r will had been taken from
her, and she was an automaton. She struggled, like a bird in the fowler's
net with useless beating of the wings; but at the bottom of her heart she
was dimly conscious that she did not want to resist. If he had given her
that address, it was because he knew she would use it. She did not know
why she wanted to go to him; she had nothing to say to him; she knew only
that it was necessary to go. But a few days before she had seen the
_Phedre_ of Racine, and she felt on a sudden all the torments that wrung
the heart of that unhappy queen; she, too, struggled aimlessly to escape
from the poison that the immortal gods poured in her veins. She asked
herself frantically whether a spell had been cast over her, for now she
was willing to believe that Haddo's power was all-embracing. Margaret
knew that if she yielded to the horrible temptation nothing could save
her from destruction. She would have cried for help to Arthur or to
Susie, but something, she knew not what, prevented her. At length, driven
almost to distraction, she thought that Dr Porhoet might do something for
her. He, at least, would understand her misery. There seemed not a moment
to lose, and she hastened to his house. They told her he was out. Her
heart sank, for it seemed that her last hope was gone. She was like a
person drowning, who clings to a rock; and the waves dash against him,
and beat upon his bleeding hands with a malice all too human, as if to
tear them from their refuge.

Instead of going to the sketch-class, which was held at six in the
evening, she hurried to the address that Oliver Haddo had given her. She
went along the crowded street stealthily, as though afraid that someone
would see her, and her heart was in a turmoil. She desired with all her
might not to go, and sought vehemently to prevent herself, and yet withal
she went. She ran up the stairs and knocked at the door. She remembered
his directions distinctly. In a moment Oliver Haddo stood before her. He
did not seem astonished that she was there. As she stood on the landing,
it occurred to her suddenly that she had no reason to offer for her
visit, but his words saved her from any need for explanation.

'I've been waiting for you,' he said.

Haddo led her into a sitting-room. He had an apartment in a _maison
meublee_, and heavy hangings, the solid furniture of that sort of house
in Paris, was unexpected in connexion with him. The surroundings were so
commonpla