ves, aureoled again for him the head of
Beatrice.

"I have no faith left, but I am capable of reverence," he had said to her.

Now, as he knelt down in the grass before the little brown shoes, and
lifted the hem of her linen gown and kissed it, the hulking-shouldered
Doctor proved his possession of the quality. Devouring desire, riotous
passion, were, if not killed in him, at least quelled and overthrown and
bound. Pure pity and tenderness awakened in him. And Chivalry, all
_cap-a-pie_ in silver mail, rose up to do battle for her against the world
and against that other Saxham.

"I accept the trust you are willing should be mine. Take my name--take all
I have to give! I make no reservations. I stipulate no conditions. I ask
for nothing in return, except the right to be your brother and guardian
and defender. Trust me! The life-work you have chosen shall be yours; as
far as lies in my power, I will help you in it. Your pure ends and noble
aims shall never be thwarted or hindered. And have no fear of me, my sweet
saint, my little sister. For I may die," said Saxham once again, "but,
living, I will never fail you!"

LVII

Saxham, of St. Stephen's, had long ago faded from the recollection of
London Society, but Saxham, M.D., F.R.C.S., Late Attached Medical Staff,
Gueldersdorp, and frequently mentioned in Despatches from that bit of
debatable soil, while it was in process of debating, was distinctly a
person to cultivate. Not that it was in the least easy--the man was almost
quite a bear, but his brevity of speech and brusqueness of manner gave him
a cachet that Society found distinguished. He was married, too--so
romantic! married to a girl who was shut up with him in Gueldersdorp all
through the Siege. Quite too astonishingly lovely, don't you know? and
with manners that really suggested the Faubourg St. Germain. Where she got
her style--brought up among Boers and blacks--was to be wondered at, but
these problems made people all the more interesting. And one met her with
her husband at all the best houses since the Castleclares had taken them
up. Indeed, Mrs. Saxham was a relative--was it a cousin? No--now it all
came back! Adopted daughter, that was it, of an aunt--no, a step-sister of
Lord Castleclare, that ineffable little prig of twenty-two, who as a Peer
and Privy Councillor of Ireland, and a Lord-in-Waiting to boot, was
nevertheless a personage to be deferred to.

One had heard, hadn't one, ages ago, of