fering, as she would have
done. Ah! there is Doctor Morgan," and she left the room hastily as a
doctor's brougham stopped at the door.

Rendel stood perfectly still, looking straight before him, seeing
nothing, but gazing with his mind's eye on a universe absolutely
transformed--the bright, dancing lights had gone, it was overspread by a
dark, settled gloom. There were sounds outside. He was mechanically
conscious of Rachel's hurried colloquy with the doctor in the hall, of
their footsteps going upstairs. Then he roused himself. What would the
doctor's verdict be? But he could not remain now, he must hear it on his
return from the Foreign Office, he must now go as agreed to Lord
Stamfordham. But first, for form's sake, he rang for Thacker and
questioned him, and through him the rest of the household, without
result, except renewed and somewhat offended assurances from Thacker
that the packet had been given by himself into Stamfordham's own hands
and that, to his knowledge, no one but Sir William Gore had been in the
study during Rendel's absence. But Rendel knew in his heart that there
was no need to question any one further, and no advantage in doing so,
since he knew also that he could not use his knowledge.

He drove rapidly along in a hansom, unconscious of the streets he passed
through. Wherever he went he saw only Rachel's face of misery, heard the
words, "just for your own sake," that had cut into him as deeply as his
own into Gore. Was that it? he asked himself, was it just for his own
sake, to clear himself, that he had accused Gore? Well, why else? Once
Stamfordham knew that the thing had been done, the secret revealed, the
name of the actual culprit would make no real difference. It would make
things neither easier nor more difficult for Stamfordham to know that it
had been done, not by himself, but by Sir William Gore. But there was
one person besides himself and Gore for whom everything hung in the
balance, and it was still with Rachel's face before him and her words in
his ears, that he went into Lord Stamfordham's private room.

Lord Stamfordham had been writing with a secretary, who got up and went
out as Rendel came in. How familiar the room was to Rendel! how
incredible it was that day after day he should have come there--was it
in some former state of existence?--valued, welcome.

"Well, what have you to tell me?" Stamfordham said quickly.

Rendel's lips felt dry and parched; he spoke with an effo