ed or not. Where
is she?"

He was half-way upstairs with the words, and Hilda's protest fell upon
empty air. She could only follow and look on.

Jack opened the first door he came to, and found himself in Chris's
presence. He strode straight across the room, as one who had a perfect
right, stooped over her as she lay, and gathered her up into his arms.

"My little sweetheart!" he said, and kissed her fiercely over and over
again.

That woke her from her lethargy, as no more tender ministrations could
have done. She wound her arms about his neck, and clung to him like a
lost child.

"Oh, Jack!" she said. "Oh, Jack!" and burst into an agony of tears.

Hilda closed the door softly, and went away. Jack's treatment seemed the
best, after all.

When she saw him again he was quite calm, but there was about him a
grimness of purpose with which she was not familiar. He drew her aside.

"Look here! I can't sleep on this. I'm going to see Trevor--at once. If I
don't bring him to reason, I shall probably shoot him; but I haven't told
her that. All she wants is to be left in peace, and peace she shall have,
whatever the cost."

"But, my dear boy, quarrelling with Trevor on her behalf won't make for
peace," Hilda ventured to point out.

He acknowledged the truth of this with a brief nod. "All the same, I'm
damned if I'll stand by and see him wreck her life. Let me know how she
goes on. Send a wire to the club to-morrow. No, don't! I'll wire to you
first, and let you know where I am. I'm going straight back to the
station now. With any luck I ought to catch the afternoon express.
Where's Percy?"

"You must have something to eat," urged Hilda. "You've had nothing
whatever."

He frowned impatiently. "Oh, rats! I can feed on board. I shan't starve."

But she knew, with sure intuition, that the moment he was out of her
presence all thought of refreshment would leave his mind.

She saw him go, and then returned to Chris.

She found her sitting up in bed, rocking herself to and fro, and crying,
crying, crying, the tears of utter despair. But this distress, despite
its violence, was better--Hilda knew it instinctively--than her former
cold inertia. She gathered her to her breast, and held her close pressed
till her anguish had somewhat spent itself.

By degrees and haltingly the story of Chris's tragedy was unfolded.

"I've told Jack everything," she said at last. "And now I've told you,
but we won't ever talk about it