ging for the old man's presence. For a few lingering
seconds it was almost more than he could bear. Then he turned about and
faced the chill night-wind and that lighted window, and the anguish of
his vigil drove out all other griefs. How long had he yet to wait? How
long? How long?

There came a low call behind him on the terrace. He wheeled, strangling a
startled exclamation in his throat. A man's figure--a broad, powerful
figure--lounged towards him. He seemed to be wearing carpet slippers, for
he made no sound. It was Maxwell Wyndham, and Piers' heart ceased to
beat. He stood as if turned to stone. All the blood in his body seemed to
be singing in his ears. His head was burning, the rest of him cold--cold
as ice. He would have moved to meet the advancing figure, but he could
not stir. He could only stop and listen to that maddening tarantella
beating out in his fevered brain.

"I say, you know--" the voice came to him out of an immensity of space,
as though uttered from another world--"it's a bit too chilly for this
sort of thing. Why didn't you put on an overcoat?"

A man's hand, strong and purposeful, closed upon his arm and impelled him
towards the house.

Piers went like an automaton, but he could not utter a word. His mouth
felt parched, his tongue powerless.

Avery! Avery! The woman he had wronged--the woman he worshipped so
madly--for whom his whole being mental and physical craved desperately,
yearning, unceasingly,--without whom he lived in a torture that was never
dormant! Avery! Avery! Was she lying dead behind that lighted window? If
so, if so, those six months of torment had been in vain. He would end his
misery swiftly and finally before it turned his brain.

Maxwell Wyndham was guiding him towards the conservatory where a dim
light shone. It was like an altar-flame in the darkness--that place where
first their lips had met. The memory of that night went through him like
a sword-thrust. Oh, Avery! Oh, Avery!

"Now look here," said Maxwell Wyndham, in his steady, emotionless voice;
"you're wanted upstairs, but you can't go unless you are absolutely sure
of yourself."

Wanted! His senses leapt to the word. Instinctively he pulled himself
together, collecting all his strength. He spoke, and found to his
surprise that speech was not difficult.

"She has asked for me?"

"Yes; but," Wyndham's tone was impressive, "I warn you, she is not
altogether herself. And--she is very desperately ill."

"Th