he found it hard
to think. The transition to this from his days of misery had been too
sudden. As yet his sense of proportion had not had time to adjust
itself. Behind him were nameless horrors--that he had a future at all
was a fact which he had only recognised during the last few hours.

Afterwards they sat in low chairs on a terrace with coffee on a small
round table between them, a fountain playing beneath, beyond, the trees
of the park, the countless lights of the streets, and the gleaming fires
of innumerable hansoms. It was the London of broad streets, opulent,
dignified, afire for pleasure. Women were whirled by, bright-eyed,
bejewelled, softly clad in white feathers and opera cloaks; men hatless,
immaculate as regards shirt-fronts and ties, well-groomed, the best of
their race. Wonderful sight for Douglas, fresh from the farmhouse
amongst the hills, the Scotch college, the poverty-stricken seminary.
Back went his thoughts to that dreary past, and though the night was hot
he shivered. She looked at him curiously.

"You are cold?"

He shook his head.

"I was thinking," he answered.

She laid her fingers upon his arm, a touch so thrilling and yet so
delicate.

"Don't you know," she said, "that of all philosophies the essence is to
command one's thoughts, to brush away the immaterial, the unworthy, the
unhappy. Try and think that life starts with you from to-day. You are
one of those few, those very few people, Douglas Jesson, who have before
them a future. Try and keep yourself master of it."

A servant stepped out on to the balcony and stood respectfully before
them. She looked up frowning.

"What is it, Mason?" she asked. "I told you that I was not seeing any
one at all to-night."

"The person, madame," he answered, "is from Scotland Yard, and he says
that his business is most important. He has called twice before. He
begged me to give you his card, and to say that he will wait until you
can find it convenient to spare him a few minutes." She looked at the
card--

"Mr. Richard Grey,
from Scotland Yard."

Then she rose regretfully.

"What the man can possibly want with me," she said, "Heaven only knows.
You will smoke a cigarette, my friend, till I return. I shall not be
long."

He stood up to let her pass, untroubled--not sorry for a moment's
solitude. It was not until she had gone that a thought flashed into his
mind, which stopped his heart from beating and brought a deadly
faintness up