hould like something,' he answered, with a look of utter weariness.

'Sit still for a minute or two, and you shall tell us what you want to
when you are a little rested.'

Dr Porhoet had not seen Arthur since that afternoon in the previous year
when, in answer to Haddo's telegram, he had gone to the studio in the Rue
Campagne Premiere. He watched him anxiously while Arthur drank his
coffee. The change in him was extraordinary; there was a cadaverous
exhaustion about his face, and his eyes were sunken in their sockets. But
what alarmed the good doctor most was that Arthur's personality seemed
thoroughly thrown out of gear. All that he had endured during these nine
months had robbed him of the strength of purpose, the matter-of-fact
sureness, which had distinguished him. He was now unbalanced and
neurotic.

Arthur did not speak. With his eyes fixed moodily on the ground, he
wondered how much he could bring himself to tell them. It revolted him
to disclose his inmost thoughts, yet he was come to the end of his tether
and needed the doctor's advice. He found himself obliged to deal with
circumstances that might have existed in a world of nightmare, and he
was driven at last to take advantage of his friend's peculiar knowledge.

Returning to London after Margaret's flight, Arthur Burdon had thrown
himself again into the work which for so long had been his only solace.
It had lost its savour; but he would not take this into account, and he
slaved away mechanically, by perpetual toil seeking to deaden his
anguish. But as the time passed he was seized on a sudden with a curious
feeling of foreboding, which he could in no way resist; it grew in
strength till it had all the power of an obsession, and he could not
reason himself out of it. He was sure that a great danger threatened
Margaret. He could not tell what it was, nor why the fear of it was so
persistent, but the idea was there always, night and day; it haunted him
like a shadow and pursued him like remorse. His anxiety increased
continually, and the vagueness of his terror made it more tormenting. He
felt quite certain that Margaret was in imminent peril, but he did not
know how to help her. Arthur supposed that Haddo had taken her back to
Skene; but, even if he went there, he had no chance of seeing her. What
made it more difficult still, was that his chief at St Luke's was away,
and he was obliged to be in London in case he should be suddenly called
upon to do some o