hallucination. At any rate, the woman had expressed hatred
of Sir Bernard just as Ethelwynn had done, and further, the old man
had openly defied her, with a harsh laugh, which showed confidence in
himself and an utter disregard for any statement she might make.

At Victoria the pale-faced girl descended quickly, and, swallowed in a
moment in the crowd on the platform, I saw her no more.

She had, before descending, given me a final glance, and I fancied
that a faint smile of recognition played about her lips. But in the
uncertain light of a railway carriage the shadows are heavy, and I
could not see sufficiently distinctly to warrant my returning her
salute. So the wan little figure, so full of romantic mystery, went
forth again into oblivion.

I was going my round at Guy's on the following morning when a telegram
was put into my hand. It was from Ethelwynn's mother--Mrs. Mivart, at
Neneford--asking me to go down there without delay, but giving no
reason for the urgency. I had always been a favourite with the old
lady, and to obey was, of course, imperative--even though I were
compelled to ask Bartlett, one of my colleagues, to look after Sir
Bernard's private practice in my absence.

Neneford Manor was an ancient, rambling old Queen Anne place, about
nine miles from Peterborough on the high road to Leicester. Standing
in the midst of the richest grass country in England, with its grounds
sloping to the brimming river that wound through meadows which in May
were a blaze of golden buttercups, it was a typical English home, with
quaint old gables, high chimney stacks and old-world garden with yew
hedges trimmed fantastically as in the days of wigs and patches. I had
snatched a week-end several times to be old Mrs. Mivart's guest;
therefore I knew the picturesque old place well, and had been
entranced by its many charms.

Soon after five o'clock that afternoon I descended from the train at
the roadside station, and, mounting into the dog-cart, was driven
across the hill to the Manor. In the hall the sweet-faced,
silver-haired old lady, in her neat black and white cap greeted me,
holding both my hands and pressing them for a moment, apparently
unable to utter a word. I had expected to find her unwell; but, on the
contrary, she seemed quite as active as usual, notwithstanding the
senile decay which I knew had already laid its hand heavily upon her.

"You are so good to come to me, Doctor. How can I sufficiently thank