said. "What does it mean? Ought not--we--you to go to
him?"

Mr. Carlyon avoided looking at her.

"I cannot very well do that in Mrs. Cricklander's house," he said,
tugging at his beard, to hide the emotion he felt. "But I will telegraph
this minute and ask for news, if you will give me the forms--they are
over there," and he pointed to his writing-table.

She handed them immediately, and as he adjusted his spectacles she rang
the bell; no time must be lost, and the waiter could be there before the
words were completed.

"When can you get the answer?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"In two hours, I should think, or perhaps three," the Professor
returned. "But there is a telephone downstairs--it has just been put in.
We might telephone to his rooms, or to the Foreign Office, and find out
if they have heard any further news there. That would relieve my mind a
little."

"Yes--do," responded Halcyone eagerly.

The tone of repressed anguish in her soft voice stabbed Cheiron's heart,
but they understood each other too well for any unnecessary words to
pass between them. The kindest thing he could do for her was to show her
he did not mean to perceive her trouble.

The result of the telephoning--a much longer process then than it is
now--was slightly more satisfactory. Sir Benjamin Grant's report, the
Foreign Office official informed them, was that Mr. Derringham's
condition was much more hopeful, but that the most complete quiet for
some time would be absolutely necessary.

"John is so strong," Mr. Carlyon said, as he put down the receiver which
he had with difficulty manipulated--to Halcyone's trembling impatience.
"He will pull through. And all I can do is to wait. He will probably be
up at the end of my fortnight, when I get back home." And he looked
relieved.

"They would not give him a letter from you, of course, I suppose?" said
Halcyone. "If his head has been hurt it will be a long time before he is
allowed to read."

Cheiron nodded.

"I am interested," she went on, looking down. "You will let me know, at
Grosvenor Gardens, directly you hear anything, will you not,
Master?--I--" and then her voice broke a little.

And Cheiron stirred in his chair. It was all paining him horribly, but
until he could be sure what would be best for her he must not show his
sympathy.

"I will send Demetrius with the answer when it comes, and I will
telegraph to Wendover morning and night, dear child," he said. "I kne