his
forehead and stroked it. He did not draw away from her. Slowly his head
turned towards her. He lay there in the crook of her arm, she bending
forward over him.

Her heart beat. She tried not to be conscious of his closeness to her,
but her hand trembled as it touched his cheek.

Still he did not move away. After, as it seemed to her, a long time he
was asleep. She listened to his breathing, and only then, when she knew
that he could not hear, she whispered:

"Oh, Martin, I love you so! Dear Martin, I love you so much!"

She blew out the candle and, her arm beneath his head, sat there,
watching.

CHAPTER II

HOBGOBLINS

The dawn had made the dark room grey when Maggie, stiff and sore from
the strained position in which she had been sitting, went up to her
room. She had intended not to go to bed, but weariness overcame her;
she lay down on her bed, dressed as she was, and fell into a deep,
exhausted slumber.

When she woke it was broad daylight. She was panic-stricken. How could
she have slept? And now he might have gone. She washed her face and
hands in the horrible little tin basin, brushed her hair, and then,
with beating heart, went downstairs. His sitting-room was just as she
had left it, the unwashed plates piled together, the red cloth over the
window, the dead ashes of the fire in the grate. Very gently she opened
his bedroom door. He was still in bed. She went over to him. He was
asleep, muttering, his hands clenched on the counterpane. His cheeks
were flushed. To her inexperienced eyes he looked very ill.

She touched him on the shoulder and with a start he sprang awake, his
eyes wide open with terror, and he crying:

"What is it? No ... no ... don't. Don't."

"It's all right, Martin. It's I, Maggie," she said.

He stared at her; then dropping back on to the pillow, he muttered
wearily as though he were worn out after a long struggle:

"I'm bad ... It's my chest. There's a doctor. They'll tell you ... He's
been here before."

She went into the other room and rang the bell. After a time Mrs.
Brandon herself appeared.

"I'm afraid Mr. Warlock is very ill," said Maggie, trying to keep her
voice from trembling. "He's asked me to fetch the doctor who's been
here to see him before. Can you tell me who he is and where he lives?"

Mrs. Brandon's bright and inquisitive eyes moved round the room, taking
in the blue china, the hyacinth and the lamp. "Certingly," she said.
"That must be Dr.