my dear Sarson. That is excellent. What of our
patient?"

"There is no change."

"I am afraid," Mr. Fentolin sighed, "that we shall have trouble with
him. These strong people always give trouble."

"It will be just the same in the long run," the doctor remarked,
shrugging his shoulders.

Mr. Fentolin held up his finger.

"Listen! A motor-car, I believe?"

"It is Miss Fentolin who is just arriving," the doctor announced. "I saw
the car coming as I crossed the hall."

Mr. Fentolin nodded gently.

"Indeed?" he replied. "Indeed? So my dear niece has returned. Open the
door, friend Sarson. Open the door, if you please. She will be anxious
to see me. We must summon her."

CHAPTER X

Mr. Fentolin raised to his lips the little gold whistle which hung from
his neck and blew it. He seemed to devote very little effort to the
operation, yet the strength of the note was wonderful. As the echoes
died away, he let it fall by his side and waited with a pleased smile
upon his lips. In a few seconds there was the hurried flutter of skirts
and the sound of footsteps. The girl who had just completed her railway
journey entered, followed by her brother. They were both a little out
of breath, they both approached the chair without a smile, the girl
in advance, with a certain expression of apprehension in her eyes. Mr.
Fentolin sighed. He appeared to notice these things and regret them.

"My child," he said, holding out his hands, "my dear Esther, welcome
home again! I heard the car outside. I am grieved that you did not at
once hurry to my side."

"I have not been in the house two minutes," Esther replied, "and I
haven't seen mother yet. Forgive me."

She had come to a standstill a few yards away. She moved now very slowly
towards the chair, with the air of one fulfilling a hateful task. The
fingers which accepted his hands were extended almost hesitatingly. He
drew her closer to him and held her there.

"Your mother, my dear Esther, is, I regret to say, suffering from a
slight indisposition," he remarked. "She has been confined to her room
for the last few days. Just a trifling affair of the nerves; nothing
more, Doctor Sarson assures me. But my dear child," he went on, "your
fingers are as cold as ice. You look at me so strangely, too. Alas! you
have not the affectionate disposition of your dear mother. One would
scarcely believe that we have been parted for more than a week."

"For more than a week," she repeate