marehad demolished the whole two loaves, and was going on upon some grasswhich Hilda had plucked for her. 

"She hasn't had enough, poor dear, " Hilda said, patting her neck. "Acouple of loaves are penny buns to her appetite. Let her drink thewater, while I go in and fetch out the rest of the baking. "

I hesitated. "You CAN'T go in there again, Hilda!" I cried. "Wait, andlet me do it. "

Her white face was resolute. "Yes, I CAN, " she answered. "It is a workof necessity; and in works of necessity a woman, I think, should flinchat nothing. Have I not seen already every varied aspect of death atNathaniel's?" And in she went, undaunted, to that chamber of horrors, still clasping the baby. 

The pony made short work of the remaining loaves, which she devouredwith great zest. As Hilda had predicted, they seemed to hearten her. Thefood and drink, with a bucket of water dashed on her hoofs, gave hernew vigour like wine. We gulped down our eggs in silence. Then I heldHilda's bicycle. She vaulted lightly on to the seat, white and tiredas she was, with the baby in her left arm, and her right hand on thehandle-bar. 

"I must take the baby, " I said. 

She shook her head. 

"Oh, no. I will not trust her to you. "

"Hilda, I insist. "

"And I insist, too. It is my place to take her. "

"But can you ride so?" I asked, anxiously. 

She began to pedal. "Oh, dear, yes. It is quite, quite easy. I shall getthere all right--if the Matabele don't burst upon us. "

Tired as I was with my long day's work, I jumped into my saddle. I sawI should only lose time if I disputed about the baby. My little horseseemed to understand that something grave had occurred; for, weary asshe must have been, she set out with a will once more over that greatred level. Hilda pedalled bravely by my side. The road was bumpy, butshe was well accustomed to it. I could have ridden faster than she went, for the baby weighted her. Still, we rode for dear life. It was a grimexperience. 

All round, by this time, the horizon was dim with clouds of black smokewhich went up from burning farms and plundered homesteads. The smoke didnot rise high; it hung sullenly over the hot plain in long smoulderingmasses, like the smoke of steamers on foggy days in England. The sun wasnearing the horizon; his slant red rays lighted up the red plain, thered sand, the brown-red grasses, with a murky, spectral glow of crimson. After those red pools of blood, this universal burst of redness appalledone. It seemed as though all nature had conspired in one unholy leaguewith the Matabele. We rode on without a word. The red sky grew redder. 

"They may have sacked Salisbury!" I exclaimed at last, looking outtowards the brand-new town. 

"I doubt it, " Hilda answered. Her very doubt reassured me. 

We began to mount a long slope. Hilda pedalled with difficulty. Not asound was heard save the light fall of my pony's feet on the soft newroad, and the shrill cry of the cicalas. Then, suddenly, we started. What was that noise in our rear? Once, twice, it rang out. The loud pingof a rifle!

Looking behind us, we saw eight or ten mounted Matabele! Stalwartwarriors they were--half naked, and riding stolen horses. They werecoming our way! They had seen us! They were pursuing us!

"Put on all speed!" I cried, in my agony. "Hilda, can you manage it?"She pedalled with a will. But, as we mounted the slope, I saw they weregaining upon us. A few hundred yards were all our start. They had thedescent of the opposite hill as yet in their favour. 

One man, astride on a better horse than the rest, galloped on in frontand came within range of us. He had a rifle in his hand, he pointed ittwice, and covered us. But he did not shoot. Hilda gave a cry of relief. "Don't you see?" she exclaimed. "It is Oom Jan Willem's rifle! That wastheir last cartridge. They have no more ammunition. "

I saw she was probably right; for Klaas was out of cartridges, and waswaiting for my new stock to arrive from England. If that were correct, they must get near enough to attack us with assegais. They are moredangerous so. I remembered what an old Boer had said to me at Buluwayo:"The Zulu with his assegai is an enemy to be feared; with a gun, he is abungler. "

We pounded on up the hill. It was deadly work, with those brutes at ourheels. The child on Hilda's arm was visibly wearying her. It kept onwhining. "Hilda, " I cried, "that baby will lose your life! You CANNOT goon carrying it. "

She turned to me with a flash of her eyes. "What! You are a man, " shebroke out, "and you ask a woman to save her life by abandoning a baby!Hubert, you shame me!"

I felt she was right. If she had been capable of giving it up, she wouldnot have been Hilda. There was but one other way left. 

"Then YOU must take the pony, " I called out, "and let me have thebicycle!"

"You couldn't ride it, " she called back. "It is a woman's machine, remember. "

"Yes, I could, " I replied, without slowing. "It is not much too short;and I can bend my knees a bit. Quick, quick! No words! Do as I tellyou!"

She hesitated a second. The child's weight distressed her. "We shouldlose time in changing, " she answered, at last, doubtful but stillpedalling, though my hand was on the rein, ready to pull up the pony. 

"Not if we manage it right. Obey orders! The moment I say 'Halt, ' Ishall slacken my mare's pace. When you see me leave the saddle, jump offinstantly, you, and mount her! I will catch the machine before it falls. Are you ready? Halt, then!"

She obeyed the word without one second's delay. I slipped off, heldthe bridle, caught the bicycle, and led it instantaneously. Then I ranbeside the pony--bridle in one hand, machine in the other--till Hildahad sprung with a light bound into the stirrup. At that, a little leap, and I mounted the bicycle. It was all done nimbly, in less time than thetelling takes, for we are both of us naturally quick in ourmovements. Hilda rode like a man, astride--her short, bicycling skirt, unobtrusively divided in front and at the back, made this easilypossible. Looking behind me with a hasty glance, I could see thatthe savages, taken aback, had reined in to deliberate at our unwontedevolution. I feel sure that the novelty of the iron horse, with awoman riding it, played not a little on their superstitious fears; theysuspected, no doubt, this was some ingenious new engine of wardevised against them by the unaccountable white man; it might go offunexpectedly in their faces at any moment. Most of them, I observed, asthey halted, carried on their backs black ox-hide shields, interlacedwith white thongs; they were armed with two or three assegais apiece anda knobkerry. 

Instead of losing time by the change, as it turned out, we had actuallygained it. Hilda was able to put on my sorrel to her full pace, whichI had not dared to do, for fear of outrunning my companion; the wiselittle beast, for her part, seemed to rise to the occasion, and tounderstand that we were pursued; for she stepped out bravely. On theother hand, in spite of the low seat and the short crank of a woman'smachine, I could pedal up the slope with more force than Hilda, for I ama practised hill-climber; so that in both ways we gained, besides havingmomentarily disconcerted and checked the enemy. Their ponies were tired, and they rode them full tilt with savage recklessness, making themcanter up-hill, and so needlessly fatiguing them. The Matabele, indeed, are unused to horses, and manage them but ill. It is as foot soldiers, creeping stealthily through bush or long grass, that they are reallyformidable. Only one of their mounts was tolerably fresh, the one whichhad once already almost overtaken us. As we neared the top of the slope, Hilda, glancing behind her, exclaimed, with a sudden thrill, "He isspurting again, Hubert!"

I drew my revolver and held it in my right hand, using my left forsteering. I did not look back; time was far too precious. I set my teethhard. "Tell me when he draws near enough for a shot, " I said, quietly. 

Hilda only nodded. Being mounted on the mare, she could see behindher more steadily now than I could from the machine; and her eye wastrustworthy. As for the baby, rocked by the heave and fall of the pony'swithers, it had fallen asleep placidly in the very midst of this terror!

After a second, I asked once more, with bated breath, "Is he gaining?"

She looked back. "Yes; gaining. "

A pause. "And now?"

"Still gaining. He is poising an assegai. "

Ten seconds more passed in breathless suspense. The thud of theirhorses' hoofs alone told me their nearness. My finger was on thetrigger. I awaited the word. "Fire!" she said at last, in a calm, unflinching voice. "He is well within distance. "

I turned half round and levelled as true as I could at the advancingblack man. He rode, nearly naked, showing all his teeth and brandishinghis assegai; the long white feathers stuck upright in his hair gavehim a wild and terrifying barbaric aspect. It was difficult to preserveone's balance, keep the way on, and shoot, all at the same time; but, spurred by necessity, I somehow did it. I fired three shots in quicksuccession. My first bullet missed; my second knocked the man over; mythird grazed the horse. With a ringing shriek, the Matabele fell inthe road, a black writhing mass; his horse, terrified, dashed back withmaddened snorts into the midst of the others. Its plunging disconcertedthe whole party for a minute. 

We did not wait to see the rest. Taking advantage of this momentarydiversion in our favour, we rode on at full speed to the top of theslope--I never knew before how hard I could pedal--and began to descendat a dash into the opposite hollow. 

The sun had set by this time. There is no twilight in those latitudes. It grew dark at once. We could see now, in the plain all round, whereblack clouds of smoke had rolled before, one lurid red glare of burninghouses, mixed with a sullen haze of tawny light from the columns ofprairie fire kindled by the insurgents. 

We made our way still onward across the open plain without one wordtowards Salisbury. The mare was giving out. She strode with a will; buther flanks were white with froth; her breath came short; foam flew fromher nostrils. 

As we mounted the next ridge, still distancing our pursuers, I sawsuddenly, on its crest, defined against the livid red sky like asilhouette, two more mounted black men!

"It's all up, Hilda!" I cried, losing heart at last. "They are on bothsides of us now! The mare is spent; we are surrounded!"

She drew rein and gazed at them. For a moment suspense spoke in all herattitude. Then she burst into a sudden deep sigh of relief. "No, no, "she cried; "these are friendlies!"

"How do you know?" I gasped. But I believed her. 

"They are looking out this way, with hands shading their eyes againstthe red glare. They are looking away from Salisbury, in the direction ofthe attack. They are expecting the enemy. They MUST be friendlies! See, see! they have caught sight of us!"

As she spoke, one of the men lifted his rifle and half pointed it. "Don't shoot! don't shoot!" I shrieked aloud. "We are English! English!"

The men let their rifles drop, and rode down towards us. "Who are you?"I cried. 

They saluted us, military fashion. "Matabele police, sah, " the leaderanswered, recognising me. "You are flying from Klaas's?"

"Yes, " I answered. "They have murdered Klaas, with his wife and child. Some of them are now following us. "

The spokesman was a well-educated Cape Town negro. "All right sah, " heanswered. "I have forty men here right behind de kopje. Let dem come!We can give a good account of dem. Ride on straight wit de lady toSalisbury!"

"The Salisbury people know of this rising, then?" I asked. 

"Yes, sah. Dem know since five o'clock. Kaffir boys from Klaas's broughtin de news; and a white man escaped from Rozenboom's confirm it. Wehave pickets all round. You is safe now; you can ride on into Salisburywitout fear of de Matabele. "

I rode on, relieved. Mechanically, my feet worked to and fro on thepedals. It was a gentle down-gradient now towards the town. I had nofurther need for special exertion. 

Suddenly, Hilda's voice came wafted to me, as through a mist. "What areyou doing, Hubert? You'll be off in a minute!"

I started and recovered my balance with difficulty. Then I was aware atonce that one second before I had all but dropped asleep, dog tired, onthe bicycle. Worn out with my long day and with the nervous strain, I began to doze off, with my feet still moving round and roundautomatically, the moment the anxiety of the chase was relieved, and aneasy down-grade gave me a little respite. 

I kept myself awake even then with difficulty. Riding on through thelurid gloom, we reached Salisbury at last, and found the town alreadycrowded with refugees from the plateau. However, we succeeded insecuring two rooms at a house in the long street, and were soon sittingdown to a much-needed supper. 

As we rested, an hour or two later, in the ill-furnished backroom, discussing this sudden turn of affairs with our host and someneighbours--for, of course, all Salisbury was eager for news from thescene of the massacres--I happened to raise my head, and saw, to mygreat surprise. . . A haggard white face peering in at us through thewindow. 

It peered round a corner, stealthily. It was an ascetic face, very sharpand clear-cut. It had a stately profile. The long and wiry grizzledmoustache, the deep-set, hawk-like eyes, the acute, intense, intellectual features, all were very familiar. So was the outer settingof long, white hair, straight and silvery as it fell, and just curledin one wave-like inward sweep where it turned and rested on the stoopingshoulders. But the expression on the face was even stranger thanthe sudden apparition. It was an expression of keen and poignantdisappointment--as of a man whom fate has baulked of some well-plannedend, his due by right, which mere chance has evaded. 

"They say there's a white man at the bottom of all this trouble, " ourhost had been remarking, one second earlier. "The niggers know too much;and where did they get their rifles? People at Rozenboom's believe someblack-livered traitor has been stirring up the Matabele for weeks andweeks. An enemy of Rhodes's, of course, jealous of our advance; aFrench agent, perhaps; but more likely one of these confounded TransvaalDutchmen. Depend upon it, it's Kruger's doing. "

As the words fell from his lips, I saw the face. I gave a quick littlestart, then recovered my composure. 

But Hilda noted it. She looked up at me hastily. She was sitting withher back to the window, and therefore, of course, could not see the faceitself, which indeed was withdrawn with a hurried movement, yet with acertain strange dignity, almost before I could feel sure of having seenit. Still, she caught my startled expression, and the gleam of surpriseand recognition in my eye. She laid one hand upon my arm. "You have seenhim?" she asked quietly, almost below her breath. 

"Seen whom?"

"Sebastian. "

It was useless denying it to HER. "Yes, I have seen him, " I answered, ina confidential aside. 

"Just now--this moment--at the back of the house--looking in at thewindow upon us?"

"You are right--as always. "

She drew a deep breath. "He has played his game, " she said low to me, in an awed undertone. "I felt sure it was he. I expected him to play;though what piece, I knew not; and when I saw those poor dead souls, I was certain he had done it--indirectly done it. The Matabele are hispawns. He wanted to aim a blow at ME; and THIS was the way he chose toaim it. "

"Do you think he is capable of that?" I cried. For, in spite of all, I had still a sort of lingering respect for Sebastian. "It seems soreckless--like the worst of anarchists--when he strikes at one head, toinvolve so many irrelevant lives in one common destruction. "

Hilda's face was like a drowned man's. 

"To Sebastian, " she answered, shuddering, "the End is all; the Meansare unessential. Who wills the End, wills the Means; that is the sum andsubstance of his philosophy of life. From first to last, he has alwaysacted up to it. Did I not tell you once he was a snow-clad volcano?"

"Still, I am loth to believe--" I cried. 

She interrupted me calmly. "I knew it, " she said. "I expected it. Beneath that cold exterior, the fires of his life burn fiercely still. Itold you we must wait for Sebastian's next move; though I confess, even from HIM, I hardly dreamt of this one. But, from the moment whenI opened the door on poor Tant Mettie's body, lying there in its redhorror, I felt it must be he. And when you started just now, I said tomyself in a flash of intuition--'Sebastian has come! He has come to seehow his devil's work has prospered. ' He sees it has gone wrong. So nowhe will try to devise some other. "

I thought of the malign expression on that cruel white face as it staredin at the window from the outer gloom, and I felt convinced she wasright. She had read her man once more. For it was the desperate, contorted face of one appalled to discover that a great crime attemptedand successfully carried out has failed, by mere accident, of itscentral intention. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE EPISODE OF THE EUROPEAN WITH THE KAFFIR HEART

Unfashionable as it is to say so, I am a man of peace. I belong to aprofession whose province is to heal, not to destroy. Still thereARE times which turn even the most peaceful of us perforce intofighters--times when those we love, those we are bound to protect, standin danger of their lives; and at moments like that, no man can doubtwhat is his plain duty. The Matabele revolt was one such moment. In aconflict of race we MUST back our own colour. I do not know whether thenatives were justified in rising or not; most likely, yes; for we hadstolen their country; but when once they rose, when the security ofwhite women depended upon repelling them, I felt I had no alternative. For Hilda's sake, for the sake of every woman and child in Salisbury, and in all Rhodesia, I was bound to bear my part in restoring order. 

For the immediate future, it is true, we were safe enough in the littletown; but we did not know how far the revolt might have spread; we couldnot tell what had happened at Charter, at Buluwayo, at the outlyingstations. The Matabele, perhaps, had risen in force over the whole vastarea which was once Lo-Bengula's country; if so, their first objectwould certainly be to cut us off from communication with the main bodyof English settlers at Buluwayo. 

"I trust to you, Hilda, " I said, on the day after the massacre atKlaas's, "to divine for us where these savages are next likely to attackus. "

She cooed at the motherless baby, raising one bent finger, and thenturned to me with a white smile. "Then you ask too much of me, " sheanswered. "Just think what a correct answer would imply! First, aknowledge of these savages' character; next, a knowledge of their modeof fighting. Can't you see that only a person who possessed my trick ofintuition, and who had also spent years in warfare among the Matabele, would be really able to answer your question?"

"And yet such questions have been answered before now by people far lessintuitive than you, " I went on. "Why, I've read somewhere how, when thewar between Napoleon the First and the Prussians broke out, in 1806, Jomini predicted that the decisive battle of the campaign would befought near Jena; and near Jena it was fought. Are not YOU better thanmany Jominis?"

Hilda tickled the baby's cheek. "Smile, then, baby, smile!" she said, pouncing one soft finger on a gathering dimple. "And who WAS your friendJomini?"

"The greatest military critic and tactician of his age, " I answered. "One of Napoleon's generals. I fancy he wrote a book, don't you know--abook on war--Des Grandes Operations Militaires, or something of thatsort. "

"Well, there you are, then! That's just it! Your Jomini, or Hominy, orwhatever you call him, not only understood Napoleon's temperament, butunderstood war and understood tactics. It was all a question of the lieof the land, and strategy, and so forth. If _I_ had been asked, I couldnever have answered a quarter as well as Jomini Piccolomini--could I, baby? Jomini would have been worth a good many me's. There, there, adear, motherless darling! Why, she crows just as if she hadn't lost allher family!"

"But, Hilda, we must be serious. I count upon you to help us in thismatter. We are still in danger. Even now these Matabele may attack anddestroy us. "

She laid the child on her lap, and looked grave. "I know it, Hubert; butI must leave it now to you men. I am no tactician. Don't take ME for oneof Napoleon's generals. "

"Still, " I said, "we have not only the Matabele to reckon with, recollect. There is Sebastian as well. And, whether you know yourMatabele or not, you at least know your Sebastian. "

She shuddered. "I know him; yes, I know him. . . . But this case is sodifficult. We have Sebastian--complicated by a rabble of savages, whose habits and manners I do not understand. It is THAT that makes thedifficulty. "

"But Sebastian himself?" I urged. "Take him first, in isolation. "

She paused for a full minute, with her chin on her hand and her elbowon the table. Her brow gathered. "Sebastian?" she repeated. "Sebastian?--ah, there I might guess something. Well, of course, havingonce begun this attempt, and being definitely committed, as it were, toa policy of killing us, he will go through to the bitter end, no matterhow many other lives it may cost. That is Sebastian's method. "

"You don't think, having once found out that I saw and recognised him, he would consider the game lost, and slink away to the coast again?"

"Sebastian? Oh, no; that is the absolute antipodes of his type andtemperament. "

"He will never give up because of a temporary check, you think?"

"No, never. The man has a will of sheer steel--it may break, but it willnot bend. Besides, consider: he is too deeply involved. You have seenhim; you know; and he knows you know. You may bring this thing home tohim. Then what is his plain policy? Why, to egg on the natives whoseconfidence he has somehow gained into making a further attack, andcutting off all Salisbury. If he had succeeded in getting you and memassacred at Klaas's, as he hoped, he would no doubt have slunk off tothe coast at once, leaving his black dupes to be shot down at leisure byRhodes's soldiers. "

"I see; but having failed in that?"

"Then he is bound to go through with it, and kill us if he can, even ifhe has to kill all Salisbury with us. That, I feel sure, is Sebastian'splan. Whether he can get the Matabele to back him up in it or not is adifferent matter. "

"But taking Sebastian himself; alone?"

"Oh, Sebastian himself alone would naturally say: 'Never mind Buluwayo!Concentrate round Salisbury, and kill off all there first; when thatis done, then you can move on at your ease and cut them to piecesin Charter and Buluwayo. ' You see, he would have no interest in themovement, himself, once he had fairly got rid of us here. The Matabeleare only the pieces in his game. It is ME he wants, not Salisbury. Hewould clear out of Rhodesia as soon as he had carried his point. But hewould have to give some reasonable ground to the Matabele for his firstadvice; and it seems a reasonable ground to say, 'Don't leave Salisburyin your rear, so as to put yourselves between two fires. Capturethe outpost first; that down, march on undistracted to the principalstronghold. '"

"Who is no tactician?" I murmured, half aloud. 

She laughed. "That's not tactics, Hubert; that's plain common sense--andknowledge of Sebastian. Still, it comes to nothing. The question isnot, 'What would Sebastian wish?' it is, 'Could Sebastian persuade theseangry black men to accept his guidance?'"

"Sebastian!" I cried; "Sebastian could persuade the very devil! I knowthe man's fiery enthusiasm, his contagious eloquence. He thrilled methrough, myself, with his electric personality, so that it took me sixyears--and your aid--to find him out at last. His very abstractnesstells. Why, even in this war, you may be sure, he will be making notesall the time on the healing of wounds in tropical climates, contrastingthe African with the European constitution. "

"Oh, yes; of course. Whatever he does, he will never forget theinterests of science. He is true to his lady-love, to whomever else heplays false. That is his saving virtue. "

"And he will talk down the Matabele, " I went on, "even if he doesn'tknow their language. But I suspect he does; for, you must remember, he was three years in South Africa as a young man, on a scientificexpedition, collecting specimens. He can ride like a trooper; and heknows the country. His masterful ways, his austere face, will cow thenatives. Then, again, he has the air of a prophet; and prophets alwaysstir the negro. I can imagine with what air he will bid them driveout the intrusive white men who have usurped their land, and draw themflattering pictures of a new Matabele empire about to arise under a newchief, too strong for these gold-grubbing, diamond-hunting mobs fromover sea to meddle with. "

She reflected once more. "Do you mean to say anything of our suspicionsin Salisbury, Hubert?" she asked at last. 

"It is useless, " I answered. "The Salisbury folk believe there is awhite man at the bottom of this trouble already. They will try to catchhim; that's all that is necessary. If we said it was Sebastian, peoplewould only laugh at us. They must understand Sebastian, as you and Iunderstand him, before they would think such a move credible. As a rulein life, if you know anything which other people do not know, betterkeep it to yourself; you will only get laughed at as a fool for tellingit. "

"I think so, too. That is why I never say what I suspect or inferfrom my knowledge of types--except to a few who can understand andappreciate. Hubert, if they all arm for the defence of the town, youwill stop here, I suppose, to tend the wounded?"

Her lips trembled as she spoke, and she gazed at me with a strangewistfulness. "No, dearest, " I answered at once, taking her face in myhands. "I shall fight with the rest. Salisbury has more need to-day offighters than of healers. "

"I thought you would, " she answered, slowly. "And I think you do right. "Her face was set white; she played nervously with the baby. "I would noturge you; but I am glad you say so. I want you to stop; yet I could notlove you so much if I did not see you ready to play the man at such acrisis. "

"I shall give in my name with the rest, " I answered. 

"Hubert, it is hard to spare you--hard to send you to such danger. But for one other thing, I am glad you are going. . . . They must takeSebastian alive; they must NOT kill him. "

"They will shoot him red-handed if they catch him, " I answeredconfidently. "A white man who sides with the blacks in an insurrection!"

"Then YOU must see that they do not do it. They must bring him in alive, and try him legally. For me--and therefore for you--that is of the firstimportance. "

"Why so, Hilda?"

"Hubert, you want to marry me. " I nodded vehemently. "Well, you knowI can only marry you on one condition--that I have succeeded first inclearing my father's memory. Now, the only man living who can clearit is Sebastian. If Sebastian were to be shot, it could NEVER becleared--and then, law of Medes and Persians, I could never marry you. "

"But how can you expect Sebastian, of all men, to clear it, Hilda?" Icried. "He is ready to kill us both, merely to prevent your attemptinga revision; is it likely you can force him to confess his crime, stillless induce him to admit it voluntarily?"

She placed her hands over her eyes and pressed them hard with a strange, prophetic air she often had about her when she gazed into the future. "Iknow my man, " she answered, slowly, without uncovering her eyes. "I knowhow I can do it--if the chance ever comes to me. But the chance mustcome first. It is hard to find. I lost it once at Nathaniel's. I mustnot lose it again. If Sebastian is killed skulking here in Rhodesia, mylife's purpose will have failed; I shall not have vindicated my father'sgood name; and then, we can never marry. "

"So I understand, Hilda, my orders are these: I am to go out and fightfor the women and children, if possible; that Sebastian shall be madeprisoner alive, and on no account to let him be killed in the open!"

"I give you no orders, Hubert. I tell you how it seems best to me. But if Sebastian is shot dead--then you understand it must be all overbetween us. I NEVER can marry you until, or unless, I have cleared myfather. "

"Sebastian shall not be shot dead, " I cried, with my youthfulimpetuosity. "He shall be brought in alive, though all Salisbury as oneman try its best to lynch him. "

I went out to report myself as a volunteer for service. Within thenext few hours the whole town had been put in a state of siege, and allavailable men armed to oppose the insurgent Matabele. Hasty preparationswere made for defence. The ox-waggons of settlers were drawn up outsidein little circles here and there, so as to form laagers, which actedpractically as temporary forts for the protection of the outskirts. Inone of these I was posted. With our company were two American scouts, named Colebrook and Doolittle, irregular fighters whose value in SouthAfrican campaigns had already been tested in the old Matabele waragainst Lo-Bengula. Colebrook, in particular, was an odd-lookingcreature--a tall, spare man, bodied like a weasel. He was red-haired, ferret-eyed, and an excellent scout, but scrappier and more inarticulatein his manner of speech than any human being I had ever encountered. His conversation was a series of rapid interjections, jerked out atintervals, and made comprehensible by a running play of gesture andattitude. 

"Well, yes, " he said, when I tried to draw him out on the Matabele modeof fighting. "Not on the open. Never! Grass, if you like. Or bushes. Theeyes of them! The eyes!. . . " He leaned eagerly forward, as if looking forsomething. "See here, Doctor; I'm telling you. Spots. Gleaming. Amongthe grass. Long grass. And armed, too. A pair of 'em each. One tothrow"--he raised his hand as if lancing something--"the other for closefighting. Assegais, you know. That's the name of it. Only the eyes. Creeping, creeping, creeping. No noise. One raised. Waggons drawn up inlaager. Oxen out-spanned in the middle. Trekking all day. Tired out; dogtired. Crawl, crawl, crawl! Hands and knees. Might be snakes. A wriggle. Men sitting about the camp fire. Smoking. Gleam of their eyes! Under thewaggons. Nearer, nearer, nearer! Then, the throwing ones in your midst. Shower of 'em. Right and left. 'Halloa! stand by, boys!' Look up; see'em swarming, black like ants, over the waggons. Inside the laager. Snatch up rifles! All up! Oxen stampeding, men running, blacks sticking'em like pigs in the back with their assegais. Bad job, the whole thing. Don't care for it, myself. Very tough 'uns to fight. If they once breaklaager. "

"Then you should never let them get to close quarters, " I suggested, catching the general drift of his inarticulate swift pictures. 

"You're a square man, you are, Doctor! There you touch the spot. Never let 'em get at close quarters. Sentries?--creep past 'em. Outposts?--crawl between. Had Forbes and Wilson like that. Cut 'em off. Perdition!. . . But Maxims will do it! Maxims! Never let em get near. Sweep the ground all round. Durned hard, though, to know just WHENthey're coming. A night; two nights; all clear; only waste ammunition. Third, they swarm like bees; break laager; all over!"

This was not exactly an agreeable picture of what we had to expect--themore so as our particular laager happened to have no Maxims. However, wekept a sharp lookout for those gleaming eyes in the long grass of whichColebrook warned us; their flashing light was the one thing to beseen, at night above all, when the black bodies could crawl unperceivedthrough the tall dry herbage. On our first night out we had noadventures. We watched by turns outside, relieving sentry from time totime, while those of us who slept within the laager slept on the bareground with our arms beside us. Nobody spoke much. The tension was toogreat. Every moment we expected an attack of the enemy. 

Next day news reached us by scouts from all the other laagers. None ofthem had been attacked; but in all there was a deep, half-instinctivebelief that the Matabele in force were drawing step by step closerand closer around us. Lo-Bengula's old impis, or native regiments, hadgathered together once more under their own indunas--men trained anddrilled in all the arts and ruses of savage warfare. On their ownground, and among their native scrub, those rude strategists areformidable. They know the country, and how to fight in it. We hadnothing to oppose to them but a handful of the new Matabeleland police, an old regular soldier or two, and a raw crowd of volunteers, most ofwhom, like myself, had never before really handled a rifle. 

That afternoon, the Major in command decided to send out the twoAmerican scouts to scour the grass and discover, if possible, how nearour lines the Matabele had penetrated. I begged hard to be permitted toaccompany them. I wanted, if I could, to get evidence against Sebastian;or, at least, to learn whether he was still directing and assisting theenemy. At first, the scouts laughed at my request; but when I told themprivately that I believed I had a clue against the white traitor who hadcaused the revolt, and that I wished to identify him, they changed theirtone, and began to think there might be something in it. 

"Experience?" Colebrook asked in his brief shorthand of speech, runninghis ferret eyes over me. 

"None, " I answered; "but a noiseless tread and a capacity for crawlingthrough holes in hedges which may perhaps be useful. "

He glanced inquiry at Doolittle, who was a shorter and stouter man, witha knack of getting over obstacles by sheer forcefulness. 

"Hands and knees!" he said, abruptly, in the imperative mood, pointingto a clump of dry grass with thorny bushes ringed about it. 

I went down on my hands and knees, and threaded my way through the longgrasses and matted boughs as noiselessly as I could. The two old handswatched me. When I emerged several yards off, much to their surprise, Colebrook turned to Doolittle. "Might answer, " he said curtly. "Majorsays, 'Choose your own men. ' Anyhow, if they catch him, nobody's faultbut his. Wants to go. Will do it. "

We set out through the long grass together, walking erect at first, till we had got some distance from the laager, and then, creeping as theMatabele themselves creep, without displacing the grass-flowers, fora mere wave on top would have betrayed us at once to the quick eyesof those observant savages. We crept on for a mile or so. At last, Colebrook turned to me, one finger on his lips. His ferret eyes gleamed. We were approaching a wooded hill, all interspersed with boulders. "Kaffirs here!" he whispered low, as if he knew by instinct. HOW heknew, I cannot tell; he seemed almost to scent them. 

We stole on farther, going more furtively than ever now. I could noticeby this time that there were waggons in front, and could hear menspeaking in them. I wanted to proceed, but Colebrook held up one warninghand. "Won't do, " he said, shortly, in a low tone. "Only myself. Dangerahead! Stop here and wait for me. "

Doolittle and myself waited. Colebrook kept on cautiously, squirming hislong body in sinuous waves like a lizard's through the grass, and wassoon lost to us. No snake could have been lither. We waited, with earsintent. One minute, two minutes, many minutes passed. We could catch thevoices of the Kaffirs in the bush all round. They were speaking freely, but what they said I did not know, as I had picked up only a very fewwords of the Matabele language. 

It seemed hours while we waited, still as mice in our ambush, and alert. I began to think Colebrook must have been lost or killed--so long was hegone--and that we must return without him. At last--we leaned forward--amuffled movement in the grass ahead! A slight wave at the base! Thenit divided below, bit by bit, while the tops remained stationary. Aweasel-like body slank noiselessly through. Finger on lips once more, Colebrook glided beside us. We turned and crawled back, stifling ourvery pulses. For many minutes none of us spoke. But we heard in our reara loud cry and a shaking of assegais; the Kaffirs behind us were yellingfrightfully. They must have suspected something--seen some movement inthe tufted heads of grass, for they spread abroad, shouting. We halted, holding our breath. After a time, however; the noise died down. Theywere moving another way. We crept on again, stealthily. 

When, at last, after many minutes, we found ourselves beyond asheltering belt of brushwood, we ventured to rise and speak. "Well?" Iasked of Colebrook. "Did you discover anything?"

He nodded assent. "Couldn't see him, " he said shortly. "But he's there, right enough. White man. Heard 'em talk of him. "

"What did they say?" I asked, eagerly. 

"Said he had a white skin, but his heart was a Kaffir's. Great induna;leader of many impis. Prophet, wise weather doctor! Friend of oldMoselekatse's. Destroy the white men from over the big water; restorethe land to the Matabele. Kill all in Salisbury, especially the whitewomen. Witches--all witches. They give charms to the men; cook lions'hearts for them; make them brave with love-drinks. "

"They said that?" I exclaimed, taken aback. "Kill all the white women!"

"Yes. Kill all. White witches, every one. The young ones worst. Word ofthe great induna. "

"And you could not see him?"

"Crept near waggons, close. Fellow himself inside. Heard his voice;spoke English, with a little Matabele. Kaffir boy who was servant at themission interpreted. "

"What sort of voice? Like this?" And I imitated Sebastian's cold, clear-cut tone as well as I was able. 

"The man! That's him, Doctor. You've got him down to the ground. Thevery voice. Heard him giving orders. "

That settled the question. I was certain of it now. Sebastian was withthe insurgents. 

We made our way back to our laager, flung ourselves down, and slept alittle on the ground before taking our turn in the fatigues of the nightwatch. Our horses were loosely tied, ready for any sudden alarm. Aboutmidnight, we three were sitting with others about the fire, talking lowto one another. All at once Doolittle sprang up, alert and eager. "Lookout, boys!" he cried, pointing his hands under the waggons. "What'swriggling in the grass there?"

I looked, and saw nothing. Our sentries were posted outside, about ahundred yards apart, walking up and down till they met, and exchanging"All's well" aloud at each meeting. 

"They should have been stationary!" one of our scouts exclaimed, lookingout at them. "It's easier for the Matabele to see them so, when theywalk up and down, moving against the sky. The Major ought to have postedthem where it wouldn't have been so simple for a Kaffir to see them andcreep in between them!"

"Too late now, boys!" Colebrook burst out, with a rare effort ofarticulateness. "Call back the sentries, Major! The blacks have brokenline! Hold there! They're in upon us!"

Even as he spoke, I followed his eager pointing hand with my eyes, and just descried among the grass two gleaming objects, seen under thehollow of one of the waggons. Two: then two; then two again; and behind, whole pairs of them. They looked like twin stars; but they were eyes, black eyes, reflecting the starlight and the red glare of the camp-fire. They crept on tortuously in serpentine curves through the long, drygrasses. I could feel, rather than see, that they were Matabele, crawling prone on their bellies, and trailing their snake-like waybetween the dark jungle. Quick as thought, I raised my rifle and blazedaway at the foremost. So did several others. But the Major shouted, angrily: "Who fired? Don't shoot, boys, till you hear the word ofcommand! Back, sentries, to laager! Not a shot till they're safe inside!You'll hit your own people!"

Almost before he said it, the sentries darted back. The Matabele, crouching on hands and knees in the long grass, had passed between themunseen. A wild moment followed. I can hardly describe it; the wholething was so new to me, and took place so quickly. Hordes of black humanants seemed to surge up all at once over and under the waggons. Assegaiswhizzed through the air, or gleamed brandished around one. Our men fellback to the centre of the laager, and formed themselves hastily underthe Major's orders. Then a pause; a deadly fire. Once, twice, thrice wevolleyed. The Matabele fell by dozens--but they came on by hundreds. Asfast as we fired and mowed down one swarm, fresh swarms seemed to springfrom the earth and stream over the waggons. Others appeared to grow upalmost beneath our feet as they wormed their way on their faces alongthe ground between the wheels, squirmed into the circle, and then rosesuddenly, erect and naked, in front of us. Meanwhile, they yelled andshouted, clashing their spears and shields. The oxen bellowed. Therifles volleyed. It was a pandemonium of sound in an orgy of gloom. Darkness, lurid flame, blood, wounds, death, horror!

Yet, in the midst of all this hubbub, I could not help admiring the coolmilitary calm and self-control of our Major. His voice rose clear abovethe confused tumult. "Steady, boys, steady! Don't fire at random. Pickeach your likeliest man, and aim at him deliberately. That's right;easy--easy! Shoot at leisure, and don't waste ammunition!"

He stood as if he were on parade, in the midst of this palpitatingturmoil of savages. Some of us, encouraged by his example, mounted thewaggons, and shot from the tops at our approaching assailants. 

How long the hurly-burly went on, I cannot say. We fired, fired, fired, and Kaffirs fell like sheep; yet more Kaffirs rose fresh from the longgrass to replace them. They swarmed with greater ease now over thecovered waggons, across the mangled and writhing bodies of theirfellows; for the dead outside made an inclined plane for the living tomount by. But the enemy were getting less numerous, I thought, and lessanxious to fight. The steady fire told on them. By-and-by, with a littlehalt, for the first time they wavered. All our men now mounted thewaggons, and began to fire on them in regular volleys as they came up. The evil effects of the surprise were gone by this time; we were actingwith coolness and obeying orders. But several of our people droppedclose beside me, pierced through with assegais. 

All at once, as if a panic had burst over them, the Matabele, with onemind, stopped dead short in their advance and ceased fighting. Till thatmoment, no number of deaths seemed to make any difference to them. Menfell, disabled; others sprang up from the ground by magic. But now, ofa sudden, their courage flagged--they faltered, gave way, broke, andshambled in a body. At last, as one man, they turned and fled. Manyof them leapt up with a loud cry from the long grass where they wereskulking, flung away their big shields with the white thongs interlaced, and ran for dear life, black, crouching figures, through the dense, dryjungle. They held their assegais still, but did not dare to use them. Itwas a flight, pell-mell--and the devil take the hindmost. 

Not until then had I leisure to THINK, and to realise my position. Thiswas the first and only time I had ever seen a battle. I am a bit of acoward, I believe--like most other men--though I have courage enough toconfess it; and I expected to find myself terribly afraid when it cameto fighting. Instead of that, to my immense surprise, once the Matabelehad swarmed over the laager, and were upon us in their thousands, I hadno time to be frightened. The absolute necessity for keeping cool, forloading and reloading, for aiming and firing, for beating them off atclose quarters--all this so occupied one's mind, and still more one'shands, that one couldn't find room for any personal terrors. "Theyare breaking over there!" "They will overpower us yonder!" "They arefaltering now!" Those thoughts were so uppermost in one's head, andone's arms were so alert, that only after the enemy gave way, and beganto run at full pelt, could a man find breathing-space to think of hisown safety. Then the thought occurred to me, "I have been through myfirst fight, and come out of it alive; after all, I was a deal lessafraid than I expected!"

That took but a second, however. Next instant, awaking to the alteredcircumstances, we were after them at full speed; accompanying them ontheir way back to their kraals in the uplands with a running fire as afarewell attention. 

As we broke laager in pursuit of them, by the uncertain starlight we sawa sight which made us boil with indignation. A mounted man turned andfled before them. He seemed their leader, unseen till then. He wasdressed like a European--tall, thin, unbending, in a greyish-white suit. He rode a good horse, and sat it well; his air was commanding, even ashe turned and fled in the general rout from that lost battle. 

I seized Colebrook's arm, almost speechless with anger. "The white man!"I cried. "The traitor!"

He did not answer a word, but with a set face of white rage loosed hishorse from where it was tethered among the waggons. At the same moment, I loosed mine. So did Doolittle. Quick as thought, but silently, we ledthem out all three where the laager was broken. I clutched my mare'smane, and sprang to the stirrup to pursue our enemy. My sorrel boundedoff like a bird. The fugitive had a good two minutes start of us; butour horses were fresh, while his had probably been ridden all day. Ipatted my pony's neck; she responded with a ringing neigh of joy. Wetore after the outlaw, all three of us abreast. I felt a sort of fiercedelight in the reaction after the fighting. Our ponies galloped wildlyover the plain; we burst out into the night, never heeding the Matabelewhom we passed on the open in panic-stricken retreat. I noticed thatmany of them in their terror had even flung away their shields and theirassegais. 

It was a mad chase across the dark veldt--we three, neck to neck, against that one desperate runaway. We rode all we knew. I dug my heelsinto my sorrel's flanks, and she responded bravely. The tables wereturned now on our traitor since the afternoon of the massacre. HE wasthe pursued, and WE were the pursuers. We felt we must run him down, andpunish him for his treachery. 

At a breakneck pace, we stumbled over low bushes; we grazed bigboulders; we rolled down the sides of steep ravines; but we kept himin sight all the time, dim and black against the starry sky; slowly, slowly--yes, yes!--we gained upon him. My pony led now. The mysteriouswhite man rode and rode--head bent, neck forward--but never lookedbehind him. Bit by bit we lessened the distance between us. As we drewnear him at last, Doolittle called out to me, in a warning voice: "Takecare, Doctor! Have your revolvers ready! He's driven to bay now! As weapproach, he'll fire at us!"

Then it came home to me in a flash. I felt the truth of it. "He DARE notfire!" I cried. "He dare not turn towards us. He cannot show his face!If he did, we might recognise him!"

On we rode, still gaining. "Now, now, " I cried, "we shall catch him!"

Even as I leaned forward to seize his rein, the fugitive, withoutchecking his horse, without turning his head, drew his revolver fromhis belt, and, raising his hand, fired behind him at random. He firedtowards us, on the chance. The bullet whizzed past my ear, not hittinganyone. We scattered, right and left, still galloping free and strong. We did not return his fire, as I had told the others of my desire totake him alive. We might have shot his horse; but the risk of hittingthe rider, coupled with the confidence we felt of eventually hunting himto earth, restrained us. It was the great mistake we made. 

He had gained a little by his shots, but we soon caught it up. Once moreI said, "We are on him!"

A minute later, we were pulled up short before an impenetrable thicketof prickly shrubs, through which I saw at once it would have been quiteimpossible to urge our staggering horses. 

The other man, of course, reached it before us, with his mare's lastbreath. He must have been making for it, indeed, of set purpose; for thesecond he arrived at the edge of the thicket he slipped off his tiredpony, and seemed to dive into the bush as a swimmer dives off a rockinto the water. 

"We have him now!" I cried, in a voice of triumph. And Colebrook echoed, "We have him!"

We sprang down quickly. "Take him alive, if you can!" I exclaimed, remembering Hilda's advice. "Let us find out who he is, and have himproperly tried and hanged at Buluwayo! Don't give him a soldier's death!All he deserves is a murderer's!"

"You stop here, " Colebrook said, briefly, flinging his bridle toDoolittle to hold. "Doctor and I follow him. Thick bush. Knows the waysof it. Revolvers ready!"

I handed my sorrel to Doolittle. He stopped behind, holding the threefoam-bespattered and panting horses, while Colebrook and I dived afterour fugitive into the matted bushes. 

The thicket, as I have said, was impenetrable above; but it was burrowedat its base by over-ground runs of some wild animal--not, I think, avery large one; they were just like the runs which rabbits make amonggorse and heather, only on a bigger scale--bigger, even, than a fox'sor badger's. By crouching and bending our backs, we could crawl throughthem with difficulty into the scrubby tangle. It was hard work creeping. The runs divided soon. Colebrook felt with his hands on the ground: "Ican make out the spoor!" he muttered, after a minute. "He has gone onthis way!"

We tracked him a little distance in, crawling at times, and rising nowand again where the runs opened out on to the air for a moment. Thespoor was doubtful and the tunnels tortuous. I felt the ground from timeto time, but could not be sure of the tracks with my fingers; I was nota trained scout, like Colebrook or Doolittle. We wriggled deeper intothe tangle. Something stirred once or twice. It was not far from me. Iwas uncertain whether it was HIM--Sebastian--or a Kaffir earth-hog, theanimal which seemed likeliest to have made the burrows. Was he going toelude us, even now? Would he turn upon us with a knife? If so, could wehold him?

At last, when we had pushed our way some distance in, we heard a wildcry from outside. It was Doolittle's voice. "Quick! quick! out again!The man will escape! He has come back on his tracks, and rounded!"

I saw our mistake at once. We had left our companion out there alone, rendered helpless by the care of all three horses. 

Colebrook said never a word. He was a man of action. He turned withinstinctive haste, and followed our own spoor back again with his handsand knees to the opening in the thicket by which we had first entered. 

Before we could reach it, however, two shots rang out clear in thedirection where we had left poor Doolittle and the horses. Then a sharpcry broke the stillness--the cry of a wounded man. We redoubled ourpace. We knew we were outwitted. 

When we reached the open, we saw at once by the uncertain light what hadhappened. The fugitive was riding away on my own little sorrel, --ridingfor dear life; not back the way we came from Salisbury, but sidewaysacross the veldt towards Chimoio and the Portuguese seaports. The othertwo horses, riderless and terrified, were scampering with loose heelsover the dark plain. Doolittle was not to be seen; he lay, a black lump, among the black bushes about him. 

We looked around for him, and found him. He was severely, I may even saydangerously, wounded. The bullet had lodged in his right side. We had tocatch our two horses, and ride them back with our wounded man, leadingthe fugitive's mare in tow, all blown and breathless. I stuck tothe fugitive's mare; it was the one clue we had now against him. ButSebastian, if it WAS Sebastian, had ridden off scot-free. I understoodhis game at a glance. He had got the better of us once more. He wouldmake for the coast by the nearest road, give himself out as a settlerescaped from the massacre, and catch the next ship for England or theCape, now this coup had failed him. 

Doolittle had not seen the traitor's face. The man rose from the bush, he said, shot him, seized the pony, and rode off in a second withruthless haste. He was tall and thin, but erect--that was all thewounded scout could tell us about his assailant. And THAT was not enoughto identify Sebastian. 

All danger was over. We rode back to Salisbury. The first words Hildasaid when she saw me were: "Well, he has got away from you!"

"Yes; how did you know?"

"I read it in your step. But I guessed as much before. He is so verykeen; and you started too confident. "

CHAPTER IX

THE EPISODE OF THE LADY WHO WAS VERY EXCLUSIVE

The Matabele revolt gave Hilda a prejudice against Rhodesia. I willconfess that I shared it. I may be hard to please; but it somehow setsone against a country when one comes home from a ride to find all theother occupants of the house one lives in massacred. So Hilda decidedto leave South Africa. By an odd coincidence, I also decided on thesame day to change my residence. Hilda's movements and mine, indeed, coincided curiously. The moment I learned she was going anywhere, Idiscovered in a flash that I happened to be going there too. I commendthis strange case of parallel thought and action to the consideration ofthe Society for Psychical Research. 

So I sold my farm, and had done with Rhodesia. A country with a futureis very well in its way; but I am quite Ibsenish in my preference for acountry with a past. Oddly enough, I had no difficulty in getting rid ofmy white elephant of a farm. People seemed to believe in Rhodesianone the less firmly because of this slight disturbance. They treatedmassacres as necessary incidents in the early history of a colony with afuture. And I do not deny that native risings add picturesqueness. But Iprefer to take them in a literary form. 

"You will go home, of course?" I said to Hilda, when we came to talk itall over. 

She shook her head. "To England? Oh, no. I must pursue my Plan. Sebastian will have gone home; he expects me to follow. "

"And why don't you?"

"Because--he expects it. You see, he is a good judge of character; hewill naturally infer, from what he knows of my temperament, that afterthis experience I shall want to get back to England and safety. So Ishould--if it were not that I know he will expect it. As it is, I mustgo elsewhere; I must draw him after me. "

"Where?"

"Why do you ask, Hubert?"

"Because--I want to know where I am going myself. Wherever you go, Ihave reason to believe, I shall find that I happen to be going also. "

She rested her little chin on her hand and reflected a minute. "Does itoccur to you, " she asked at last, "that people have tongues? If you goon following me like this, they will really begin to talk about us. "

"Now, upon my word, Hilda, " I cried, "that is the very first time I haveever known you show a woman's want of logic! I do not propose to followyou; I propose to happen to be travelling by the same steamer. I ask youto marry me; you won't; you admit you are fond of me; yet you tell menot to come with you. It is _I_ who suggest a course which would preventpeople from chattering--by the simple device of a wedding. It is YOUwho refuse. And then you turn upon me like this! Admit that you areunreasonable. "

"My dear Hubert, have I ever denied that I was a woman?"

"Besides, " I went on, ignoring her delicious smile, "I don't intend toFOLLOW you. I expect, on the contrary, to find myself beside you. WhenI know where you are going, I shall accidentally turn up on the samesteamer. Accidents WILL happen. Nobody can prevent coincidences fromoccurring. You may marry me, or you may not; but if you don't marryme, you can't expect to curtail my liberty of action, can you? You hadbetter know the worst at once; if you won't take me, you must count uponfinding me at your elbow all the world over--till the moment comes whenyou choose to accept me. "

"Dear Hubert, I am ruining your life!"

"An excellent reason, then, for taking my advice, and marrying meinstantly! But you wander from the question. Where are you going? Thatis the issue now before the house. You persist in evading it. "

She smiled, and came back to earth. "Oh, if you MUST know, to India, bythe east coast, changing steamers at Aden. "

"Extraordinary!" I cried. "Do you know, Hilda, as luck will have it, _I_also shall be on my way to Bombay by the very same steamer!"

"But you don't know what steamer it is?"

"No matter. That only makes the coincidence all the odder. Whatever thename of the ship may be, when you get on board, I have a presentimentthat you will be surprised to find me there. "

She looked up at me with a gathering film in her eyes. "Hubert, you areirrepressible!"

"I am, my dear child; so you may as well spare yourself the needlesstrouble of trying to repress me. "

If you rub a piece of iron on a loadstone, it becomes magnetic. So, Ithink, I must have begun to acquire some part of Hilda's own propheticstrain; for, sure enough, a few weeks later, we both of us foundourselves on the German East African steamer Kaiser Wilhelm, on our wayto Aden--exactly as I had predicted. Which goes to prove that there isreally something after all in presentiments!

"Since you persist in accompanying me, " Hilda said to me, as we sat inour chairs on deck the first evening out, "I see what I must do. Imust invent some plausible and ostensible reason for our travellingtogether. "

"We are not travelling together, " I answered. "We are travelling bythe same steamer; that is all--exactly like the rest of ourfellow-passengers. I decline to be dragged into this imaginarypartnership. "

"Now do be serious, Hubert! I am going to invent an object in life forus. "

"What object?"

"How can I tell yet? I must wait and see what turns up. When we transhipat Aden, and find out what people are going on to Bombay with us, Ishall probably discover some nice married lady to whom I can attachmyself. "

"And am I to attach myself to her, too?"

"My dear boy, I never asked you to come. You came unbidden. You mustmanage for yourself as best you may. But I leave much to the chapter ofaccidents. We never know what will turn up, till it turns up in the end. Everything comes at last, you know, to him that waits. "

"And yet, " I put in, with a meditative air, "I have never observed thatwaiters are so much better off than the rest of the community. They seemto me--"

"Don't talk nonsense. It is YOU who are wandering from the question now. Please return to it. "

I returned at once. "So I am to depend on what turns up?"

"Yes. Leave that to me. When we see our fellow-passengers on the Bombaysteamer, I shall soon discover some ostensible reason why we two shouldbe travelling through India with one of them. "

"Well, you are a witch, Hilda, " I answered. "I found that out long ago;but if you succeed between here and Bombay in inventing a Mission, Ishall begin to believe you are even more of a witch than I ever thoughtyou. "

At Aden we changed into a P. And O. Steamer. Our first evening out onour second cruise was a beautiful one; the bland Indian Ocean woreits sweetest smile for us. We sat on deck after dinner. A lady with ahusband came up from the cabin while we sat and gazed at the placidsea. I was smoking a quiet digestive cigar. Hilda was seated in her deckchair next to me. 

The lady with the husband looked about her for a vacant space on whichto place the chair a steward was carrying for her. There was plenty ofroom on the quarter-deck. I could not imagine why she gazed about herwith such obtrusive caution. She inspected the occupants of thevarious chairs around with deliberate scrutiny through a long-handledtortoise-shell optical abomination. None of them seemed to satisfy her. After a minute's effort, during which she also muttered a few words verylow to her husband, she selected an empty spot midway between our groupand the most distant group on the other side of us. In other words, shesat as far away from everybody present as the necessarily restrictedarea of the quarter-deck permitted. 

Hilda glanced at me and smiled. I snatched a quick look at the ladyagain. She was dressed with an amount of care and a smartness of detailthat seemed somewhat uncalled for on the Indian Ocean. A cruise on a P. And O. Steamer is not a garden party. Her chair was most luxurious, andhad her name painted on it, back and front, in very large letters, withundue obtrusiveness. I read it from where I sat, "Lady Meadowcroft. "

The owner of the chair was tolerably young, not bad looking, and mostexpensively attired. Her face had a certain vacant, languid, halfennuyee air which I have learned to associate with women of thenouveau-riche type--women with small brains and restless minds, habitually plunged in a vortex of gaiety, and miserable when left for apassing moment to their own resources. 

Hilda rose from her chair, and walked quietly forward towards the bow ofthe steamer. I rose, too, and accompanied her. "Well?" she said, with afaint touch of triumph in her voice when we had got out of earshot. 

"Well, what?" I answered, unsuspecting. 

"I told you everything turned up at the end!" she said, confidently. "Look at the lady's nose!"

"It does turn up at the end--certainly, " I answered, glancing back ather. "But I hardly see--"

"Hubert, you are growing dull! You were not so at Nathaniel's. . . . Itis the lady herself who has turned up, not her nose--though I grant youTHAT turns up too--the lady I require for our tour in India; the notimpossible chaperon. "

"Her nose tells you that?"

"Her nose, in part; but her face as a whole, too, her dress, her chair, her mental attitude to things in general. "

"My dear Hilda, you can't mean to tell me you have divined her wholenature at a glance, by magic!"

"Not wholly at a glance. I saw her come on board, you know--shetranshipped from some other line at Aden as we did, and I have beenwatching her ever since. Yes, I think I have unravelled her. "

"You have been astonishingly quick!" I cried. 

"Perhaps--but then, you see, there is so little to unravel! Some books, we all know, you must 'chew and digest'; they can only be read slowly;but some you can glance at, skim, and skip; the mere turning of thepages tells you what little worth knowing there is in them. "

"She doesn't LOOK profound, " I admitted, casting an eye at hermeaningless small features as we paced up and down. "I incline to agreeyou might easily skim her. "

"Skim her--and learn all. The table of contents is SO short. . . . You see, in the first place, she is extremely 'exclusive'; she prides herself onher 'exclusiveness': it, and her shoddy title, are probably all she hasto pride herself upon, and she works them both hard. She is a sham greatlady. "

As Hilda spoke, Lady Meadowcroft raised a feebly querulous voice. "Steward! this won't do! I can smell the engine here. Move my chair. Imust go on further. "

"If you go on further that way, my lady, " the steward answered, good-humouredly, but with a man-servant's deference for any sort oftitle, "you'll smell the galley, where they're cooking the dinner. I don't know which your ladyship would like best--the engine or thegalley. "

The languid figure leaned back in the chair with an air of resignation. "I'm sure I don't know why they cook the dinners up so high, " shemurmured, pettishly, to her husband. "Why can't they stick the kitchensunderground--in the hold, I mean--instead of bothering us up here ondeck with them?"

The husband was a big, burly, rough-and-ready Yorkshireman--stout, somewhat pompous, about forty, with hair wearing bald on the forehead:the personification of the successful business man. "My dear Emmie, " hesaid, in a loud voice, with a North Country accent, "the cooks have gotto live. They've got to live like the rest of us. I can never persuadeyou that the hands must always be humoured. If you don't humour 'em, they won't work for you. It's a poor tale when the hands won't work. Even with galleys on deck, the life of a sea-cook is not generally thowtan enviable position. Is not a happy one--not a happy one, as the fellahsays in the opera. You must humour your cooks. If you stuck 'em in thehold, you'd get no dinner at all--that's the long and the short of it. "

The languid lady turned away with a sickly, disappointed air. "Then theyought to have a conscription, or something, " she said, pouting her lips. "The Government ought to take it in hand and manage it somehow. It's badenough having to go by these beastly steamers to India at all, withouthaving one's breath poisoned by--" the rest of the sentence died awayinaudibly in a general murmur of ineffective grumbling. 

"Why do you think she is EXCLUSIVE?" I asked Hilda as we strolled ontowards the stern, out of the spoilt child's hearing. 

"Why, didn't you notice?--she looked about her when she came on deck tosee whether there was anybody who WAS anybody sitting there, whom shemight put her chair near. But the Governor of Madras hadn't come up fromhis cabin yet; and the wife of the chief Commissioner of Oude hadthree civilians hanging about her seat; and the daughters of theCommander-in-Chief drew their skirts away as she passed. So she did thenext best thing--sat as far apart as she could from the common herd:meaning all the rest of us. If you can't mingle at once with the BestPeople, you can at least assert your exclusiveness negatively, bydeclining to associate with the mere multitude. "

"Now, Hilda, that is the first time I have ever known you to show anyfeminine ill-nature!"

"Ill-nature! Not at all. I am merely trying to arrive at the lady'scharacter for my own guidance. I rather like her, poor little thing. Don't I tell you she will do? So far from objecting to her, I mean to gothe round of India with her. "

"You have decided quickly. "

"Well, you see, if you insist upon accompanying me, I MUST have achaperon; and Lady Meadowcroft will do as well as anybody else. In fact, being be-ladied, she will do a little better, from the point of viewof Society, though THAT is a detail. The great matter is to fix upon apossible chaperon at once, and get her well in hand before we arrive atBombay. "

"But she seems so complaining!" I interposed. "I'm afraid, if you takeher on, you'll get terribly bored with her. "

"If SHE takes ME on, you mean. She's not a lady's-maid, though I intendto go with her; and she may as well give in first as last, for I'mgoing. Now see how nice I am to you, sir! I've provided you, too, witha post in her suite, as you WILL come with me. No, never mind asking mewhat it is just yet; all things come to him who waits; and if you willonly accept the post of waiter, I mean all things to come to you. "

"All things, Hilda?" I asked, meaningly, with a little tremor ofdelight. 

She looked at me with a sudden passing tenderness in her eyes. "Yes, allthings, Hubert. All things. But we mustn't talk of that--though I beginto see my way clearer now. You shall be rewarded for your constancyat last, dear knight-errant. As to my chaperon, I'm not afraid of herboring me; she bores herself, poor lady; one can see that, just to lookat her; but she will be much less bored if she has us two to travelwith. What she needs is constant companionship, bright talk, excitement. She has come away from London, where she swims with the crowd; she hasno resources of her own, no work, no head, no interests. Accustomed to awhirl of foolish gaieties, she wearies her small brain; thrown back uponherself, she bores herself at once, because she has nothing interestingto tell herself. She absolutely requires somebody else to interest her. She can't even amuse herself with a book for three minutes together. See, she has a yellow-backed French novel now, and she is only able toread five lines at a time; then she gets tired and glances about herlistlessly. What she wants is someone gay, laid on, to divert her allthe time from her own inanity. "

"Hilda, how wonderfully quick you are at reading these things! I see youare right; but I could never have guessed so much myself from such smallpremises. "

"Well, what can you expect, my dear boy? A girl like this, brought up ina country rectory, a girl of no intellect, busy at home with the fowls, and the pastry, and the mothers' meetings--suddenly married offhand to awealthy man, and deprived of the occupations which were her salvation inlife, to be plunged into the whirl of a London season, and stranded atits end for want of the diversions which, by dint of use, have becomenecessaries of life to her!"

"Now, Hilda, you are practising upon my credulity. You can't possiblytell from her look that she was brought up in a country rectory. "

"Of course not. You forget. There my memory comes in. I simply rememberit. "

"You remember it? How?"

"Why, just in the same way as I remembered your name and your mother'swhen I was first introduced to you. I saw a notice once in the births, deaths, and marriages--'At St. Alphege's, Millington, by the Rev. Hugh Clitheroe, M. A. , father of the bride, Peter Gubbins, Esq. , of TheLaurels, Middleston, to Emilia Frances, third daughter of the Rev. HughClitheroe, rector of Millington. '"

"Clitheroe--Gubbins; what on earth has that to do with it? That would beMrs. Gubbins: this is Lady Meadowcroft. "

"The same article, as the shopmen say--only under a different name. Ayear or two later I read a notice in the Times that 'I, Ivor de CourcyMeadowcroft, of The Laurels, Middleston, Mayor-elect of the Borough ofMiddleston, hereby give notice, that I have this day discontinued theuse of the name Peter Gubbins, by which I was formerly known, andhave assumed in lieu thereof the style and title of Ivor de CourcyMeadowcroft, by which I desire in future to be known. '

"A month or two later, again I happened to light upon a notice inthe Telegraph that the Prince of Wales had opened a new hospital forincurables at Middleston, and that the Mayor, Mr. Ivor Meadowcroft, hadreceived an intimation of Her Majesty's intention of conferring upon himthe honour of knighthood. Now what do you make of it?"

"Putting two and two together, " I answered, with my eye on our subject, "and taking into consideration the lady's face and manner, I shouldincline to suspect that she was the daughter of a poor parson, withthe usual large family in inverse proportion to his means. That sheunexpectedly made a good match with a very wealthy manufacturer who hadraised himself; and that she was puffed up accordingly with a sense ofself-importance. "

"Exactly. He is a millionaire, or something very like it; and, being anambitious girl, as she understands ambition, she got him to stand forthe mayoralty, I don't doubt, in the year when the Prince of Wales wasgoing to open the Royal Incurables, on purpose to secure him the chanceof a knighthood. Then she said, very reasonably, 'I WON'T be LadyGubbins--Sir Peter Gubbins!' There's an aristocratic name for you!--and, by a stroke of his pen, he straightway dis-Gubbinised himself, andemerged as Sir Ivor de Courcy Meadowcroft. "

"Really, Hilda, you know everything about everybody! And what do yousuppose they're going to India for?"

"Now, you've asked me a hard one. I haven't the faintest notion. . . . And yet. . . Let me think. How is this for a conjecture? Sir Ivor isinterested in steel rails, I believe, and in railway plant generally. I'm almost sure I've seen his name in connection with steel rails inreports of public meetings. There's a new Government railway now beingbuilt on the Nepaul frontier--one of these strategic railways, I thinkthey call them--it's mentioned in the papers we got at Aden. He MIGHT begoing out for that. We can watch his conversation, and see what part ofIndia he talks about. "

"They don't seem inclined to give us much chance of talking, " Iobjected. 

"No; they are VERY exclusive. But I'm very exclusive, too. And I mean togive them a touch of my exclusiveness. I venture to predict that, beforewe reach Bombay, they'll be going down on their knees and imploring usto travel with them. "

At table, as it happened, from next morning's breakfast the Meadowcroftssat next to us. Hilda was on one side of me; Lady Meadowcroft on theother; and beyond her again, bluff Yorkshire Sir Ivor, with his cold, hard, honest blue North Country eyes, and his dignified, pompousEnglish, breaking down at times into a North Country colloquialism. Theytalked chiefly to each other. Acting on Hilda's instructions, I tookcare not to engage in conversation with our "exclusive" neighbour, except so far as the absolute necessities of the table compelled me. I"troubled her for the salt" in the most frigid voice. "May I pass youthe potato salad?" became on my lips a barrier of separation. LadyMeadowcroft marked and wondered. People of her sort are so anxious toingratiate themselves with "all the Best People" that if they findyou are wholly unconcerned about the privilege of conversation witha "titled person, " they instantly judge you to be a distinguishedcharacter. As the days rolled on, Lady Meadowcroft's voice began to meltby degrees. Once, she asked me, quite civilly, to send round the ice;she even saluted me on the third day out with a polite "Good-morning, doctor. "

Still, I maintained (by Hilda's advice) my dignified reserve, and tookmy seat severely with a cold "Good-morning. " I behaved like a high-classconsultant, who expects to be made Physician in Ordinary to Her Majesty. 

At lunch that day, Hilda played her first card with deliciousunconsciousness--apparent unconsciousness; for, when she chose, she wasa consummate actress. She played it at a moment when Lady Meadowcroft, who by this time was burning with curiosity on our account, had pausedfrom her talk with her husband to listen to us. I happened to saysomething about some Oriental curios belonging to an aunt of mine inLondon. Hilda seized the opportunity. "What did you say was her name?"she asked, blandly. 

"Why, Lady Tepping, " I answered, in perfect innocence. "She has a fancyfor these things, you know. She brought a lot of them home with her fromBurma. "

As a matter of fact, as I have already explained, my poor dear aunt isan extremely commonplace old Army widow, whose husband happened to getknighted among the New Year's honours for some brush with the natives onthe Shan frontier. But Lady Meadowcroft was at the stage where a titleis a title; and the discovery that I was the nephew of a "titled person"evidently interested her. I could feel rather than see that she glancedsignificantly aside at Sir Ivor, and that Sir Ivor in return made alittle movement of his shoulders equivalent to "I told you so. "

Now Hilda knew perfectly well that the aunt of whom I spoke WASLady Tepping; so I felt sure that she had played this card of maliceprepense, to pique Lady Meadowcroft. 

But Lady Meadowcroft herself seized the occasion with inartisticavidity. She had hardly addressed us as yet. At the sound of the magicpassport, she pricked up her ears, and turned to me suddenly. "Burma?"she said, as if to conceal the true reason for her change of front. "Burma? I had a cousin there once. He was in the GloucestershireRegiment. "

"Indeed?" I answered. My tone was one of utter unconcern in her cousin'shistory. "Miss Wade, will you take Bombay ducks with your curry?"In public, I thought it wise under the circumstances to abstain fromcalling her Hilda. It might lead to misconceptions; people might supposewe were more than fellow-travellers. 

"You have had relations in Burma?" Lady Meadowcroft persisted. 

I manifested a desire to discontinue the conversation. "Yes, " Ianswered, coldly, "my uncle commanded there. "

"Commanded there! Really! Ivor, do you hear? Dr. Cumberledge's unclecommanded in Burma. " A faint intonation on the word commanded drewunobtrusive attention to its social importance. "May I ask what was hisname?--my cousin was there, you see. " An insipid smile. "We may havefriends in common. "

"He was a certain Sir Malcolm Tepping, " I blurted out, staring hard atmy plate. 

"Tepping! I think I have heard Dick speak of him, Ivor. "

"Your cousin, " Sir Ivor answered, with emphatic dignity, "is certain tohave mixed with nobbut the highest officials in Burma. "

"Yes, I'm sure Dick used to speak of a certain Sir Malcolm. My cousin'sname, Dr. Cumberledge, was Maltby--Captain Richard Maltby. "

"Indeed, " I answered, with an icy stare. "I cannot pretend to thepleasure of having met him. "

Be exclusive to the exclusive, and they burn to know you. From thatmoment forth Lady Meadowcroft pestered us with her endeavours to scrapeacquaintance. Instead of trying how far she could place her chair fromus, she set it down as near us as politeness permitted. She entered intoconversation whenever an opening afforded itself, and we two stood offhaughtily. She even ventured to question me about our relation to oneanother: "Miss Wade is your cousin, I suppose?" she suggested. 

"Oh, dear, no, " I answered, with a glassy smile. "We are not connectedin any way. "

"But you are travelling together!"

"Merely as you and I are travelling together--fellow-passengers on thesame steamer. "

"Still, you have met before. "

"Yes, certainly. Miss Wade was a nurse at St. Nathaniel's, in London, where I was one of the house doctors. When I came on board at Cape Town, after some months in South Africa, I found she was going by the samesteamer to India. " Which was literally true. To have explained the restwould have been impossible, at least to anyone who did not know thewhole of Hilda's history. 

"And what are you both going to do when you get to India?"

"Really, Lady Meadowcroft, " I said, severely, "I have not asked MissWade what she is going to do. If you inquire of her point-blank, as youhave inquired of me, I dare say she will tell you. For myself, I am justa globe-trotter, amusing myself. I only want to have a look round atIndia. "

"Then you are not going out to take an appointment?"

"By George, Emmie, " the burly Yorkshireman put in, with an air ofannoyance, "you are cross-questioning Dr. Cumberledge; nowt less thancross-questioning him!"

I waited a second. "No, " I answered, slowly. "I have not been practisingof late. I am looking about me. I travel for enjoyment. "

That made her think better of me. She was of the kind, indeed, who thinkbetter of a man if they believe him to be idle. 

She dawdled about all day on deck chairs, herself seldom even reading;and she was eager now to drag Hilda into conversation. Hilda resisted;she had found a volume in the library which immensely interested her. 

"What ARE you reading, Miss Wade?" Lady Meadowcroft cried at last, quitesavagely. It made her angry to see anybody else pleased and occupiedwhen she herself was listless. 

"A delightful book!" Hilda answered. "The Buddhist Praying Wheel, byWilliam Simpson. "

Lady Meadowcroft took it from her and turned the pages over with alanguid air. "Looks awfully dull!" she observed, with a faint smile, atlast, returning it. 

"It's charming, " Hilda retorted, glancing at one of the illustrations. "It explains so much. It shows one why one turns round one's chair atcards for luck; and why, when a church is consecrated, the bishop walksthree times about it sunwise. "

"Our Bishop is a dreadfully prosy old gentleman, " Lady Meadowcroftanswered, gliding off at a tangent on a personality, as is the wont ofher kind; "he had, oh, such a dreadful quarrel with my father over therules of the St. Alphege Schools at Millington. "

"Indeed, " Hilda answered, turning once more to her book. LadyMeadowcroft looked annoyed. It would never have occurred to her thatwithin a few weeks she was to owe her life to that very abstruse work, and what Hilda had read in it. 

That afternoon, as we watched the flying fish from the ship's side, Hilda said to me abruptly, "My chaperon is an extremely nervous woman. "

"Nervous about what?"

"About disease, chiefly. She has the temperament that dreadsinfection--and therefore catches it. "

"Why do you think so?"

"Haven't you noticed that she often doubles her thumb under herfingers--folds her fist across it--so--especially when anybody talksabout anything alarming? If the conversation happens to turn on junglefever, or any subject like that, down goes her thumb instantly, and sheclasps her fist over it with a convulsive squeeze. At the same time, too, her face twitches. I know what that trick means. She's horriblyafraid of tropical diseases, though she never says so. "

"And you attach importance to her fear?"

"Of course. I count upon it as probably our chief means of catching andfixing her. "

"As how?"

She shook her head and quizzed me. "Wait and see. You are a doctor; I, atrained nurse. Before twenty-four hours, I foresee she will ask us. She is sure to ask us, now she has learned that you are Lady Tepping'snephew, and that I am acquainted with several of the Best People. "

That evening, about ten o'clock, Sir Ivor strolled up to me in thesmoking-room with affected unconcern. He laid his hand on my arm anddrew me aside mysteriously. The ship's doctor was there, playing a quietgame of poker with a few of the passengers. "I beg your pardon, Dr. Cumberledge, " he began, in an undertone, "could you come outside with mea minute? Lady Meadowcroft has sent me up to you with a message. "

I followed him on to the open deck. "It is quite impossible, my dearsir, " I said, shaking my head austerely, for I divined his errand. "Ican't go and see Lady Meadowcroft. Medical etiquette, you know; theconstant and salutary rule of the profession!"

"Why not?" he asked, astonished. 

"The ship carries a surgeon, " I replied, in my most precise tone. "He isa duly qualified gentleman, very able in his profession, and he ought toinspire your wife with confidence. I regard this vessel as Dr. Boyell'spractice, and all on board it as virtually his patients. "

Sir Ivor's face fell. "But Lady Meadowcroft is not at all well, " heanswered, looking piteous; "and--she can't endure the ship's doctor. Such a common man, you know! His loud voice disturbs her. You MUSThave noticed that my wife is a lady of exceptionally delicate nervousorganisation. " He hesitated, beamed on me, and played his trump card. "She dislikes being attended by owt but a GENTLEMAN. "

"If a gentleman is also a medical man, " I answered, "his sense of dutytowards his brother practitioners would, of course, prevent him frominterfering in their proper sphere, or putting upon them the unmeritedslight of letting them see him preferred before them. "

"Then you positively refuse?" he asked, wistfully, drawing back. I couldsee he stood in a certain dread of that imperious little woman. 

I conceded a point. "I will go down in twenty minutes, " I admitted, looking grave, --"not just now, lest I annoy my colleague, --and I willglance at Lady Meadowcroft in an unprofessional way. If I think hercase demands treatment, I will tell Dr. Boyell. " And I returned to thesmoking-room and took up a novel. 

Twenty minutes later I knocked at the door of the lady's private cabin, with my best bedside manner in full play. As I suspected, she wasnervous--nothing more--my mere smile reassured her. I observed thatshe held her thumb fast, doubled under in her fist, all the time I wasquestioning her, as Hilda had said; and I also noticed that the fingersclosed about it convulsively at first, but gradually relaxed as my voicerestored confidence. She thanked me profusely, and was really grateful. 

On deck next day she was very communicative. They were going to make theregular tour first, she said, but were to go on to the Tibetan frontierat the end, where Sir Ivor had a contract to construct a railway, in avery wild region. Tigers? Natives? Oh, she didn't mind either of THEM;but she was told that that district--what did they call it? the Terai, or something--was terribly unwholesome. Fever was what-you-may-call-itthere--yes, "endemic"--that was the word; "oh, thank you, Dr. Cumberledge. " She hated the very name of fever. "Now you, Miss Wade, Isuppose, " with an awestruck smile, "are not in the least afraid of it?"

Hilda looked up at her calmly. "Not in the least, " she answered. "I havenursed hundreds of cases. "

"Oh, my, how dreadful! And never caught it?"

"Never. I am not afraid, you see. "

"I wish _I_ wasn't! Hundreds of cases! It makes one ill to think ofit!. . . And all successfully?"

"Almost all of them. "

"You don't tell your patients stories when they're ill about your othercases who died, do you?" Lady Meadowcroft went on, with a quick littleshudder. 

Hilda's face by this time was genuinely sympathetic. "Oh, never!" sheanswered, with truth. "That would be very bad nursing! One's object intreating a case is to make one's patient well; so one naturally avoidsany sort of subject that might be distressing or alarming. "

"You really mean it?" Her face was pleading. 

"Why, of course. I try to make my patients my friends; I talk to themcheerfully; I amuse them and distract them; I get them away, as far as Ican, from themselves and their symptoms. "

"Oh, what a lovely person to have about one when one's ill!" the languidlady exclaimed, ecstatically. "I SHOULD like to send for you if I wantednursing! But there--it's always so, of course, with a real lady; commonnurses frighten one so. I wish I could always have a lady to nurse me!"

"A person who sympathises--that is the really important thing, " Hildaanswered, in her quiet voice. "One must find out first one's patient'stemperament. YOU are nervous, I can see. " She laid one hand on her newfriend's arm. "You need to be kept amused and engaged when you are ill;what YOU require most is--insight--and sympathy. "

The little fist doubled up again; the vacant face grew positively sweet. "That's just it! You have hit it! How clever you are! I want all that. Isuppose, Miss Wade, YOU never go out for private nursing?"

"Never, " Hilda answered. "You see, Lady Meadowcroft, I don't nurse for alivelihood. I have means of my own; I took up this work as an occupationand a sphere in life. I haven't done anything yet but hospital nursing. "

Lady Meadowcroft drew a slight sigh. "What a pity!" she murmured, slowly. "It does seem hard that your sympathies should all be thrownaway, so to speak, on a horrid lot of wretched poor people, instead ofbeing spent on your own equals--who would so greatly appreciate them. "

"I think I can venture to say the poor appreciate them, too, " Hildaanswered, bridling up a little--for there was nothing she hated so muchas class-prejudices. "Besides, they need sympathy more; they have fewercomforts. I should not care to give up attending my poor people for thesake of the idle rich. "

The set phraseology of the country rectory recurred to LadyMeadowcroft--"our poorer brethren, " and so forth. "Oh, of course, " sheanswered, with the mechanical acquiescence such women always give tomoral platitudes. "One must do one's best for the poor, I know--forconscience' sake and all that; it's our duty, and we all try hard to doit. But they're so terribly ungrateful! Don't you think so? Do you know, Miss Wade, in my father's parish--"

Hilda cut her short with a sunny smile--half contemptuous toleration, half genuine pity. "We are all ungrateful, " she said; "but the poor, Ithink, the least so. I'm sure the gratitude I've often had from my poorwomen at St. Nathaniel's has made me sometimes feel really ashamed ofmyself. I had done so little--and they thanked me so much for it. "

"Which only shows, " Lady Meadowcroft broke in, "that one ought always tohave a LADY to nurse one. "

"Ca marche!" Hilda said to me, with a quiet smile, a few minutesafter, when her ladyship had disappeared in her fluffy robe down thecompanion-ladder. 

"Yes, ca marche, " I answered. "In an hour or two you will have succeededin landing your chaperon. And what is most amusing, landed her, too, Hilda, just by being yourself--letting her see frankly the actual truthof what you think and feel about her and about everyone!"

"I could not do otherwise, " Hilda answered, growing grave. "I must bemyself, or die for it. My method of angling consists in showing myselfjust as I am. You call me an actress, but I am not really one; I am onlya woman who can use her personality for her own purposes. If I gowith Lady Meadowcroft, it will be a mutual advantage. I shall reallysympathise with her for I can see the poor thing is devoured withnervousness. "

"But do you think you will be able to stand her?" I asked. 

"Oh, dear, yes. She's not a bad little thing, au fond, when you get toknow her. It is society that has spoilt her. She would have made a nice, helpful, motherly body if she'd married the curate. "

As we neared Bombay, conversation grew gradually more and more Indian;it always does under similar circumstances. A sea voyage is halfretrospect, half prospect; it has no personal identity. You leaveLiverpool for New York at the English standpoint, and are full of whatyou did in London or Manchester; half-way over, you begin to discussAmerican custom-houses and New York hotels; by the time you reach SandyHook, the talk is all of quick trains west and the shortest routefrom Philadelphia to New Orleans. You grow by slow stages into the newattitude; at Malta you are still regretting Europe; after Aden, yourmind dwells most on the hire of punkah-wallahs and the proverbialtoughness of the dak-bungalow chicken. 

"How's the plague at Bombay now?" an inquisitive passenger inquired ofthe Captain at dinner our last night out. "Getting any better?"

Lady Meadowcroft's thumb dived between her fingers again. "What! isthere plague in Bombay?" she asked, innocently, in her nervous fashion. 

"Plague in Bombay!" the Captain burst out, his burly voice resoundingdown the saloon. "Why, bless your soul, ma'am, where else would youexpect it? Plague in Bombay! It's been there these five years. Better?Not quite. Going ahead like mad. They're dying by thousands. "

"A microbe, I believe, Dr. Boyell, " the inquisitive passenger observeddeferentially, with due respect for medical science. 

"Yes, " the ship's doctor answered, helping himself to an olive. "Fortymillion microbes to each square inch of the Bombay atmosphere. "

"And we are going to Bombay!" Lady Meadowcroft exclaimed, aghast. 

"You must have known there was plague there, my dear, " Sir Ivor put in, soothingly, with a deprecating glance. "It's been in all the papers. Butonly the natives get it. "

The thumb uncovered itself a little. "Oh, only the natives!" LadyMeadowcroft echoed, relieved; as if a few thousand Hindus more or lesswould hardly be missed among the blessings of British rule in India. "You know, Ivor, I never read those DREADFUL things in the papers. _I_read the Society news, and Our Social Diary, and columns that are headed'Mainly About People. ' I don't care for anything but the Morning Postand the World and Truth. I hate horrors. . . . But it's a blessing to thinkit's only the natives. "

"Plenty of Europeans, too, bless your heart, " the Captain thunderedout unfeelingly. "Why, last time I was in port, a nurse died at thehospital. "

"Oh, only a nurse--" Lady Meadowcroft began, and then coloured updeeply, with a side glance at Hilda. 

"And lots besides nurses, " the Captain continued, positively delightedat the terror he was inspiring. "Pucka Englishmen and Englishwomen. Badbusiness this plague, Dr. Cumberledge! Catches particularly those whoare most afraid of it. "

"But it's only in Bombay?" Lady Meadowcroft cried, clutching at thelast straw. I could see she was registering a mental determination to gostraight up-country the moment she landed. 

"Not a bit of it!" the Captain answered, with provoking cheerfulness. "Rampaging about like a roaring lion all over India!"

Lady Meadowcroft's thumb must have suffered severely. The nails dug intoit as if it were someone else's. 

Half an hour later, as we were on deck in the cool of the evening, thething was settled. "My wife, " Sir Ivor said, coming up to us with aserious face, "has delivered her ultimatum. Positively her ultimatum. I've had a mort o' trouble with her, and now she's settled. EITHER, shegoes back from Bombay by the return steamer; OR ELSE--you and MissWade must name your own terms to accompany us on our tour, in case ofemergencies. " He glanced wistfully at Hilda. "DO you think you can helpus?"

Hilda made no hypocritical pretence of hanging back. Her nature wastransparent. "If you wish it, yes, " she answered, shaking hands upon thebargain. "I only want to go about and see India; I can see it quiteas well with Lady Meadowcroft as without her--and even better. It isunpleasant for a woman to travel unattached. I require a chaperon, andam glad to find one. I will join your party, paying my own hotel andtravelling expenses, and considering myself as engaged in case your wifeshould need my services. For that, you can pay me, if you like, somenominal retaining fee--five pounds or anything. The money is immaterialto me. I like to be useful, and I sympathise with nerves; but it maymake your wife feel she is really keeping a hold over me if we put thearrangement on a business basis. As a matter of fact, whatever sumshe chooses to pay, I shall hand it over at once to the Bombay PlagueHospital. "

Sir Ivor looked relieved. "Thank you ever so much!" he said, wringingher hand warmly. "I thowt you were a brick, and now I know it. My wifesays your face inspires confidence, and your voice sympathy. She MUSThave you with her. And you, Dr. Cumberledge?"

"I follow Miss Wade's lead, " I answered, in my most solemn tone, withan impressive bow. "I, too, am travelling for instruction and amusementonly; and if it would give Lady Meadowcroft a greater sense of securityto have a duly qualified practitioner in her suite, I shall be glad onthe same terms to swell your party. I will pay my own way; and I willallow you to name any nominal sum you please for your claim on mymedical attendance, if necessary. I hope and believe, however, that ourpresence will so far reassure our prospective patient as to make ourpost in both cases a sinecure. "

Three minutes later Lady Meadowcroft rushed on deck and flung her armsimpulsively round Hilda. "You dear, good girl!" she cried; "how sweetand kind of you! I really COULDN'T have landed if you hadn't promisedto come with us. And Dr. Cumberledge, too! So nice and friendly ofyou both. But there, it IS so much pleasanter to deal with ladies andgentlemen!"

So Hilda won her point; and what was best, won it fairly. 

CHAPTER X

THE EPISODE OF THE GUIDE WHO KNEW THE COUNTRY

We toured all round India with the Meadowcrofts; and really the lady whowas "so very exclusive" turned out not a bad little thing, when onceone had succeeded in breaking through the ring-fence with which shesurrounded herself. She had an endless, quenchless restlessness, it istrue; her eyes wandered aimlessly; she never was happy for twominutes together, unless she was surrounded by friends, and was seeingsomething. What she saw did not interest her much; certainly her tasteswere on the level with those of a very young child. An odd-lookinghouse, a queerly dressed man, a tree cut into shape to look like apeacock, delighted her far more than the most glorious view of thequaintest old temple. Still, she must be seeing. She could no more sitstill than a fidgety child or a monkey at the Zoo. To be up anddoing was her nature--doing nothing, to be sure; but still, doing itstrenuously. 

So we went the regulation round of Delhi and Agra, the Taj Mahal, andthe Ghats at Benares, at railroad speed, fulfilling the whole duty ofthe modern globe-trotter. Lady Meadowcroft looked at everything--for tenminutes at a stretch; then she wanted to be off, to visit the next thingset down for her in her guide-book. As we left each town she murmuredmechanically: "Well, we've seen THAT, thank Heaven!" and straightwaywent on, with equal eagerness, and equal boredom, to see the one afterit. 

The only thing that did NOT bore her, indeed, was Hilda's bright talk. 

"Oh, Miss Wade, " she would say, clasping her hands, and looking upinto Hilda's eyes with her own empty blue ones, "you ARE so funny! Sooriginal, don't you know! You never talk or think of anything like otherpeople. I can't imagine how such ideas come up in your mind. If _I_ wereto try all day, I'm sure I should never hit upon them!" Which was soperfectly true as to be a trifle obvious. 

Sir Ivor, not being interested in temples, but in steel rails, had goneon at once to his concession, or contract, or whatever else it was, onthe north-east frontier, leaving his wife to follow and rejoin him inthe Himalayas as soon as she had exhausted the sights of India. So, after a few dusty weeks of wear and tear on the Indian railways, we methim once more in the recesses of Nepaul, where he was busy constructinga light local line for the reigning Maharajah. 

If Lady Meadowcroft had been bored at Allahabad and Ajmere, she wasimmensely more bored in a rough bungalow among the trackless depths ofthe Himalayan valleys. To anybody with eyes in his head, indeed, Toloo, where Sir Ivor had pitched his headquarters, was lovely enough to keepone interested for a twelvemonth. Snow-clad needles of rock hemmed itin on either side; great deodars rose like huge tapers on the hillsides;the plants and flowers were a joy to look at. But Lady Meadowcroft didnot care for flowers which one could not wear in one's hair; and whatwas the good of dressing here, with no one but Ivor and Dr. Cumberledgeto see one? She yawned till she was tired; then she began to growpeevish. 

"Why Ivor should want to build a railway at all in this stupid, sillyplace, " she said, as we sat in the veranda in the cool of evening, "I'm sure _I_ can't imagine. We MUST go somewhere. This is maddening, maddening! Miss Wade--Dr. Cumberledge--I count upon you to discoverSOMETHING for me to do. If I vegetate like this, seeing nothing all daylong but those eternal hills"--she clenched her little fist--"I shall goMAD with ennui. "

Hilda had a happy thought. "I have a fancy to see some of these Buddhistmonasteries, " she said, smiling as one smiles at a tiresome child whomone likes in spite of everything. "You remember, I was reading that bookof Mr. Simpson's on the steamer--coming out--a curious book about theBuddhist Praying Wheels; and it made me want to see one of their templesimmensely. What do you say to camping out? A few weeks in the hills? Itwould be an adventure, at any rate. "

"Camping out?" Lady Meadowcroft exclaimed, half roused from her languorby the idea of a change. "Oh, do you think that would be fun? Shouldwe sleep on the ground? But, wouldn't it be dreadfully, horriblyuncomfortable?"

"Not half so uncomfortable as you'll find yourself here at Toloo in afew days, Emmie, " her husband put in, grimly. "The rains will soon beon, lass; and when the rains are on, by all accounts, they're preciousheavy hereabouts--rare fine rains, so that a man's half-flooded out ofhis bed o' nights--which won't suit YOU, my lady. "

The poor little woman clasped her twitching hands in feeble agony. "Oh, Ivor, how dreadful! Is it what they call the mongoose, or monsoon, orsomething? But if they're so bad here, surely they'll be worse in thehills--and camping out, too--won't they?"

"Not if you go the right way to work. Ah'm told it never rains t'otherside o' the hills. The mountains stop the clouds, and once you'reover, you're safe enough. Only, you must take care to keep well in theMaharajah's territory. Cross the frontier t'other side into Tibet, an' they'll skin thee alive as soon as look at thee. They don't likestrangers in Tibet; prejudiced against them, somehow; they pretty wellskinned that young chap Landor who tried to go there a year ago. "

"But, Ivor, I don't want to be skinned alive! I'm not an eel, please!"

"That's all right, lass. Leave that to me. I can get thee a guide, aman that's very well acquainted with the mountains. I was talking to ascientific explorer here t'other day, and he knows of a good guide whocan take you anywhere. He'll get you the chance of seeing the inside ofa Buddhist monastery, if you like, Miss Wade. He's hand in glove withall the religion they've got in this part o' the country. They've gotnoan much, but at what there is, he's a rare devout one. "

We discussed the matter fully for two or three days before we made upour minds. Lady Meadowcroft was undecided between her hatred of dulnessand her haunting fear that scorpions and snakes would intrude upon ourtents and beds while we were camping. In the end, however, the desirefor change carried the day. She decided to dodge the rainy season bygetting behind the Himalayan-passes, in the dry region to the north ofthe great range, where rain seldom falls, the country being watered onlyby the melting of the snows on the high summits. 

This decision delighted Hilda, who, since she came to India, had fallena prey to the fashionable vice of amateur photography. She took to itenthusiastically. She had bought herself a first-rate camera of thelatest scientific pattern at Bombay, and ever since had spent all hertime and spoiled her pretty hands in "developing. " She was also seizedwith a craze for Buddhism. The objects that everywhere particularlyattracted her were the old Buddhist temples and tombs and sculptureswith which India is studded. Of these she had taken some hundreds ofviews, all printed by herself with the greatest care and precision. But in India, after all, Buddhism is a dead creed. Its monuments aloneremain; she was anxious to see the Buddhist religion in its livingstate; and that she could only do in these remote outlying Himalayanvalleys. 

Our outfit, therefore, included a dark tent for Hilda's photographicapparatus; a couple of roomy tents to live and sleep in; a smallcooking-stove; a cook to look after it; half-a-dozen bearers; and thehighly recommended guide who knew his way about the country. In threedays we were ready, to Sir Ivor's great delight. He was fond of hispretty wife, and proud of her, I believe; but when once she was awayfrom the whirl and bustle of the London that she loved, it was a reliefto him, I fancy, to pursue his work alone, unhampered by her restlessand querulous childishness. 

On the morning when we were to make our start, the guide who was "wellacquainted with the mountains" turned up--as villainous-looking a personas I have ever set eyes on. He was sullen and furtive. I judged him atsight to be half Hindu, half Tibetan. He had a dark complexion, betweenbrown and tawny; narrow slant eyes, very small and beady-black, with acunning leer in their oblique corners; a flat nose much broadened at thewings; a cruel, thick, sensuous mouth, and high cheek-bones; the wholesurmounted by a comprehensive scowl and an abundant crop of lank blackhair, tied up in a knot at the nape of the neck with a yellow ribbon. His face was shifty; his short, stout form looked well adapted tomountain climbing, and also to wriggling. A deep scar on his left cheekdid not help to inspire confidence. But he was polite and civil-spoken. Altogether a clever, unscrupulous, wide-awake soul, who would serve youwell if he thought he could make by it, and would betray you at a pinchto the highest bidder. 

We set out, in merry mood, prepared to solve all the abstruse problemsof the Buddhist religion. Our spoilt child stood the camping out betterthan I expected. She was fretful, of course, and worried about trifles;she missed her maid and her accustomed comforts; but she minded theroughing it less, on the whole, than she had minded the boredom ofinaction in the bungalow; and, being cast on Hilda and myself forresources, she suddenly evolved an unexpected taste for producing, developing, and printing photographs. We took dozens, as we went along, of little villages on our route, wood-built villages with quaint housesand turrets; and as Hilda had brought her collection of prints withher, for comparison of the Indian and Nepaulese monuments, we spent theevenings after our short day's march each day in arranging and collatingthem. We had planned to be away six weeks, at least. In that time themonsoon would have burst and passed. Our guide thought we might see allthat was worth seeing of the Buddhist monasteries, and Sir Ivor thoughtwe should have fairly escaped the dreaded wet season. 

"What do you make of our guide?" I asked of Hilda on our fourth day out. I began somehow to distrust him. 

"Oh, he seems all right, " Hilda answered, carelessly--and her voicereassured me. "He's a rogue, of course; all guides and interpreters, anddragomans and the like, in out-of-the-way places, always ARE rogues. Ifthey were honest men, they would share the ordinary prejudices of theircountrymen, and would have nothing to do with the hated stranger. Butin this case our friend, Ram Das, has no end to gain by getting usinto mischief. If he had, he wouldn't scruple for a second to cut ourthroats; but then, there are too many of us. He will probably try tocheat us by making preposterous charges when he gets us back to Toloo;but that's Lady Meadowcroft's business. I don't doubt Sir Ivor willbe more than a match for him there. I'll back one shrewd Yorkshiremanagainst any three Tibetan half-castes, any day. "

"You're right that he would cut our throats if it served his purpose, " Ianswered. "He's servile, and servility goes hand in hand with treachery. The more I watch him, the more I see 'scoundrel' written in large typeon every bend of the fellow's oily shoulders. "

"Oh, yes, he's a bad lot, I know. The cook, who can speak a littleEnglish and a little Tibetan, as well as Hindustani, tells me Ram Dashas the worst reputation of any man in the mountains. But he says he's avery good guide to the passes, for all that, and if he's well paid willdo what he's paid for. "

Next day but one we approached at last, after several short marches, theneighbourhood of what our guide assured us was a Buddhist monastery. I was glad when he told us of it, giving the place the name of awell-known Nepaulese village; for, to say the truth, I was beginningto get frightened. Judging by the sun, for I had brought no compass, it struck me that we seemed to have been marching almost due northever since we left Toloo; and I fancied such a line of march must havebrought us by this time suspiciously near the Tibetan frontier. Now, Ihad no desire to be "skinned alive, " as Sir Ivor put it. I did not wishto emulate St. Bartholomew and others of the early Christian martyrs;so I was pleased to learn that we were really drawing near to Kulak, thefirst of the Nepaulese Buddhist monasteries to which our well-informedguide, himself a Buddhist, had promised to introduce us. 

We were tramping up a beautiful high mountain valley, closed round onevery side by snowy peaks. A brawling river ran over a rocky bed incataracts down its midst. Crags rose abruptly a little in front of us. Half-way up the slope to the left, on a ledge of rock, rose a long, lowbuilding with curious, pyramid-like roofs, crowned at either end bya sort of minaret, which resembled more than anything else a hugeearthenware oil-jar. This was the monastery or lamasery we had come sofar to see. Honestly, at first sight, I did not feel sure it was worththe trouble. 

Our guide called a halt, and turned to us with a sudden peremptory air. His servility had vanished. "You stoppee here, " he said, slowly, inbroken English, "while me-a go on to see whether Lama-sahibs ready totake you. Must ask leave from Lama-sahibs to visit village; if noask leave"--he drew his hand across his throat with a significantgesture--"Lama-sahibs cuttee head off Eulopean. "

"Goodness gracious!" Lady Meadowcroft cried, clinging tight to Hilda. "Miss Wade, this is dreadful! Where on earth have you brought us to?"

"Oh, that's all right, " Hilda answered, trying to soothe her, though sheherself began to look a trifle anxious. "That's only Ram Das's graphicway of putting things. "

We sat down on a bank of trailing club-moss by the side of the roughtrack, for it was nothing more, and let our guide go on to negotiatewith the Lamas. "Well, to-night, anyhow, " I exclaimed, looking up, "weshall sleep on our own mattresses with a roof over our heads. Thesemonks will find us quarters. That's always something. "

We got out our basket and made tea. In all moments of doubt, yourEnglishwoman makes tea. As Hilda said, she will boil her Etna onVesuvius. We waited and drank our tea; we drank our tea and waited. A full hour passed away. Ram Das never came back. I began to getfrightened. 

At last something stirred. A group of excited men in yellow robes issuedforth from the monastery, wound their way down the hill, and approachedus, shouting. They gesticulated as they came. I could see they lookedangry. All at once Hilda clutched my arm: "Hubert, " she cried, in anundertone, "we are betrayed! I see it all now. These are Tibetans, notNepaulese. " She paused a second, then went on: "I see it all--all, all. Our guide--Ram Das--he HAD a reason, after all, for getting us intomischief. Sebastian must have tracked us; he was bribed by Sebastian! Itwas HE who recommended Ram Das to Sir Ivor!"

"Why do you think so?" I asked, low. 

"Because--look for yourself; these men who come are dressed in yellow. That means Tibetans. Red is the colour of the Lamas in Nepaul; yellowin Tibet and all other Buddhist countries. I read it in the book--TheBuddhist Praying Wheel, you know. These are Tibetan fanatics, and, asRam Das said, they will probably cut our throats for us. "

I was thankful that Hilda's marvellous memory gave us even that momentfor preparation and facing the difficulty. I saw in a flash that shewas quite right: we had been inveigled across the frontier. These moutiswere Tibetans--Buddhist inquisitors--enemies. Tibet is the most jealouscountry on earth; it allows no stranger to intrude upon its borders. I had to meet the worst. I stood there, a single white man, armed onlywith one revolver, answerable for the lives of two English ladies, and accompanied by a cringing out-caste Ghoorka cook and half-a-dozendoubtful Nepaulese bearers. To fly was impossible. We were fairlytrapped. There was nothing for it but to wait and put a bold face on ourutter helplessness. 

I turned to our spoilt child. "Lady Meadowcroft, " I said, veryseriously, "this is danger; real danger. Now, listen to me. You must doas you are bid. No crying; no cowardice. Your life and ours depend uponit. We must none of us give way. We must pretend to be brave. Show onesign of fear, and these people will probably cut our throats on the spothere. "

To my immense surprise, Lady Meadowcroft rose to the height of thesituation. "Oh, as long as it isn't disease, " she answered, resignedly;"I'm not much afraid of anything. I should mind the plague a great dealmore than I mind a set of howling savages. "

By that time the men in yellow robes had almost come up to us. Itwas clear they were boiling over with indignation; but they stilldid everything decently and in order. One, who was dressed in finervestments than the rest--a portly person, with the fat, greasy cheeksand drooping flesh of a celibate church dignitary, whom I thereforejudged to be the abbot, or chief Lama of the monastery--gave ordersto his subordinates in a language which we did not understand. Hismen obeyed him. In a second they had closed us round, as in a ring orcordon. 

Then the chief Lama stepped forward, with an authoritative air, likePooh-Bah in the play, and said something in the same tongue to the cook, who spoke a little Tibetan. It was obvious from his manner that RamDas had told them all about us; for the Lama selected the cook asinterpreter at once, without taking any notice of myself, the ostensiblehead of the petty expedition. 

"What does he, say?" I asked, as soon as he had finished speaking. 

The cook, who had been salaaming all the time, at the risk of a brokenback, in his most utterly abject and grovelling attitude, made answertremulously in his broken English: "This is priest-sahib of the temple. He very angry, because why? Eulopean-sahib and mem-sahibs comeinto Tibet-land. No Eulopean, no Hindu, must come into Tibet-land. Priest-sahib say, cut all Eulopean throats. Let Nepaul man go back likehim come, to him own country. "

I looked as if the message were purely indifferent to me. "Tell him, "I said, smiling--though at some little effort--"we were not trying toenter Tibet. Our rascally guide misled us. We were going to Kulak, inthe Maharajah's territory. We will turn back quietly to the Maharajah'sland if the priest-sahib will allow us to camp out for the night here. "

I glanced at Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft. I must say their bearing underthese trying circumstances was thoroughly worthy of two English ladies. They stood erect, looking as though all Tibet might come, and they wouldsmile at it scornfully. 

The cook interpreted my remarks as well as he was able--his Tibetanbeing probably about equal in quality to his English. But the chief Lamamade a reply which I could see for myself was by no means friendly. 

"What is his answer?" I asked the cook, in my haughtiest voice. I amhaughty with difficulty. 

Our interpreter salaamed once more, shaking in his shoes, if he woreany. "Priest-sahib say, that all lies. That all dam-lies. You isEulopean missionary, very bad man; you want to go to Lhasa. But no whitesahib must go to Lhasa. Holy city, Lhasa; for Buddhists only. This isnot the way to Kulak; this not Maharajah's land. This place belong-aDalai-Lama, head of all Lamas; have house at Lhasa. But priest-sahibknow you Eulopean missionary, want to go Lhasa, convert Buddhists, because. . . Ram Das tell him so. "

"Ram Das!" I exclaimed, thoroughly angry by this time. "The rogue! Thescoundrel! He has not only deserted us, but betrayed us as well. He hastold this lie on purpose to set the Tibetans against us. We must facethe worst now. Our one chance is, to cajole these people. "

The fat priest spoke again. "What does he say this time?" I asked. 

"He say, Ram Das tell him all this because Ram Das good man--very goodman: Ram Das converted Buddhist. You pay Ram Das to guidee you to Lhasa. But Ram Das good man, not want to let Eulopean see holy city; bringyou here instead; then tell priest-sahib about it. " And he chuckledinwardly. 

"What will they do to us?" Lady Meadowcroft asked, her face very white, though her manner was more courageous than I could easily have believedof her. 

"I don't know, " I answered, biting my lip. "But we must not give way. Wemust put a bold face upon it. Their bark, after all, may be worse thantheir bite. We may still persuade them to let us go back again. "

The men in yellow robes motioned us to move on towards the village andmonastery. We were their prisoners, and it was useless to resist. So Iordered the bearers to take up the tents and baggage. Lady Meadowcroftresigned herself to the inevitable. We mounted the path in a long line, the Lamas in yellow closely guarding our draggled little procession. Itried my best to preserve my composure, and above all else not to lookdejected. 

As we approached the village, with its squalid and fetid huts, we caughtthe sound of bells, innumerable bells, tinkling at regular intervals. Many people trooped out from their houses to look at us, all flat-faced, all with oblique eyes, all stolidly, sullenly, stupidly passive. Theyseemed curious as to our dress and appearance, but not apparentlyhostile. We walked on to the low line of the monastery with itspyramidal roof and its queer, flower-vase minarets. After a moment'sdiscussion they ushered us into the temple or chapel, which wasevidently also their communal council-room and place of deliberation. Weentered, trembling. We had no great certainty that we would ever get outof it alive again. 

The temple was a large, oblong hall, with a great figure of Buddha, cross-legged, imperturbable, enthroned in a niche at its further end, like the apse or recess in a church in Italy. Before it stood an altar. The Buddha sat and smiled on us with his eternal smile. A complacentdeity, carved out of white stone, and gaudily painted; a yellow robe, like the Lamas', dangled across his shoulders. The air seemed close withincense and also with bad ventilation. The centre of the nave, if I mayso call it, was occupied by a huge wooden cylinder, a sort of overgrowndrum, painted in bright colours, with ornamental designs and Tibetanletters. It was much taller than a man, some nine feet high, I shouldsay, and it revolved above and below on an iron spindle. Looking closer, I saw it had a crank attached to it, with a string tied to the crank. Asolitary monk, absorbed in his devotions, was pulling this string as weentered, and making the cylinder revolve with a jerk as he pulled it. Ateach revolution, a bell above rang once. The monk seemed as if his wholesoul was bound up in the huge revolving drum and the bell worked by it. 

We took this all in at a glance, somewhat vaguely at first, for ourlives were at stake, and we were scarcely in a mood for ethnologicalobservations. But the moment Hilda saw the cylinder her eye lighted up. I could see at once an idea had struck her. "This is a praying-wheel!"she cried, in quite a delighted voice. "I know where I am now, Hubert--Lady Meadowcroft--I see a way out of this! Do exactly as you seeme do, and all may yet go well. Don't show surprise at anything. I thinkwe can work upon these people's religious feelings. "

Without a moment's hesitation she prostrated herself thrice on theground before the figure of Buddha, knocking her head ostentatiously inthe dust as she did so. We followed suit instantly. Then Hilda rose andbegan walking slowly round the big drum in the nave, saying aloud ateach step, in a sort of monotonous chant, like a priest intoning, thefour mystic words, "Aum, mani, padme, hum, " "Aum, mani, padme, hum, "many times over. We repeated the sacred formula after her, as if we hadalways been brought up to it. I noticed that Hilda walked the way ofthe sun. It is an important point in all these mysterious, half-magicalceremonies. 

At last, after about ten or twelve such rounds, she paused, with anabsorbed air of devotion, and knocked her head three times on the groundonce more, doing poojah, before the ever-smiling Buddha. 

By this time, however, the lessons of St. Alphege's rectory began torecur to Lady Meadowcroft's mind. "Oh, Miss Wade, " she murmured in anawestruck voice, "OUGHT we to do like this? Isn't it clear idolatry?"

Hilda's common sense waved her aside at once. "Idolatry or not, it isthe only way to save our lives, " she answered, in her firmest voice. 

"But--OUGHT we to save our lives? Oughtn't we to be. . . Well, Christianmartyrs?"

Hilda was patience itself. "I think not, dear, " she replied, gentlybut decisively. "You are not called upon to be a martyr. The danger ofidolatry is scarcely so great among Europeans of our time that we needfeel it a duty to protest with our lives against it. I have better usesto which to put my life myself. I don't mind being a martyr--wherea sufficient cause demands it. But I don't think such a sacrifice isrequired of us now in a Tibetan monastery. Life was not given us towaste on gratuitous martyrdoms. "

"But. . . Really. . . I'm afraid. . . "

"Don't be afraid of anything, dear, or you will risk all. Follow mylead; _I_ will answer for your conduct. Surely, if Naaman, in the midstof idolaters, was permitted to bow down in the house of Rimmon, to savehis place at court, you may blamelessly bow down to save your life ina Buddhist temple. Now, no more casuistry, but do as I tell you! 'Aum, mani, padme, hum, ' again! Once more round the drum there!"

We followed her a second time, Lady Meadowcroft giving in after a feebleprotest. The priests in yellow looked on, profoundly impressed by ourcircumnavigation. It was clear they began to reconsider the question ofour nefarious designs on their holy city. 

After we had finished our second tour round the drum, with the utmostsolemnity, one of the monks approached Hilda, whom he seemed to take nowfor an important priestess. He said something to her in Tibetan, which, of course, we did not understand; but, as he pointed at the same timeto the brother on the floor who was turning the wheel, Hilda noddedacquiescence. "If you wish it, " she said in English--and he appeared tocomprehend. "He wants to know whether I would like to take a turn at thecylinder. "

She knelt down in front of it, before the little stool where the brotherin yellow had been kneeling till that moment, and took the string in herhand, as if she were well accustomed to it. I could see that the abbotgave the cylinder a surreptitious push with his left hand, before shebegan, so as to make it revolve in the opposite direction from that inwhich the monk had just been moving it. This was obviously to try her. But Hilda let the string drop, with a little cry of horror. That wasthe wrong way round--the unlucky, uncanonical direction; the evil way, widdershins, the opposite of sunwise. With an awed air she stoppedshort, repeated once more the four mystic words, or mantra, and bowedthrice with well-assumed reverence to the Buddha. Then she set thecylinder turning of her own accord, with her right hand, in thepropitious direction, and sent it round seven times with the utmostgravity. 

At this point, encouraged by Hilda's example, I too became possessedof a brilliant inspiration. I opened my purse and took out of it fourbrand-new silver rupees of the Indian coinage. They were very handsomeand shiny coins, each impressed with an excellent design of the head ofthe Queen as Empress of India. Holding them up before me, I approachedthe Buddha, and laid the four in a row submissively at his feet, uttering at the same time an appropriate formula. But as I did not knowthe proper mantra for use upon such an occasion, I supplied one frommemory, saying, in a hushed voice, "Hokey--pokey--winky--wum, " as I laideach one before the benignly-smiling statue. I have no doubt from theirfaces the priests imagined I was uttering a most powerful spell orprayer in my own language. 

As soon as I retreated, with my face towards the image, the chief Lamaglided up and examined the coins carefully. It was clear he had neverseen anything of the sort before, for he gazed at them for some minutes, and then showed them round to his monks with an air of deep reverence. Ido not doubt he took the image of her gracious Majesty for a very mightyand potent goddess. As soon as all had inspected them, with many criesof admiration, he opened a little secret drawer or relic-holder in thepedestal of the statue, and deposited them in it with a muttered prayer, as precious offerings from a European Buddhist. 

By this time, we could easily see we were beginning to produce a mostfavourable impression. Hilda's study of Buddhism had stood us in goodstead. The chief Lama or abbot motioned to us to be seated, in a muchpoliter mood; after which he and his principal monks held a long andanimated conversation together. I gathered from their looks and gesturesthat the head Lama inclined to regard us as orthodox Buddhists, but thatsome of his followers had grave doubts of their own as to the depth andreality of our religious convictions. 

While they debated and hesitated, Hilda had another splendid idea. She undid her portfolio, and took out of it the photographs of ancientBuddhist topes and temples which she had taken in India. These sheproduced triumphantly. At once the priests and monks crowded round usto look at them. In a moment, when they recognised the meaning of thepictures, their excitement grew quite intense. The photographs werepassed round from hand to hand, amid loud exclamations of joy andsurprise. One brother would point out with astonishment to another somefamiliar symbol or some ancient text; two or three of them, in theirdevout enthusiasm, fell down on their knees and kissed the pictures. 

We had played a trump card! The monks could see for themselves by thistime that we were deeply interested in Buddhism. Now, minds of thatcalibre never understand a disinterested interest; the moment they sawwe were collectors of Buddhist pictures, they jumped at once to theconclusion that we must also, of course, be devout believers. So far didthey carry their sense of fraternity, indeed, that they insistedupon embracing us. That was a hard trial to Lady Meadowcroft, for thebrethren were not conspicuous for personal cleanliness. She suspectedgerms, and she dreaded typhoid far more than she dreaded the Tibetancutthroat. 

The brethren asked, through the medium of our interpreter, the cook, where these pictures had been made. We explained as well as we could bymeans of the same mouthpiece, a very earthen vessel, that they came fromancient Buddhist buildings in India. This delighted them still more, though I know not in what form our Ghoorka retainer may have conveyedthe information. At any rate, they insisted on embracing us again;after which the chief Lama said something very solemnly to our amateurinterpreter. 

The cook interpreted. "Priest-sahib say, he too got very sacred thing, come from India. Sacred Buddhist poojah-thing. Go to show it to you. "

We waited, breathless. The chief Lama approached the altar before therecess, in front of the great cross-legged, vapidly smiling Buddha. He bowed himself to the ground three times over, as well as his portlyframe would permit him, knocking his forehead against the floor, justas Hilda had done; then he proceeded, almost awestruck, to take fromthe altar an object wrapped round with gold brocade, and very carefullyguarded. Two acolytes accompanied him. In the most reverent way, he slowly unwound the folds of gold cloth, and released from itshiding-place the highly sacred deposit. He held it up before our eyeswith an air of triumph. It was an English bottle!

The label on it shone with gold and bright colours. I could see it wasfigured. The figure represented a cat, squatting on its haunches. Thesacred inscription ran, in our own tongue, "Old Tom Gin, Unsweetened. "

The monks bowed their heads in profound silence as the sacred thing wasproduced. I caught Hilda's eye. "For Heaven's sake, " I murmured low, "don't either of you laugh! If you do, it's all up with us. "

They kept their countenances with admirable decorum. 

Another idea struck me. "Tell them, " I said to the cook, "that we, too, have a similar and very powerful god, but much more lively. " Heinterpreted my words to them. 

Then I opened our stores, and drew out with a flourish--our lastremaining bottle of Simla soda-water. 

Very solemnly and seriously I unwired the cork, as if performing analmost sacrosanct ceremony. The monks crowded round, with the deepestcuriosity. I held the cork down for a second with my thumb, whileI uttered once more, in my most awesome tone, the mystic words:"Hokey--pokey--winky--wum!" then I let it fly suddenly. The soda-waterwas well up. The cork bounded to the ceiling; the contents of the bottlespurted out over the place in the most impressive fashion. 

For a minute the Lamas drew back alarmed. The thing seemed almostdevilish. Then slowly, reassured by our composure, they crept back andlooked. With a glance of inquiry at the abbot, I took out my pocketcorkscrew, and drew the cork of the gin-bottle, which had never beenopened. I signed for a cup. They brought me one, reverently. I pouredout a little gin, to which I added some soda-water, and drank first ofit myself, to show them it was not poison. After that, I handed it tothe chief Lama, who sipped at it, sipped again, and emptied the cup atthe third trial. Evidently the sacred drink was very much to his taste, for he smacked his lips after it, and turned with exclamations ofsurprised delight to his inquisitive companions. 

The rest of the soda-water, duly mixed with gin, soon went the round ofthe expectant monks. It was greatly approved of. Unhappily, there wasnot quite enough soda water to supply a drink for all of them; but thosewho tasted it were deeply impressed. I could see that they took the biteof carbonic-acid gas for evidence of a most powerful and present deity. 

That settled our position. We were instantly regarded, not only asBuddhists, but as mighty magicians from a far country. The monks madehaste to show us rooms destined for our use in the monastery. They werenot unbearably filthy, and we had our own bedding. We had to spend thenight there, that was certain. We had, at least, escaped the worst andmost pressing danger. I may add that I believe our cook to have beena most arrant liar--which was a lucky circumstance. Once the wretchedcreature saw the tide turn, I have reason to infer that he supported ourcause by telling the chief Lama the most incredible stories about ourholiness and power. At any rate, it is certain that we were regardedwith the utmost respect, and treated thenceforth with the affectionatedeference due to acknowledged and certified sainthood. 

It began to strike us now, however, that we had almost overshot the markin this matter of sanctity. We had made ourselves quite too holy. Themonks, who were eager at first to cut our throats, thought so much of usnow that we grew a little anxious as to whether they would not wish tokeep such devout souls in their midst for ever. As a matter of fact, wespent a whole week against our wills in the monastery, being very wellfed and treated meanwhile, yet virtually captives. It was the camerathat did it. The Lamas had never seen any photographs before. They askedhow these miraculous pictures were produced; and Hilda, to keep upthe good impression, showed them how she operated. When a full-lengthportrait of the chief Lama, in his sacrificial robes, was actuallyprinted off and exhibited before their eyes, their delight knew nobounds. The picture was handed about among the astonished brethren, andreceived with loud shouts of joy and wonder. Nothing would satisfy themthen but that we must photograph every individual monk in the place. Even the Buddha himself, cross-legged and imperturbable, had to sitfor his portrait. As he was used to sitting--never, indeed, having doneanything else--he came out admirably. 

Day after day passed; suns rose and suns set; and it was clear thatthe monks did not mean to let us leave their precincts in a hurry. LadyMeadowcroft, having recovered by this time from her first fright, beganto grow bored. The Buddhists' ritual ceased to interest her. To vary themonotony, I hit upon an expedient for killing time till our too pressinghosts saw fit to let us depart. They were fond of religious processionsof the most protracted sort--dances before the altar, with animal masksor heads, and other weird ceremonial orgies. Hilda, who had read herselfup in Buddhist ideas, assured me that all these things were done inorder to heap up Karma. 

"What is Karma?" I asked, listlessly. 

"Karma is good works, or merit. The more praying-wheels you turn, themore bells you ring, the greater the merit. One of the monks is alwaysat work turning the big wheel that moves the bell, so as to heap upmerit night and day for the monastery. "

This set me thinking. I soon discovered that, no matter how the wheel isturned, the Karma or merit is equal. It is the turning it that counts, not the personal exertion. There were wheels and bells in convenientsituations all over the village, and whoever passed one gave it a twistas he went by, thus piling up Karma for all the inhabitants. Reflectingupon these facts, I was seized with an idea. I got Hilda to takeinstantaneous photographs of all the monks during a sacred procession, at rapid intervals. In that sunny climate we had no difficulty at all inprinting off from the plates as soon as developed. Then I took a smallwheel, about the size of an oyster-barrel--the monks had dozens ofthem--and pasted the photographs inside in successive order, like whatis called a zoetrope, or wheel of life. By cutting holes in the side, and arranging a mirror from Lady Meadowcroft's dressing-bag, I completedmy machine, so that, when it was turned round rapidly, one saw theprocession actually taking place as if the figures were moving. Thething, in short, made a living picture like a cinematograph. A mountainstream ran past the monastery, and supplied it with water. I had asecond inspiration. I was always mechanical. I fixed a water-wheel inthe stream, where it made a petty cataract, and connected it by meansof a small crank with the barrel of photographs. My zoetrope thusworked off itself, and piled up Karma for all the village whether anyonehappened to be looking at it or not. 

The monks, who were really excellent fellows when not engaged in cuttingthroats in the interest of the faith, regarded this device as a greatand glorious religious invention. They went down on their knees to it, and were profoundly respectful. They also bowed to me so deeply, when Ifirst exhibited it, that I began to be puffed up with spiritual pride. Lady Meadowcroft recalled me to my better self by murmuring, with asigh: "I suppose we really can't draw a line now; but it DOES seem to melike encouraging idolatry!"

"Purely mechanical encouragement, " I answered, gazing at my handicraftwith an inventor's pardonable pride. "You see, it is the turning itselfthat does good, not any prayers attached to it. I divert the idolatryfrom human worshippers to an unconscious stream--which must surely bemeritorious. " Then I thought of the mystic sentence, "Aum, mani, padme, hum. " "What a pity it is, " I cried, "I couldn't make them a phonographto repeat their mantra! If I could, they might fulfil all theirreligious duties together by machinery!"

Hilda reflected a second. "There is a great future, " she said atlast, "for the man who first introduces smoke-jacks into Tibet! Everyhousehold will buy one, as an automatic means of acquiring Karma. "

"Don't publish that idea in England!" I exclaimed, hastily--"if everwe get there. As sure as you do, somebody will see in it an opening forBritish trade; and we shall spend twenty millions on conquering Tibet, in the interests of civilisation and a smoke-jack syndicate. "

How long we might have stopped at the monastery I cannot say, had it notbeen for the intervention of an unexpected episode which occurred just aweek after our first arrival. We were comfortable enough in a rough way, with our Ghoorka cook to prepare our food for us, and our bearers towait; but to the end I never felt quite sure of our hosts, who, afterall, were entertaining us under false pretences. We had told them, trulyenough, that Buddhist missionaries had now penetrated to England; andthough they had not the slightest conception where England might be, and knew not the name of Madame Blavatsky, this news interested them. Regarding us as promising neophytes, they were anxious now that weshould go on to Lhasa, in order to receive full instruction in thefaith from the chief fountainhead, the Grand Lama in person. To this wedemurred. Mr. Landor's experiences did not encourage us to follow hislead. The monks, for their part, could not understand our reluctance. They thought that every well-intentioned convert must wish to make thepilgrimage to Lhasa, the Mecca of their creed. Our hesitation threwsome doubt on the reality of our conversion. A proselyte, above all men, should never be lukewarm. They expected us to embrace the opportunitywith fervour. We might be massacred on the way, to be sure; but what didthat matter? We should be dying for the faith, and ought to be charmedat so splendid a prospect. 

On the day-week after our arrival time chief Lama came to me atnightfall. His face was serious. He spoke to me through our accreditedinterpreter, the cook. "Priest-sahib say, very important; the sahib andmem-sahibs must go away from here before sun get up to-morrow morning. "

"Why so?" I asked, as astonished as I was pleased. 

"Priest-sahib say, he like you very much; oh, very, very much; no wantto see village people kill you. "

"Kill us! But I thought they believed we were saints!"

"Priest say, that just it; too much saint altogether. People hereaboutall telling that the sahib and the mem-sahibs very great saints; muchholy, like Buddha. Make picture; work miracles. People think, if themkill you, and have your tomb here, very holy place; very great Karma;very good for trade; plenty Tibetan man hear you holy men, come here onpilgrimage. Pilgrimage make fair, make market, very good for village. Sopeople want to kill you, build shrine over your body. "

This was a view of the advantages of sanctity which had never beforestruck me. Now, I had not been eager even for the distinction of beinga Christian martyr; as to being a Buddhist martyr, that was quite out ofthe question. "Then what does the Lama advise us to do?" I asked. 

"Priest-sahib say he love you; no want to see village people kill you. He give you guide--very good guide--know mountains well; take you backstraight to Maharajah's country. "

"Not Ram Das?" I asked, suspiciously. 

"No, not Ram Das. Very good man--Tibetan. "

I saw at once this was a genuine crisis. All was hastily arranged. Iwent in and told Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft. Our spoilt child crieda little, of course, at the idea of being enshrined; but on the wholebehaved admirably. At early dawn next morning, before the village wasawake, we crept with stealthy steps out of the monastery, whose inmateswere friendly. Our new guide accompanied us. We avoided the village, onwhose outskirts the lamasery lay, and made straight for the valley. Bysix o'clock, we were well out of sight of the clustered houses andthe pyramidal spires. But I did not breathe freely till late in theafternoon, when we found ourselves once more under British protection inthe first hamlet of the Maharajah's territory. 

As for that scoundrel, Ram Das, we heard nothing more of him. Hedisappeared into space from the moment he deserted us at the door of thetrap into which he had led us. The chief Lama told me he had gone backat once by another route to his own country. 

CHAPTER XI

THE EPISODE OF THE OFFICER WHO UNDERSTOOD PERFECTLY

After our fortunate escape from the clutches of our too-admiring Tibetanhosts, we wound our way slowly back through the Maharajah's territorytowards Sir Ivor's headquarters. On the third day out from the lamaserywe camped in a romantic Himalayan valley--a narrow, green glen, with abrawling stream running in white cataracts and rapids down its midst. We were able to breathe freely now; we could enjoy the great taperingdeodars that rose in ranks on the hillsides, the snow-clad needles oframping rock that bounded the view to north and south, the featherybamboo-jungle that fringed and half-obscured the mountain torrent, whosecool music--alas, fallaciously cool--was borne to us through the densescreen of waving foliage. Lady Meadowcroft was so delighted at havinggot clear away from those murderous and saintly Tibetans that for awhile she almost forgot to grumble. She even condescended to admire thedeep-cleft ravine in which we bivouacked for the night, and to admitthat the orchids which hung from the tall trees were as fine as any ather florist's in Piccadilly. "Though how they can have got them out herealready, in this outlandish place--the most fashionable kinds--when wein England have to grow them with such care in expensive hot-houses, "she said, "really passes my comprehension. "

She seemed to think that orchids originated in Covent Garden. 

Early next morning I was engaged with one of my native men in lightingthe fire to boil our kettle--for in spite of all misfortunes we stillmade tea with creditable punctuality--when a tall and good-lookingNepaulese approached us from the hills, with cat-like tread, and stoodbefore me in an attitude of profound supplication. He was a well-dressedyoung man, like a superior native servant; his face was broad and flat, but kindly and good-humoured. He salaamed many times, but still saidnothing. 

"Ask him what he wants, " I cried, turning to our fair-weather friend, the cook. 

The deferential Nepaulese did not wait to be asked. "Salaam, sahib, " hesaid, bowing again very low till his forehead almost touched the ground. "You are Eulopean doctor, sahib?"

"I am, " I answered, taken aback at being thus recognised in the forestsof Nepaul. "But how in wonder did you come to know it?"

"You camp near here when you pass dis way before, and you doctor littlenative girl, who got sore eyes. All de country here tell you is verygreat physician. So I come and to see if you will turn aside to myvillage to help us. "

"Where did you learn English?" I exclaimed, more and more astonished. 

"I is servant one time at British Lesident's at de Maharajah's city. Pick up English dere. Also pick up plenty lupee. Velly good businessat British Lesident's. Now gone back home to my own village, letiredgentleman. " And he drew himself up with conscious dignity. 

I surveyed the retired gentleman from head to foot. He had an air ofdistinction, which not even his bare toes could altogether mar. He wasevidently a person of local importance. "And what did you want me tovisit your village for?" I inquired, dubiously. 

"White traveller sahib ill dere, sir. Vely ill; got plague. Greatfirst-class sahib, all same like Governor. Ill, fit to die; send me outall times to try find Eulopean doctor. "

"Plague?" I repeated, startled. He nodded. 

"Yes, plague; all same like dem hab him so bad down Bombay way. "

"Do you know his name?" I asked; for though one does not like to deserta fellow-creature in distress, I did not care to turn aside from myroad on such an errand, with Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft, unless for someamply sufficient reason. 

The retired gentleman shook his head in the most emphatic fashion. "Howme know?" he answered, opening the palms of his hands as if to showhe had nothing concealed in them. "Forget Eulopean name all times soeasily. And traveller sahib name very hard to lemember. Not got Englishname. Him Eulopean foleigner. "

"A European foreigner!" I repeated. "And you say he is seriously ill?Plague is no trifle. Well, wait a minute; I'll see what the ladies sayabout it. How far off is your village?"

He pointed with his hand, somewhat vaguely, to the hillside. "Two hours'walk, " he answered, with the mountaineer's habit of reckoning distanceby time, which extends, under the like circumstances, the whole worldover. 

I went back to the tents, and consulted Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft. Ourspoilt child pouted, and was utterly averse to any detour of any sort. "Let's get back straight to Ivor, " she said, petulantly. "I've had enoughof camping out. It's all very well in its way for a week but when theybegin to talk about cutting your throat and all that, it ceases to bea joke and becomes a wee bit uncomfortable. I want my feather bed. Iobject to their villages. "

"But consider, dear, " Hilda said, gently. "This traveller is ill, allalone in a strange land. How can Hubert desert him? It is a doctor'sduty to do what he can to alleviate pain and to cure the sick. Whatwould we have thought ourselves, when we were at the lamasery, if a bodyof European travellers had known we were there, imprisoned and in dangerof our lives, and had passed by on the other side without attempting torescue us?"

Lady Meadowcroft knit her forehead. "That was us, " she said, with animpatient nod, after a pause--"and this is another person. You can'tturn aside for everybody who's ill in all Nepaul. And plague, too!--sohorrid! Besides, how do we know this isn't another plan of these hatefulpeople to lead us into danger?"

"Lady Meadowcroft is quite right, " I said, hastily. "I never thoughtabout that. There may be no plague, no patient at all. I will go up withthis man alone, Hilda, and find out the truth. It will only take me fivehours at most. By noon I shall be back with you. "

"What? And leave us here unprotected among the wild beasts and thesavages?" Lady Meadowcroft cried, horrified. "In the midst of theforest! Dr. Cumberledge, how can you?"

"You are NOT unprotected, " I answered, soothing her. "You have Hildawith you. She is worth ten men. And besides, our Nepaulese are fairlytrustworthy. "

Hilda bore me out in my resolve. She was too much of a nurse, and hadimbibed too much of the true medical sentiment, to let me desert aman in peril of his life in a tropical jungle. So, in spite of LadyMeadowcroft, I was soon winding my way up a steep mountain track, overgrown with creeping Indian weeds, on my road to the stillproblematical village graced by the residence of the retired gentleman. 

After two hours' hard climbing we reached it at last. The retiredgentleman led the way to a house in a street of the little woodenhamlet. The door was low; I had to stoop to enter it. I saw in a momentthis was indeed no trick. On a native bed, in a corner of the one room, a man lay desperately ill; a European, with white hair and with a skinwell bronzed by exposure to the tropics. Ominous dark spots beneath theepidermis showed the nature of the disease. He tossed restlessly as helay, but did not raise his fevered head or look at my conductor. "Well, any news of Ram Das?" he asked at last, in a parched and feeble voice. Parched and feeble as it was, I recognised it instantly. The man on thebed was Sebastian--no other!

"No news of Lam Das, " the retired gentleman replied, with an unexpecteddisplay of womanly tenderness. "Lam Das clean gone; not come any more. But I bling you back Eulopean doctor, sahib. "

Sebastian did not look up from his bed even then. I could see hewas more anxious about a message from his scout than about his owncondition. "The rascal!" he moaned, with his eyes closed tight. "Therascal! he has betrayed me. " And he tossed uneasily. 

I looked at him and said nothing. Then I seated myself on a low stool bythe bedside and took his hand in mine to feel his pulse. The wrist wasthin and wasted. The face, too, I noticed, had fallen away greatly. Itwas clear that the malignant fever which accompanies the disease hadwreaked its worst on him. So weak and ill was he, indeed, that he let mehold his hand, with my fingers on his pulse, for half a minute or morewithout ever opening his eyes or displaying the slightest curiosity atmy presence. One might have thought that European doctors abounded inNepaul, and that I had been attending him for a week, with "the mixtureas before" at every visit. 

"Your pulse is weak and very rapid, " I said slowly, in a professionaltone. "You seem to me to have fallen into a perilous condition. "

At the sound of my voice, he gave a sudden start. Yet even so, for asecond, he did not open his eyes. The revelation of my presence seemedto come upon him as in a dream. "Like Cumberledge's, " he muttered tohimself, gasping. "Exactly like Cumberledge's. . . . But Cumberledge isdead. . . I must be delirious. . . . If I didn't KNOW to the contrary, Icould have sworn it was Cumberledge's!"

I spoke again, bending over him. "How long have the glandular swellingsbeen present, Professor?" I asked, with quiet deliberativeness. 

This time he opened his eyes sharply, and looked up in my face. Heswallowed a great gulp of surprise. His breath came and went. Heraised himself on his elbows and stared at me with a fixed stare. "Cumberledge!" he cried; "Cumberledge! Come back to life, then! Theytold me you were dead! And here you are, Cumberledge!"

"WHO told you I was dead?" I asked, sternly. 

He stared at me, still in a dazed way. He was more than half comatose. "Your guide, Ram Das, " he answered at last, half incoherently. "He cameback by himself. Came back without you. He swore to me he had seenall your throats cut in Tibet. He alone had escaped. The Buddhists hadmassacred you. "

"He told you a lie, " I said, shortly. 

"I thought so. I thought so. And I sent him back for confirmatoryevidence. But the rogue has never brought it. " He let his head drop onhis rude pillow heavily. "Never, never brought it!"

I gazed at him, full of horror. The man was too ill to hear me, too illto reason, too ill to recognise the meaning of his own words, almost. Otherwise, perhaps, he would hardly have expressed himself quite sofrankly. Though to be sure he had said nothing to criminate himself inany way; his action might have been due to anxiety for our safety. 

I fixed my glance on him long and dubiously. What ought I to do next?As for Sebastian, he lay with his eyes closed, half oblivious of mypresence. The fever had gripped him hard. He shivered, and lookedhelpless as a child. In such circumstances, the instincts of myprofession rose imperative within me. I could not nurse a case properlyin this wretched hut. The one thing to be done was to carry the patientdown to our camp in the valley. There, at least, we had air and purerunning water. 

I asked a few questions from the retired gentleman as to the possibilityof obtaining sufficient bearers in the village. As I supposed, anynumber were forthcoming immediately. Your Nepaulese is by nature a beastof burden; he can carry anything up and down the mountains, and spendshis life in the act of carrying. 

I pulled out my pencil, tore a leaf from my note-book, and scribbled ahasty note to Hilda: "The invalid is--whom do you think?--Sebastian!He is dangerously ill with some malignant fever. I am bringing him downinto camp to nurse. Get everything ready for him. " Then I handed itover to a messenger, found for me by the retired gentleman, to carry toHilda. My host himself I could not spare, as he was my only interpreter. 

In a couple of hours we had improvised a rough, woven-grass hammock asan ambulance couch, had engaged our bearers, and had got Sebastian underway for the camp by the river. 

When I arrived at our tents, I found Hilda had prepared everything forour patient with her usual cleverness. Not only had she got a bed readyfor Sebastian, who was now almost insensible, but she had even cookedsome arrowroot from our stores beforehand, so that he might have alittle food, with a dash of brandy in it, to recover him after thefatigue of the journey down the mountain. By the time we had laid himout on a mattress in a cool tent, with the fresh air blowing about him, and had made him eat the meal prepared for him, he really began to lookcomparatively comfortable. 

Lady Meadowcroft was now our chief trouble. We did not dare to tell herit was really plague; but she had got near enough back to civilisationto have recovered her faculty for profuse grumbling; and the idea of thedelay that Sebastian would cause us drove her wild with annoyance. "Onlytwo days off from Ivor, " she cried, "and that comfortable bungalow! Andnow to think we must stop here in the woods a week or ten days for thishorrid old Professor! Why can't he get worse at once and die like agentleman? But, there! with YOU to nurse him, Hilda, he'll never getworse. He couldn't die if he tried. He'll linger on and on for weeks andweeks through a beastly convalescence!"

"Hubert, " Hilda said to me, when we were alone once more; "we mustn'tkeep her here. She will be a hindrance, not a help. One way or anotherwe must manage to get rid of her. "

"How can we?" I asked. "We can't turn her loose upon the mountain roadswith a Nepaulese escort. She isn't fit for it. She would be frantic withterror. "

"I've thought of that, and I see only one thing possible. I must go onwith her myself as fast as we can push to Sir Ivor's place, and thenreturn to help you nurse the Professor. "

I saw she was right. It was the sole plan open to us. And I had no fearof letting Hilda go off alone with Lady Meadowcroft and the bearers. Shewas a host in herself, and could manage a party of native servants atleast as well as I could. 

So Hilda went, and came back again. Meanwhile, I took charge of thenursing of Sebastian. Fortunately, I had brought with me a good stockof jungle-medicines in my little travelling-case, including plenty ofquinine; and under my careful treatment the Professor passed the crisisand began to mend slowly. The first question he asked me when he felthimself able to talk once more was, "Nurse Wade--what has become ofher?"--for he had not yet seen her. I feared the shock for him. 

"She is here with me, " I answered, in a very measured voice. "She iswaiting to be allowed to come and help me in taking care of you. "

He shuddered and turned away. His face buried itself in the pillow. Icould see some twinge of remorse had seized upon him. At last he spoke. "Cumberledge, " he said, in a very low and almost frightened tone, "don'tlet her come near me! I can't bear it. I can't bear it. "

Ill as he was, I did not mean to let him think I was ignorant of hismotive. "You can't bear a woman whose life you have attempted, " I said, in my coldest and most deliberate way, "to have a hand in nursing you!You can't bear to let her heap coals of fire on your head! In that youare right. But, remember, you have attempted MY life too; you have twicedone your best to get me murdered. "

He did not pretend to deny it. He was too weak for subterfuges. He onlywrithed as he lay. "You are a man, " he said, shortly, "and she is awoman. That is all the difference. " Then he paused for a minute or two. "Don't let her come near me, " he moaned once more, in a piteous voice. "Don't let her come near me!"

"I will not, " I answered. "She shall not come near you. I spare youthat. But you will have to eat the food she prepares; and you know SHEwill not poison you. You will have to be tended by the servants shechooses; and you know THEY will not murder you. She can heap coalsof fire on your head without coming into your tent. Consider that yousought to take her life--and she seeks to save yours! She is as anxiousto keep you alive as you are anxious to kill her. "

He lay as in a reverie. His long white hair made his clear-cut, thinface look more unearthly than ever, with the hectic flush of fever uponit. At last he turned to me. "We each work for our own ends, " he said, in a weary way. "We pursue our own objects. It suits ME to get rid ofHER: it suits HER to keep ME alive. I am no good to her dead; living, she expects to wring a confession out of me. But she shall not haveit. Tenacity of purpose is the one thing I admire in life. She has thetenacity of purpose--and so have I. Cumberledge, don't you see it is amere duel of endurance between us?"

"And may the just side win, " I answered, solemnly. 

It was several days later before he spoke to me of it again. Hilda hadbrought some food to the door of the tent and passed it in to me for ourpatient. "How is he now?" she whispered. 

Sebastian overheard her voice, and, cowering within himself, stillmanaged to answer: "Better, getting better. I shall soon be well now. You have carried your point. You have cured your enemy. "

"Thank God for that!" Hilda said, and glided away silently. 

Sebastian ate his cup of arrowroot in silence; then he looked at me withwistful, musing eyes. "Cumberledge, " he murmured at last; "after all, I can't help admiring that woman. She is the only person who has evercheckmated me. She checkmates me every time. Steadfastness is what Ilove. Her steadfastness of purpose and her determination move me. "

"I wish they would move you to tell the truth, " I answered. 

He mused again. "To tell the truth!" he muttered, moving his head up anddown. "I have lived for science. Shall I wreck all now? There aretruths which it is better to hide than to proclaim. Uncomfortabletruths--truths that never should have been--truths which help to makegreater truths incredible. But, all the same, I cannot help admiringthat woman. She has Yorke-Bannerman's intellect, with a great deal morethan Yorke-Bannerman's force of will. Such firmness! such energy! suchresolute patience! She is a wonderful creature. I can't help admiringher!"

I said no more to him just then. I thought it better to let nascentremorse and nascent admiration work out their own natural effectsunimpeded. For I could see our enemy was beginning to feel some stingof remorse. Some men are below it. Sebastian thought himself above it. Ifelt sure he was mistaken. 

Yet even in the midst of these personal preoccupations, I saw that ourgreat teacher was still, as ever, the pure man of science. He notedevery symptom and every change of the disease with professionalaccuracy. He observed his own case, whenever his mind was clear enough, as impartially as he would have observed any outside patient's. "This isa rare chance, Cumberledge, " he whispered to me once, in an interval ofdelirium. "So few Europeans have ever had the complaint, and probablynone who were competent to describe the specific subjective andpsychological symptoms. The delusions one gets as one sinks into thecoma, for example, are of quite a peculiar type--delusions of wealth andof absolute power, most exhilarating and magnificent. I think myselfa millionaire or a Prime Minister. Be sure you make a note of that--incase I die. If I recover, of course I can write an exhaustive monographon the whole history of the disease in the British Medical Journal. Butif I die, the task of chronicling these interesting observationswill devolve upon you. A most exceptional chance! You are much to becongratulated. "

"You MUST not die, Professor, " I cried, thinking more, I will confess, of Hilda Wade than of himself. "You must live. . . To report this case forscience. " I used what I thought the strongest lever I knew for him. 

He closed his eyes dreamily. "For science! Yes, for science! There youstrike the right chord! What have I not dared and done for science? But, in case I die, Cumberledge, be sure you collect the notes I took as Iwas sickening--they are most important for the history and etiology ofthe disease. I made them hourly. And don't forget the main points tobe observed as I am dying. You know what they are. This is a rare, rare chance! I congratulate you on being the man who has the firstopportunity ever afforded us of questioning an intelligent Europeancase, a case where the patient is fully capable of describing withaccuracy his symptoms and his sensations in medical phraseology. "

He did not die, however. In about another week he was well enough tomove. We carried him down to Mozufferpoor, the first large town in theplains thereabouts, and handed him over for the stage of convalescenceto the care of the able and efficient station doctor, to whom my thanksare due for much courteous assistance. 

"And now, what do you mean to do?" I asked Hilda, when our patient wasplaced in other hands, and all was over. 

She answered me without one second's hesitation: "Go straight to Bombay, and wait there till Sebastian takes passage for England. "

"He will go home, you think, as soon as he is well enough?"

"Undoubtedly. He has now nothing more to stop in India for. "

"Why not as much as ever?"

She looked at me curiously. "It is so hard to explain, " she replied, after a moment's pause, during which she had been drumming her littleforefinger on the table. "I feel it rather than reason it. But don't yousee that a certain change has lately come over Sebastian's attitude? Heno longer desires to follow me; he wants to avoid me. That is why I wishmore than ever to dog his steps. I feel the beginning of the end hascome. I am gaining my point. Sebastian is wavering. "

"Then when he engages a berth, you propose to go by the same steamer?"

"Yes. It makes all the difference. When he tries to follow we, he isdangerous; when he tries to avoid me, it becomes my work in life tofollow him. I must keep him in sight every minute now. I must quickenhis conscience. I must make him FEEL his own desperate wickedness. He isafraid to face me: that means remorse. The more I compel him to face me, the more the remorse is sure to deepen. "

I saw she was right. We took the train to Bombay. I found rooms at thehospitable club, by a member's invitation, while Hilda went to stop withsome friends of Lady Meadowcroft's on the Malabar Hill. We waited forSebastian to come down from the interior and take his passage. Hilda, with her intuitive certainty, felt sure he would come. 

A steamer, two steamers, three steamers, sailed, and still no Sebastian. I began to think he must have made up his mind to go back some otherway. But Hilda was confident, so I waited patiently. At last one morningI dropped in, as I had often done before, at the office of one of thechief steamship companies. It was the very morning when a packet was tosail. "Can I see the list of passengers on the Vindhya?" I asked of theclerk, a sandy-haired Englishman, tall, thin, and sallow. 

The clerk produced it. 

I scanned it in haste. To my surprise and delight, a pencilled entryhalf-way down the list gave the name, "Professor Sebastian. "

"Oh, Sebastian is going by this steamer?" I murmured, looking up. 

The sandy-haired clerk hummed and hesitated. "Well, I believe he'sgoing, sir, " he answered at last; "but it's a bit uncertain. He's afidgety man, the Professor. He came down here this morning and askedto see the list, the same as you have done. Then he engaged a berthprovisionally--'mind, provisionally, ' he said--that's why his nameis only put in on the list in pencil. I take it he's waiting to knowwhether a party of friends he wishes to meet are going also. "

"Or wishes to avoid, " I thought to myself, inwardly; but I did not sayso. I asked instead, "Is he coming again?"

"Yes, I think so: at 5. 30. "

"And she sails at seven?"

"At seven, punctually. Passengers must be aboard by half-past six atlatest. "

"Very good, " I answered, making up my mind promptly. "I only called toknow the Professor's movements. Don't mention to him that I came. I maylook in again myself an hour or two later. "

"You don't want a passage, sir? You may be the friend he's expecting. "

"No, I don't want a passage--not at present certainly. " Then I venturedon a bold stroke. "Look here, " I said, leaning across towards him, andassuming a confidential tone: "I am a private detective"--which wasperfectly true in essence--"and I'm dogging the Professor, who, for allhis eminence, is gravely suspected of a great crime. If you will helpme, I will make it worth your while. Let us understand one another. Ioffer you a five-pound note to say nothing of all this to him. "

The sallow clerk's fishy eye glistened. "You can depend upon me, " heanswered, with an acquiescent nod. I judged that he did not often getthe chance of earning some eighty rupees so easily. 

I scribbled a hasty note and sent it round to Hilda: "Pack your boxesat once, and hold yourself in readiness to embark on the Vindhya at sixo'clock precisely. " Then I put my own things straight; and waited atthe club till a quarter to six. At that time I strolled on unconcernedlyinto the office. A cab outside held Hilda and our luggage. I hadarranged it all meanwhile by letter. 

"Professor Sebastian been here again?" I asked. 

"Yes, sir; he's been here; and he looked over the list again; and he'staken his passage. But he muttered something about eavesdroppers, andsaid that if he wasn't satisfied when he got on board, he would returnat once and ask for a cabin in exchange by the next steamer. "

"That will do, " I answered, slipping the promised five-pound note intothe clerk's open palm, which closed over it convulsively. "Talked abouteavesdroppers, did he? Then he knows he's been shadowed. It may consoleyou to learn that you are instrumental in furthering the aims of justiceand unmasking a cruel and wicked conspiracy. Now, the next thingis this: I want two berths at once by this very steamer--one formyself--name of Cumberledge; one for a lady--name of Wade; and looksharp about it. "

The sandy-haired man did look sharp; and within three minutes we weredriving off with our tickets to Prince's Dock landing-stage. 

We slipped on board unobtrusively, and instantly took refuge in ourrespective staterooms till the steamer was well under way, and fairlyout of sight of Kolaba Island. Only after all chance of Sebastian'savoiding us was gone for ever did we venture up on deck, on purpose toconfront him. 

It was one of those delicious balmy evenings which one gets only at seaand in the warmer latitudes. The sky was alive with myriads of twinklingand palpitating stars, which seemed to come and go, like sparks on afire-back, as one gazed upward into the vast depths and tried toplace them. They played hide-and-seek with one another and with theinnumerable meteors which shot recklessly every now and again across thefield of the firmament, leaving momentary furrows of light behind them. Beneath, the sea sparkled almost like the sky, for every turn of thescrew churned up the scintillating phosphorescence in the water, so thatcountless little jets of living fire seemed to flash and die away at thesummit of every wavelet. A tall, spare man in a picturesque cloak, andwith long, lank, white hair, leant over the taffrail, gazing at thenumberless flashing lights of the surface. As he gazed, he talked on inhis clear, rapt voice to a stranger by his side. The voice and the ringof enthusiasm were unmistakable. "Oh, no, " he was saying, as we stole upbehind him, "that hypothesis, I venture to assert, is no longer tenableby the light of recent researches. Death and decay have nothing to dodirectly with the phosphorescence of the sea, though they have a littleindirectly. The light is due in the main to numerous minute livingorganisms, most of them bacilli, on which I once made several closeobservations and crucial experiments. They possess organs which may beregarded as miniature bull's-eye lanterns. And these organs--"

"What a lovely evening, Hubert!" Hilda said to me, in an apparentlyunconcerned voice, as the Professor reached this point in hisexposition. 

Sebastian's voice quavered and stammered for a moment. He tried just atfirst to continue and complete his sentence: "And these organs, " hewent on, aimlessly, "these bull's-eyes that I spoke about, are soarranged--so arranged--I was speaking on the subject of crustaceans, Ithink--crustaceans so arranged--" then he broke down utterly and turnedsharply round to me. He did not look at Hilda--I think he did not dare;but he faced me with his head down and his long, thin neck protruded, eyeing me from under those overhanging, penthouse brows of his. "Yousneak!" he cried, passionately. "You sneak! You have dogged me by falsepretences. You have lied to bring this about! You have come aboard undera false name--you and your accomplice!"

I faced him in turn, erect and unflinching. "Professor Sebastian, " Ianswered, in my coldest and calmest tone, "you say what is not true. Ifyou consult the list of passengers by the Vindhya, now posted nearthe companion-ladder, you will find the names of Hilda Wade and HubertCumberledge duly entered. We took our passage AFTER you inspected thelist at the office to see whether our names were there--in order toavoid us. But you cannot avoid us. We do not mean that you shall avoidus. We will dog you now through life--not by lies or subterfuges, as yousay, but openly and honestly. It is YOU who need to slink and cower, not we. The prosecutor need not descend to the sordid shifts of thecriminal. "

The other passenger had sidled away quietly the moment he saw ourconversation was likely to be private; and I spoke in a low voice, though clearly and impressively, because I did not wish for a scene. I was only endeavouring to keep alive the slow, smouldering fire ofremorse in the man's bosom. And I saw I had touched him on a spot thathurt. Sebastian drew himself up and answered nothing. For a minute ortwo he stood erect, with folded arms, gazing moodily before him. Then hesaid, as if to himself: "I owe the man my life. He nursed me throughthe plague. If it had not been for that--if he had not tended meso carefully in that valley in Nepaul--I would throw him overboardnow--catch him in my arms and throw him overboard! I would--and behanged for it!"

He walked past us as if he saw us not, silent, erect, moody. Hildastepped aside and let him pass. He never even looked at her. I knew why;he dared not. Every day now, remorse for the evil part he had played inher life, respect for the woman who had unmasked and outwitted him, madeit more and more impossible for Sebastian to face her. During the wholeof that voyage, though he dined in the same saloon and paced the samedeck, he never spoke to her, he never so much as looked at her. Once ortwice their eyes met by accident, and Hilda stared him down; Sebastian'seyelids dropped, and he stole away uneasily. In public, we gave no overtsign of our differences; but it was understood on board that relationswere strained: that Professor Sebastian and Dr. Cumberledge had beenworking at the same hospital in London together; and that owing to somedisagreement between them Dr. Cumberledge had resigned--which made itmost awkward for them to be travelling together by the same steamer. 

We passed through the Suez Canal and down the Mediterranean. All thetime, Sebastian never again spoke to us. The passengers, indeed, held aloof from the solitary, gloomy old man, who strode along thequarter-deck with his long, slow stride, absorbed in his own thoughts, and intent only on avoiding Hilda and myself. His mood was unsociable. As for Hilda, her helpful, winning ways made her a favourite with allthe women, as her pretty face did with all the men. For the firsttime in his life, Sebastian seemed to be aware that he was shunned. Heretired more and more within himself for company; his keen eye began tolose in some degree its extraordinary fire, his expression to forgetits magnetic attractiveness. Indeed, it was only young men of scientifictastes that Sebastian could ever attract. Among them, his eager zeal, his single-minded devotion to the cause of science, awoke always aresponsive chord which vibrated powerfully. 

Day after day passed, and we steamed through the Straits and neared theChannel. Our thoughts began to assume a home complexion. Everybody wasfull of schemes as to what he would do when he reached England. OldBradshaws were overhauled and trains looked out, on the supposition thatwe would get in by such an hour on Tuesday. We were steaming along theFrench coast, off the western promontory of Brittany. The evening wasfine, and though, of course, less warm than we had experienced of late, yet pleasant and summer-like. We watched the distant cliffs of theFinistere mainland and the numerous little islands that lie off theshore, all basking in the unreal glow of a deep red sunset. The firstofficer was in charge, a very cock-sure and careless young man, handsomeand dark-haired; the sort of young man who thought more of creating animpression upon the minds of the lady passengers than of the duties ofhis position. 

"Aren't you going down to your berth?" I asked of Hilda, about half-pastten that night; "the air is so much colder here than you have beenfeeling it of late, that I'm afraid of your chilling yourself. "

She looked up at me with a smile, and drew her little fluffy, whitewoollen wrap closer about her shoulders. "Am I so very valuable to you, then?" she asked--for I suppose my glance had been a trifle too tenderfor a mere acquaintance's. "No, thank you, Hubert; I don't think I'llgo down, and, if you're wise, you won't go down either. I distrust thisfirst officer. He's a careless navigator, and to-night his head'stoo full of that pretty Mrs. Ogilvy. He has been flirting with herdesperately ever since we left Bombay, and to-morrow he knows he willlose her for ever. His mind isn't occupied with the navigation at all;what HE is thinking of is how soon his watch will be over, so that hemay come down off the bridge on to the quarter-deck to talk to her. Don't you see she's lurking over yonder, looking up at the stars andwaiting for him by the compass? Poor child! she has a bad husband, andnow she has let herself get too much entangled with this empty youngfellow. I shall be glad for her sake to see her safely landed and out ofthe man's clutches. "

As she spoke, the first officer glanced down towards Mrs. Ogilvy, andheld out his chronometer with an encouraging smile which seemed to say, "Only an hour and a half more now! At twelve, I shall be with you!"

"Perhaps you're right, Hilda, " I answered, taking a seat beside her andthrowing away my cigar. "This is one of the worst bits on the Frenchcoast that we're approaching. We're not far off Ushant. I wishthe captain were on the bridge instead of this helter-skelter, self-conceited young fellow. He's too cock-sure. He knows so much aboutseamanship that he could take a ship through any rocks on his course, blindfold--in his own opinion. I always doubt a man who is so much athome in his subject that he never has to think about it. Most things inthis world are done by thinking. "

"We can't see the Ushant light, " Hilda remarked, looking ahead. 

"No; there's a little haze about on the horizon, I fancy. See, the starsare fading away. It begins to feel damp. Sea mist in the Channel. "

Hilda sat uneasily in her deck-chair. "That's bad, " she answered; "forthe first officer is taking no more heed of Ushant than of his latterend. He has forgotten the existence of the Breton coast. His head isjust stuffed with Mrs. Ogilvy's eyelashes. Very pretty, long eyelashes, too; I don't deny it; but they won't help him to get through the narrowchannel. They say it's dangerous. "

"Dangerous!" I answered. "Not a bit of it--with reasonable care. Nothingat sea is dangerous--except the inexplicable recklessness of navigators. There's always plenty of sea-room--if they care to take it. Collisionsand icebergs, to be sure, are dangers that can't be avoided at times, especially if there's fog about. But I've been enough at sea in my timeto know this much at least--that no coast in the world is dangerousexcept by dint of reckless corner-cutting. Captains of great shipsbehave exactly like two hansom-drivers in the streets of London; theythink they can just shave past without grazing; and they DO shave pastnine times out of ten. The tenth time they run on the rocks throughsheer recklessness, and lose their vessel; and then, the newspapersalways ask the same solemn question--in childish good faith--how didso experienced and able a navigator come to make such a mistake in hisreckoning? He made NO mistake; he simply tried to cut it fine, and cutit too fine for once, with the result that he usually loses his own lifeand his passengers. That's all. We who have been at sea understand thatperfectly. "

Just at that moment another passenger strolled up and joined us--aBengal Civil servant. He drew his chair over by Hilda's, and begandiscussing Mrs. Ogilvy's eyes and the first officer's flirtations. Hildahated gossip, and took refuge in generalities. In three minutes the talkhad wandered off to Ibsen's influence on the English drama, and we hadforgotten the very existence of the Isle of Ushant. 

"The English public will never understand Ibsen, " the newcomer said, reflectively, with the omniscient air of the Indian civilian. "He istoo purely Scandinavian. He represents that part of the Continentalmind which is farthest removed from the English temperament. To him, respectability--our god--is not only no fetish, it is the unspeakablething, the Moabitish abomination. He will not bow down to the goldenimage which our British Nebuchadnezzar, King Demos, has made, and whichhe asks us to worship. And the British Nebuchadnezzar will never getbeyond the worship of his Vishnu, respectability, the deity of the pureand blameless ratepayer. So Ibsen must always remain a sealed book tothe vast majority of the English people. "

"That is true, " Hilda answered, "as to his direct influence; but don'tyou think, indirectly, he is leavening England? A man so wholly out oftune with the prevailing note of English life could only affect it, ofcourse, by means of disciples and popularisers--often even populariserswho but dimly and distantly apprehend his meaning. He must beinterpreted to the English by English intermediaries, half Philistinethemselves, who speak his language ill, and who miss the greater part ofhis message. Yet only by such half-hints--Why, what was that? I think Isaw something!"

Even as she uttered the words, a terrible jar ran fiercely through theship from stem to stern--a jar that made one clench one's teeth and holdone's jaws tight--the jar of a prow that shattered against a rock. Itook it all in at a glance. We had forgotten Ushant, but Ushant had notforgotten us. It had revenged itself upon us by revealing its existence. 

In a moment all was turmoil and confusion on deck. I cannot describe thescene that followed. Sailors rushed to and fro, unfastening ropes andlowering boats, with admirable discipline. Women shrieked and criedaloud in helpless terror. The voice of the first officer could be heardabove the din, endeavouring to atone by courage and coolness in theactual disaster for his recklessness in causing it. Passengers rushed ondeck half clad, and waited for their turn to take places in the boats. It was a time of terror, turmoil, and hubbub. But, in the midst ofit all, Hilda turned to me with infinite calm in her voice. "Where isSebastian?" she asked, in a perfectly collected tone. "Whatever happens, we must not lose sight of him. "

"I am here, " another voice, equally calm, responded beside her. "Youare a brave woman. Whether I sink or swim, I admire your courage, yoursteadfastness of purpose. " It was the only time he had addressed a wordto her during the entire voyage. 

They put the women and children into the first boats lowered. Mothersand little ones went first; single women and widows after. "Now, MissWade, " the first officer said, taking her gently by the shoulders whenher turn arrived. "Make haste; don't keep us waiting!"

But Hilda held back. "No, no, " she said, firmly. "I won't go yet. I amwaiting for the men's boat. I must not leave Professor Sebastian. "

The first officer shrugged his shoulders. There was no time for protest. "Next, then, " he said, quickly. "Miss Martin--Miss Weatherly!"

Sebastian took her hand and tried to force her in. "You MUST go, " hesaid, in a low, persuasive tone. "You must not wait for me!"

He hated to see her, I knew. But I imagined in his voice--for I noted iteven then--there rang some undertone of genuine desire to save her. 

Hilda loosened his grasp resolutely. "No, no, " she answered, "I cannotfly. I shall never leave you. "

"Not even if I promise--"

She shook her head and closed her lips hard. "Certainly not, " she saidagain, after a pause. "I cannot trust you. Besides, I must stop by yourside and do my best to save you. Your life is all in all to me. I darenot risk it. "

His gaze was now pure admiration. "As you will, " he answered. "For hethat loseth his life shall gain it. "

"If ever we land alive, " Hilda answered, glowing red in spite of thedanger, "I shall remind you of that word. I shall call upon you tofulfil it. "

The boat was lowered, and still Hilda stood by my side. One secondlater, another shock shook us. The Vindhya parted amidships, and wefound ourselves struggling and choking in the cold sea water. 

It was a miracle that every soul of us was not drowned that moment, asmany of us were. The swirling eddy which followed as the Vindhya sankswamped two of the boats, and carried down not a few of those who werestanding on the deck with us. The last I saw of the first officer wasa writhing form whirled about in the water; before he sank, he shoutedaloud, with a seaman's frank courage, "Say it was all my fault; I acceptthe responsibility. I ran her too close. I am the only one to blame forit. " Then he disappeared in the whirlpool caused by the sinking ship, and we were left still struggling. 

One of the life-rafts, hastily rigged by the sailors, floated our way. Hilda struck out a stroke or two and caught it. She dragged herselfon to it, and beckoned me to follow. I could see she was holding on tosomething tightly. I struck out in turn and reached the raft, which wascomposed of two seats, fastened together in haste at the first noteof danger. I hauled myself up by Hilda's side. "Help me to pull himaboard!" she cried, in an agonised voice. "I am afraid he has lostconsciousness!" Then I looked at the object she was clutching in herhands. It was Sebastian's white head, apparently quite lifeless. 

I pulled him up with her and laid him out on the raft. A very faintbreeze from the south-west had sprung up; that and a strong seawardcurrent that sets round the rocks were carrying us straight out from theBreton coast and all chance of rescue, towards the open channel. 

But Hilda thought nothing of such physical danger. "We have saved him, Hubert!" she cried, clasping her hands. "We have saved him! But do youthink he is alive? For unless he is, MY chance, OUR chance, is goneforever!"

I bent over and felt his pulse. As far as I could make out, it stillbeat feebly. 

CHAPTER XII

THE EPISODE OF THE DEAD MAN WHO SPOKE

I will not trouble you with details of those three terrible days andnights when we drifted helplessly about at the mercy of the currentson our improvised life-raft up and down the English Channel. The firstnight was the worst. Slowly after that we grew used to the danger, thecold, the hunger, and the thirst. Our senses were numbed; we passedwhole hours together in a sort of torpor, just vaguely wondering whethera ship would come in sight to save us, obeying the merciful law thatthose who are utterly exhausted are incapable of acute fear, andacquiescing in the probability of our own extinction. But howeverslender the chance--and as the hours stole on it seemed slenderenough--Hilda still kept her hopes fixed mainly on Sebastian. Nodaughter could have watched the father she loved more eagerly andclosely than Hilda watched her life-long enemy--the man who had wroughtsuch evil upon her and hers. To save our own lives without him would beuseless. At all hazards, she must keep him alive, on the bare chance ofa rescue. If he died, there died with him the last hope of justice andredress. 

As for Sebastian, after the first half-hour, during which he lay whiteand unconscious, he opened his eyes faintly, as we could see by themoonlight, and gazed around him with a strange, puzzled state ofinquiry. Then his senses returned to him by degrees. "What! you, Cumberledge?" he murmured, measuring me with his eye; "and you, NurseWade? Well, I thought you would manage it. " There was a tone almost ofamusement in his voice, a half-ironical tone which had been familiar tous in the old hospital days. He raised himself on one arm and gazed atthe water all round. Then he was silent for some minutes. At last hespoke again. "Do you know what I ought to do if I were consistent?" heasked, with a tinge of pathos in his words. "Jump off this raft, anddeprive you of your last chance of triumph--the triumph which you haveworked for so hard. You want to save my life for your own ends, not formine. Why should I help you to my own undoing?"

Hilda's voice was tenderer and softer than usual as she answered: "No, not for my own ends alone, and not for your undoing, but to give you onelast chance of unburdening your conscience. Some men are too small to becapable of remorse; their little souls have no room for such a feeling. You are great enough to feel it and to try to crush it down. But youCANNOT crush it down; it crops up in spite of you. You have tried tobury it in your soul, and you have failed. It is your remorse that hasdriven you to make so many attempts against the only living souls whoknew and understood. If ever we get safely to land once more--and Godknows it is not likely--I give you still the chance of repairing themischief you have done, and of clearing my father's memory from thecruel stain which you and only you can wipe away. "

Sebastian lay long, silent once more, gazing up at her fixedly, with thefoggy, white moonlight shining upon his bright, inscrutable eyes. "Youare a brave woman, Maisie Yorke-Bannerman, " he said, at last, slowly; "avery brave woman. I will try to live--I too--for a purpose of my own. Isay it again: he that loseth his life shall gain it. "

Incredible as it may sound, in half an hour more he was lying fastasleep on that wave-tossed raft, and Hilda and I were watching himtenderly. And it seemed to us as we watched him that a change had comeover those stern and impassive features. They had softened and melteduntil his face was that of a gentler and better type. It was as ifsome inward change of soul was moulding the fierce old Professor into anobler and more venerable man. 

Day after day we drifted on, without food or water. The agony wasterrible; I will not attempt to describe it, for to do so is to bring itback too clearly to my memory. Hilda and I, being younger and stronger, bore up against it well; but Sebastian, old and worn, and still weakfrom the plague, grew daily weaker. His pulse just beat, and sometimesI could hardly feel it thrill under my finger. He became delirious, andmurmured much about Yorke-Bannerman's daughter. Sometimes he forgotall, and spoke to me in the friendly terms of our old acquaintance atNathaniel's, giving me directions and advice about imaginary operations. Hour after hour we watched for a sail, and no sail appeared. One couldhardly believe we could toss about so long in the main highway oftraffic without seeing a ship or spying more than the smoke-trail ofsome passing steamer. 

As far as I could judge, during those days and nights, the wind veeredfrom south-west to south-east, and carried us steadily and surelytowards the open Atlantic. On the third evening out, about five o'clock, I saw a dark object on the horizon. Was it moving towards us? Westrained our eyes in breathless suspense. A minute passed, and thenanother. Yes, there could be no doubt. It grew larger and larger. It wasa ship--a steamer. We made all the signs of distress we could manage. Istood up and waved Hilda's white shawl frantically in the air. There washalf an hour of suspense, and our hearts sank as we thought that theywere about to pass us. Then the steamer hove to a little and seemed tonotice us. Next instant we dropped upon our knees, for we saw they werelowering a boat. They were coming to our aid. They would be in time tosave us. 

Hilda watched our rescuers with parted lips and agonised eyes. Then shefelt Sebastian's pulse. "Thank Heaven, " she cried, "he still lives! Theywill be here before he is quite past confession. "

Sebastian opened his eyes dreamily. "A boat?" he asked. 

"Yes, a boat!"

"Then you have gained your point, child. I am able to collect myself. Give me a few hours' more life, and what I can do to make amends to youshall be done. "

I don't know why, but it seemed longer between the time when the boatwas lowered and the moment when it reached us than it had seemed duringthe three days and nights we lay tossing about helplessly on the openAtlantic. There were times when we could hardly believe it was reallymoving. At last, however, it reached us, and we saw the kindly faces andoutstretched hands of our rescuers. Hilda clung to Sebastian with a wildclasp as the men reached out for her. 

"No, take HIM first!" she cried, when the sailors, after the custom ofmen, tried to help her into the gig before attempting to save us; "hislife is worth more to me than my own. Take him--and for God's sake lifthim gently, for he is nearly gone!"

They took him aboard and laid him down in the stern. Then, and thenonly, Hilda stepped into the boat, and I staggered after her. Theofficer in charge, a kind young Irishman, had had the foresight to bringbrandy and a little beef essence. We ate and drank what we dared asthey rowed us back to the steamer. Sebastian lay back, with his whiteeyelashes closed over the lids, and the livid hue of death upon hisemaciated cheeks; but he drank a teaspoonful or two of brandy, andswallowed the beef essence with which Hilda fed him. 

"Your father is the most exhausted of the party, " the officer said, in alow undertone. "Poor fellow, he is too old for such adventures. He seemsto have hardly a spark of life left in him. "

Hilda shuddered with evident horror. "He is not my father--thankHeaven!" she cried, leaning over him and supporting his drooping head, in spite of her own fatigue and the cold that chilled our very bones. "But I think he will live. I mean him to live. He is my best friendnow--and my bitterest enemy!"

The officer looked at her in surprise, and then touched his forehead, inquiringly, with a quick glance at me. He evidently thought cold andhunger had affected her reason. I shook my head. "It is a peculiarcase, " I whispered. "What the lady says is right. Everything depends forus upon our keeping him alive till we reach England. "

They rowed us to the boat, and we were handed tenderly up the side. There, the ship's surgeon and everybody else on board did their best torestore us after our terrible experience. The ship was the Don, ofthe Royal Mail Steamship Company's West Indian line; and nothing couldexceed the kindness with which we were treated by every soul on board, from the captain to the stewardess and the junior cabin-boy. Sebastian'sgreat name carried weight even here. As soon as it was generallyunderstood on board that we had brought with us the famous physiologistand pathologist, the man whose name was famous throughout Europe, wemight have asked for anything that the ship contained without fear of arefusal. But, indeed, Hilda's sweet face was enough in itself to win theinterest and sympathy of all who saw it. 

By eleven next morning we were off Plymouth Sound; and by midday we hadlanded at the Mill Bay Docks, and were on our way to a comfortable hotelin the neighbourhood. 

Hilda was too good a nurse to bother Sebastian at once about his impliedpromise. She had him put to bed, and kept him there carefully. 

"What do you think of his condition?" she asked me, after the second daywas over. I could see by her own grave face that she had already formedher own conclusions. 

"He cannot recover, " I answered. "His constitution, shattered by theplague and by his incessant exertions, has received too severe a shockin this shipwreck. He is doomed. "

"So I think. The change is but temporary. He will not last out threedays more, I fancy. "

"He has rallied wonderfully to-day, " I said; "but 'tis a passing rally;a flicker--no more. If you wish to do anything, now is the moment. Ifyou delay, you will be too late. "

"I will go in and see him, " Hilda answered. "I have said nothing more tohim, but I think he is moved. I think he means to keep his promise. He has shown a strange tenderness to me these last few days. I almostbelieve he is at last remorseful, and ready to undo the evil which hehas done. "

She stole softly into the sick room. I followed her on tip-toe, andstood near the door behind the screen which shut off the draught fromthe patient. Sebastian stretched his arms out to her. "Ah, Maisie, my child, " he cried, addressing her by the name she had borne in herchildhood--both were her own--"don't leave me any more! Stay with mealways, Maisie! I can't get on without you. "

"But you hated once to see me!"

"Because I have so wronged you. "

"And now? Will you do nothing to repair the wrong?"

"My child, I can never undo that wrong. It is irreparable, for thepast can never be recalled; but I will try my best to minimise it. CallCumberledge in. I am quite sensible now, quite conscious. You will bemy witness, Cumberledge, that my pulse is normal and that my brain isclear. I will confess it all. Maisie, your constancy and your firmnesshave conquered me. And your devotion to your father. If only I had hada daughter like you, my girl, one whom I could have loved and trusted, I might have been a better man. I might even have done better work forscience--though on that side, at least, I have little with which toreproach myself. "

Hilda bent over him. "Hubert and I are here, " she said, slowly, ina strangely calm voice; "but that is not enough. I want a public, anattested, confession. It must be given before witnesses, and signed andsworn to. Somebody might throw doubt upon my word and Hubert's. "

Sebastian shrank back. "Given before witnesses, and signed and sworn to!Maisie, is this humiliation necessary; do you exact it?"

Hilda was inexorable. "You know yourself how you are situated. You haveonly a day or two to live, " she said, in an impressive voice. "You mustdo it at once, or never. You have postponed it all your life. Now, atthis last moment, you must make up for it. Will you die with an act ofinjustice unconfessed on your conscience?"

He paused and struggled. "I could--if it were not for you, " he answered. 

"Then do it for me, " Hilda cried. "Do it for me! I ask it of you notas a favour, but as a right. I DEMAND it!" She stood, white, stern, inexorable, by his couch, and laid her hand upon his shoulder. 

He paused once more. Then he murmured feebly, in a querulous tone, "Whatwitnesses? Whom do you wish to be present?"

Hilda spoke clearly and distinctly. She had thought it all out withherself beforehand. "Such witnesses as will carry absolute convictionto the mind of all the world; irreproachable, disinterested witnesses;official witnesses. In the first place, a commissioner of oaths. Then aPlymouth doctor, to show that you are in a fit state of mind to make aconfession. Next, Mr. Horace Mayfield, who defended my father. Lastly, Dr. Blake Crawford, who watched the case on your behalf at the trial. "

"But, Hilda, " I interposed, "we may possibly find that they cannot comeaway from London just now. They are busy men, and likely to be engaged. "

"They will come if I pay their fees. I do not mind how much this costsme. What is money compared to this one great object of my life?"

"And then--the delay! Suppose that we are too late?"

"He will live some days yet. I can telegraph up at once. I want nohole-and-corner confession, which may afterwards be useless, but an openavowal before the most approved witnesses. If he will make it, well andgood; if not, my life-work will have failed. But I had rather it failedthan draw back one inch from the course which I have laid down formyself. "

I looked at the worn face of Sebastian. He nodded his head slowly. "Shehas conquered, " he answered, turning upon the pillow. "Let her haveher own way. I hid it for years, for science' sake. That was my motive, Cumberledge, and I am too near death to lie. Science has now nothingmore to gain or lose by me. I have served her well, but I am worn out inher service. Maisie may do as she will. I accept her ultimatum. "

We telegraphed up, at once. Fortunately, both men were disengaged, andboth keenly interested in the case. By that evening, Horace Mayfield wastalking it all over with me in the hotel at Southampton. "Well, Hubert, my boy, " he said, "a woman, we know, can do a great deal"; he smiledhis familiar smile, like a genial fat toad; "but if your Yorke-Bannermansucceeds in getting a confession out of Sebastian, she'll extort myadmiration. " He paused a moment, then he added, in an afterthought: "Isay that she'll extort my admiration; but, mind you, I don't know thatI shall feel inclined to believe it. The facts have always appearedto me--strictly between ourselves, you know--to admit of only oneexplanation. "

"Wait and see, " I answered. "You think it more likely that Miss Wadewill have persuaded Sebastian to confess to things that never happenedthan that he will convince you of Yorke-Bannerman's innocence?"

The great Q. C. Fingered his cigarette-holder affectionately. 

"You hit it first time, " he answered. "That is precisely my attitude. The evidence against our poor friend was so peculiarly black. It wouldtake a great deal to make me disbelieve it. "

"But surely a confession--"

"Ah, well, let me hear the confession, and then I shall be better ableto judge. "

Even as he spoke Hilda had entered the room. 

"There will be no difficulty about that, Mr. Mayfield. You shall hearit, and I trust that it will make you repent for taking so black a viewof the case of your own client. "

"Without prejudice, Miss Bannerman, without prejudice, " said the lawyer, with some confusion. "Our conversation is entirely between ourselves, and to the world I have always upheld that your father was an innocentman. "

But such distinctions are too subtle for a loving woman. 

"He WAS an innocent man, " said she, angrily. "It was your business notonly to believe it, but to prove it. You have neither believed it norproved it; but if you will come upstairs with me, I will show you that Ihave done both. "

Mayfield glanced at me and shrugged his fat shoulders. Hilda had ledthe way, and we both followed her. In the room of the sick man our otherwitnesses were waiting: a tall, dark, austere man who was introduced tome as Dr. Blake Crawford, whose name I had heard as having watched thecase for Sebastian at the time of the investigation. There were presentalso a commissioner of oaths, and Dr. Mayby, a small local practitioner, whose attitude towards the great scientist was almost absurdlyreverential. The three men were grouped at the foot of the bed, andMayfield and I joined them. Hilda stood beside the dying man, andrearranged the pillow against which he was propped. Then she held somebrandy to his lips. "Now!" said she. 

The stimulant brought a shade of colour into his ghastly cheeks, and theold quick, intelligent gleam came back into his deep sunk eyes. 

"A remarkable woman, gentlemen, " said he, "a very noteworthy woman. I had prided myself that my willpower was the most powerful in thecountry--I had never met any to match it--but I do not mind admittingthat, for firmness and tenacity, this lady is my equal. She was anxiousthat I should adopt one course of action. I was determined to adoptanother. Your presence here is a proof that she has prevailed. "

He paused for breath, and she gave him another small sip of the brandy. 

"I execute her will ungrudgingly and with the conviction that it is theright and proper course for me to take, " he continued. "You will forgiveme some of the ill which I have done you, Maisie, when I tell you thatI really died this morning--all unknown to Cumberledge and you--and thatnothing but my will force has sufficed to keep spirit and body togetheruntil I should carry out your will in the manner which you suggested. Ishall be glad when I have finished, for the effort is a painful one, and I long for the peace of dissolution. It is now a quarter to seven. Ihave every hope that I may be able to leave before eight. "

It was strange to hear the perfect coolness with which he discussed hisown approaching dissolution. Calm, pale, and impassive, his manner wasthat of a professor addressing his class. I had seen him speak so to aring of dressers in the old days at Nathaniel's. 

"The circumstances which led up to the death of Admiral Scott Prideaux, and the suspicions which caused the arrest of Doctor Yorke-Bannerman, have never yet been fully explained, although they were by no means soprofound that they might not have been unravelled at the time had a manof intellect concentrated his attention upon them. The police, however, were incompetent and the legal advisers of Dr. Bannerman hardly less so, and a woman only has had the wit to see that a gross injustice has beendone. The true facts I will now lay before you. "

Mayfield's broad face had reddened with indignation; but now hiscuriosity drove out every other emotion, and he leaned forward with therest of us to hear the old man's story. 

"In the first place, I must tell you that both Dr. Bannerman andmyself were engaged at the time in an investigation upon the nature andproperties of the vegetable alkaloids, and especially of aconitine. Wehoped for the very greatest results from this drug, and we were bothequally enthusiastic in our research. Especially, we had reason tobelieve that it might have a most successful action in the case of acertain rare but deadly disease, into the nature of which I need notenter. Reasoning by analogy, we were convinced that we had a certaincure for this particular ailment. 

"Our investigation, however, was somewhat hampered by the fact that thecondition in question is rare out of tropical countries, and that in ourhospital wards we had not, at that time, any example of it. So seriouswas this obstacle, that it seemed that we must leave other men morefavourably situated to reap the benefit of our work and enjoy the creditof our discovery, but a curious chance gave us exactly what we werein search of, at the instant when we were about to despair. It wasYorke-Bannerman who came to me in my laboratory one day to tell me thathe had in his private practice the very condition of which we were insearch. 

"'The patient, ' said he, 'is my uncle, Admiral Scott Prideaux. '

"'Your uncle!' I cried, in amazement. 'But how came he to develop such acondition?'

"'His last commission in the Navy was spent upon the Malabar Coast, where the disease is endemic. There can be do doubt that it has beenlatent in his system ever since, and that the irritability of temperand indecision of character, of which his family have so often had tocomplain, were really among the symptoms of his complaint. '

"I examined the Admiral in consultation with my colleague, and Iconfirmed his diagnosis. But, to my surprise, Yorke-Bannerman showedthe most invincible and reprehensible objection to experiment upon hisrelative. In vain I assured him that he must place his duty to sciencehigh above all other considerations. It was only after great pressurethat I could persuade him to add an infinitesimal portion of aconitineto his prescriptions. The drug was a deadly one, he said, and the toxicdose was still to be determined. He could not push it in the case of arelative who trusted himself to his care. I tried to shake him in what Iregarded as his absurd squeamishness--but in vain. 

"But I had another resource. Bannerman's prescriptions were made up bya fellow named Barclay, who had been dispenser at Nathaniel's andafterwards set up as a chemist in Sackville Street. This man wasabsolutely in my power. I had discovered him at Nathaniel's in dishonestpractices, and I held evidence which would have sent him to gaol. I heldthis over him now, and I made him, unknown to Bannerman, increase thedoses of aconitine in the medicine until they were sufficient for myexperimental purposes. I will not enter into figures, but suffice itthat Bannerman was giving more than ten times what he imagined. 

"You know the sequel. I was called in, and suddenly found that I hadBannerman in my power. There had been a very keen rivalry between us inscience. He was the only man in England whose career might impinge uponmine. I had this supreme chance of putting him out of my way. He couldnot deny that he had been giving his uncle aconitine. I could prove thathis uncle had died of aconitine. He could not himself account forthe facts--he was absolutely in my power. I did not wish him tobe condemned, Maisie. I only hoped that he would leave the courtdiscredited and ruined. I give you my word that my evidence would havesaved him from the scaffold. "

Hilda was listening, with a set, white face. 

"Proceed!" said she, and held out the brandy once more. 

"I did not give the Admiral any more aconitine after I had taken overthe case. But what was already in his system was enough. It was evidentthat we had seriously under-estimated the lethal dose. As to yourfather, Maisie, you have done me an injustice. You have always thoughtthat I killed him. "

"Proceed!" said she. 

"I speak now from the brink of the grave, and I tell you that I didnot. His heart was always weak, and it broke down under the strain. Indirectly I was the cause--I do not seek to excuse anything; but it wasthe sorrow and the shame that killed him. As to Barclay, the chemist, that is another matter. I will not deny that I was concerned in thatmysterious disappearance, which was a seven days' wonder in the Press. I could not permit my scientific calm to be interrupted by theblackmailing visits of so insignificant a person. And then after manyyears you came, Maisie. You also got between me and that work which waslife to me. You also showed that you would rake up this old matter andbring dishonour upon a name which has stood for something in science. You also--but you will forgive me. I have held on to life for your sakeas an atonement for my sins. Now, I go! Cumberledge--your notebook. Subjective sensations, swimming in the head, light flashes before theeyes, soothing torpor, some touch of coldness, constriction of thetemples, humming in the ears, a sense of sinking--sinking--sinking!"

It was an hour later, and Hilda and I were alone in the chamber ofdeath. As Sebastian lay there, a marble figure, with his keen eyesclosed and his pinched, thin face whiter and serener than ever, I couldnot help gazing at him with some pangs of recollection. I could notavoid recalling the time when his very name was to me a word ofpower, and when the thought of him roused on my cheek a red flushof enthusiasm. As I looked I murmured two lines from Browning'sGrammarian's Funeral:

 This is our Master, famous, calm, and dead, Borne on our shoulders. 

Hilda Wade, standing beside me, with an awestruck air, added a stanzafrom the same great poem:

 Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying, Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying. 

I gazed at her with admiration. "And it is YOU, Hilda, who pay him thisgenerous tribute!" I cried, "YOU, of all women!"

"Yes, it is I, " she answered. "He was a great man, after all, Hubert. Not good, but great. And greatness by itself extorts our unwillinghomage. "

"Hilda, " I cried, "you are a great woman; and a good woman, too. Itmakes me proud to think you will soon be my wife. For there is now nolonger any just cause or impediment. "

Beside the dead master, she laid her hand solemnly and calmly inmine. "No impediment, " she answered. "I have vindicated and cleared myfather's memory. And now, I can live. 'Actual life comes next. ' We havemuch to do, Hubert. "