essed mine. She said nothing then,
but in about half an hour she made an effort to sit up.

"Dear Arnold," she murmured, "you are indeed my guardian. Oh----"

She broke off, and shuddered violently.

"Please don't try to talk yet," I said. "I shouldn't have been much of a
guardian, should I, if I hadn't fetched you out of this scrape? Besides,
it was Monsieur Feurgeres who planned everything."

"Arnold," she murmured, "I--haven't eaten anything for some time. They
put things in my food to make me drowsy, so I dared not."

Under my breath I made large demands upon my stock of profanity. Then I
leaned over and spoke to the _chauffeur_. We were passing through a
small town, and he at once slackened pace and pulled up at a small
restaurant. With the first mouthful of soup Isobel's youth and strength
seemed to reassert themselves. After a cutlet and a glass of wine she
had colour, and began to talk. She even grumbled when I denied her
coffee, and hurried her off again. In the automobile she came close to
my side, and with a shyness quite new to her linked her arm in mine. So
we sped once more on our way to Paris.

Conversation, had Isobel been fit for it, was scarcely possible. But in
a disjointed sort of way she tried to tell me things.

"I was inside the house," she said, "and the door of the room was locked
before I knew that Monsieur Feurgeres was not there--that the letter was
not a true one. My aunt came and talked to me. She tried to be kind at
first. Afterwards she was very angry. She said that my grandfather was
an old man, that he wished to see me before he died. I must go with her
at once. I said that I would go if I might see you first, but that only
made her more angry still. She said that my life had been a disgrace to
our family, that I must not mention your name, that I must speak as
though I had just left the convent. Then I, too, lost my temper. I said
that I would not go to Illghera. I did not want to see my grandfather,
or any of my relations. They had left me alone so many years that now I
could do without them altogether. She never interrupted me. She looked
at me all the time with a still, cold smile. When I had finished she
said only, 'We shall see,' and she left me alone. They brought me food,
and after I had taken some of it I was ill. After that everything seemed
like a dream. I simply moved about as they told me, and I did not seem
to care much what happened. Then in Paris Adelaide came into