"

"It is nothing serious, I hope?"

"I am starving," he declared, simply. "I have eaten nothing for
twenty-four hours."

She looked at him for a moment as though doubting his words. Then she
moved rapidly to a desk which stood in a corner of the room.

"You are a very foolish person," she said, "to allow yourself to get
into such a state, when all the time you had this letter in your
pocket. But I forgot," she added, unlocking the desk. "You had not
read it. You had better have some money to buy yourself food and
clothes, and come here again."

"Food and clothes!" he repeated, vaguely. "I do not understand."

She touched the letter with her forefinger.

"You have a very powerful friend here," she said. "I am told to give
you whatever you may be in need of, and to telegraph to her, in
whatever part of the world she may be, if ever you should present this
letter."

Saton began to laugh softly.

"It is the turn of the wheel," he said. "I am too weak to hear any
more. Give me some money, and I will come back. I must eat or I shall
faint."

She gave him some notes, and watched him curiously as he staggered out
of the room. He forgot the lift, and descended by the stairs,
unsteadily, like a drunken person, reeling from the banisters to the
wall, and back again. Out in the street, people looked at him
curiously as he turned northward toward Oxford Street. His eyes
searched the shop-windows. He hurried along like a man feverishly
anxious to make use of his last stint of strength. He was in search of
food!

CHAPTER II

OLD ACQUAINTANCES

Rochester was walking slowly along the country lane which led from the
main road to Beauleys, when the hoot of a motor overtaking him caused
him to slacken his pace and draw in close to the hedge-side. The great
car swung by, with a covered top upon which was luggage, a chauffeur,
immaculate in dark green livery, and inside, two people. Rochester
caught a glimpse of them as they passed by--the woman, heavily muffled
up notwithstanding the warm afternoon, old and withered; the man,
young, with dark, sallow complexion, and thoughtful eyes. They were
gone like a flash. Yet Rochester stood for a moment in the road
looking after them, before he turned into a field to escape the cloud
of dust. The man's face was peculiar, and strangely enough it
was familiar. He racked his brains in vain for some clue to its
identity--searched every corner of his memory without success.
Fi