tood in the middle of the room till Bertrand had gone, then with an
expressionless face he betook himself to the door of Aunt Philippa's
room.

Here he knocked again, and, receiving Mrs. Forest's permission to enter,
presented himself on the threshold. "I have come to say, madam, that Mrs.
Mordaunt is in the garden under the old yew," he announced deferentially.
"Will you be good enough to join her there?"

Aunt Philippa, in the midst of her own preparations for departure,
received the news with considerable surprise. It was not Chris's custom
to send her messages of any description. The summons fired her curiosity;
but her dignity would not allow her to hasten overmuch to answer it.

"I will be with Mrs. Mordaunt in a few minutes," she said.

And Holmes departed, impassive still but with a mind uneasy. He wished
with all his soul that the master had not chosen to absent himself that
morning. Perhaps he was unreasonably nervous, but there seemed to be
tragedy in the very air.

Bertrand, traversing the lawn bareheaded, was keenly aware of tragedy;
but it did not delay his steps. He went down the shady path that led to
Chris's retreat at a speed that left him breathless. He paused with his
hand to his heart as he reached the yew-tree before plunging into the
gloom beneath its great, drooping branches. He was living too fast, and
he knew it, could almost feel his life running out like the sand in an
hour-glass. But a great recklessness possessed him. If his strength could
only be made to last for a couple of hours more, he did not care what
happened to him, how soon the sand ran out.

He had suffered more during the past night than he had ever thought to
suffer again. He had fought a desperate fight, and it had cost him nearly
all his strength. He knew instinctively that he must make the most of
what was left. Afterwards--afterwards--when the ordeal was over, he would
sink down and rest, it mattered not where. If he lived long enough, he
would keep his promise to Max Wyndham. If not,--well, he would not be
needing human help. The gods had nearly done with him, and he was too
weary to care. If he could only be faithful a little longer--a little
longer! Nothing would matter afterwards, and the pain would be over then.

"Bertie, I am here!"

He started, and for a moment that which he had been fighting down all
night showed in his eyes. He thrust it away out of sight. He answered her
with his usual courteous confidence