chair. We had just reached
the critical reign of Apepa II when a resounding snore broke in upon
the studious quiet of the room and sent us both into a fit of silent
laughter.

"Your conversation has done its work," she whispered as I stealthily
picked up my hat, and together we stole on tiptoe to the door, which
she opened without a sound. Once outside, she suddenly dropped her
bantering manner and said quite earnestly:

"How kind it was of you to come and see him tonight. You have done him
a world of good, and I am most grateful. Good-night!"

She shook hands with me really cordially, and I took my way down the
creaking stairs in a whirl of happiness that I was quite at a loss to
account for.

CHAPTER V

THE WATERCRESS-BED

Barnard's practise, like most others, was subject to those fluctuations
that fill the struggling practitioner alternately with hope and
despair. The work came in paroxysms with intervals of almost complete
stagnation. One of these intermissions occurred on the day after my
visit to Nevill's Court, with the result that by half-past eleven I
found myself wondering what I should do with the remainder of the day.
The better to consider this weighty problem, I strolled down to the
Embankment, and, leaning on the parapet, contemplated the view across
the river; the gray stone bridge with its perspective of arches, the
picturesque pile of the shot-towers, and beyond, the shadowy shapes of
the Abbey and St. Stephen's.

It was a pleasant scene, restful and quiet, with a touch of life and a
hint of sober romance, when a barge swept down through the middle arch
of the bridge with a lugsail hoisted to a jury mast and a white-aproned
woman at the tiller. Dreamily I watched the craft creep by upon the
moving tide, noted the low freeboard, almost awash, the careful
helmswoman, and the dog on the forecastle yapping at the distant
shore--and thought of Ruth Bellingham.

What was there about this strange girl that had made so deep an
impression on me? That was the question that I propounded to myself,
and not for the first time. Of the fact itself there was no doubt.
But what was the explanation? Was it her unusual surroundings? Her
occupation and rather recondite learning? Her striking personality and
exceptional good looks? Or her connection with the dramatic mystery of
her lost uncle?

I concluded that it was all of these. Everything connected with her
was unusual and arresting; b