in peril of
losing her sick child, and that she was fighting for its possession
with the weapons that came handiest. Nothing else in the world was of
the smallest account. She also dimly realised that she was fighting for
her lover's approval, to whom she would soon have to render an account
of her stewardship to his son. This gave edge to her determination. She
knocked at the door of the brightly lit, pretentious-looking house in
the Bathminster Road.

"I want to see Mr Devitt privately," she told the fat butler who opened
the door.

He would have shown her into a room, but she preferred to wait in the
hall, which, just now, was littered with trunks.

"I think he's with Mr Harold," said the man, as he walked to a door at
the further end of the hall.

The trunk labels were written in a firm, bold hand, which caught
Mavis's eye. "Harold Devitt, Esq., Homeleigh, Swanage, Dorset," was the
apparent destination of the luggage.

"Mr Devitt must be in the drawing-room," said Hayter, as he reappeared
to walk up the stairs.

Mavis, scarcely knowing what she was doing, followed the man up the
heavily carpeted stairs, which did not betray her footfalls.

The man opened the door of the drawing-room.

As she followed close on his heels, she heard a terrific peal at the
front door bell. Recollection of what she saw in the drawing-room is
burned into Mavis's memory and will remain there till her last moment
of consciousness.

Montague Devitt, in evening dress, was lolling before the fireplace.
His wife and her sister were busily engaged in unpacking showy articles
from boxes, which Mavis divined to be wedding gifts. Victoria Devitt,
sumptuously dressed, was seated on a low chair. Bending over her
shoulder in an attitude of unconcealed devotion was Charlie Perigal.

Mavis took in the significance of all that she saw at a glance. Her
blood went ice cold. Something snapped in her head. She opened her lips
to speak, but no words issued. Instead, one arm was uplifted to accuse.
Then she became rigid; only her eyes were eloquent.

Perigal was struck dumb by the apparently miraculous appearance of
Mavis in the room. Then, as her still body continued to menace him with
a gesture of seemingly eternal accusation, he became shamefaced. A hum
of voices sounded in Mavis's ears, but she was indifferent to what they
were saying.

Next, as if from a great distance, she heard her name called by a
familiar voice. She was impelled to tu