pprehension. He could not rid his mind of Esther's stricken cry,
"If he does that again I'm finished!" What was it she meant? Was it
possible that those red dots on her arm furnished the answer? She
might have been out of her senses when she said that, of course. If
what the doctor averred was the case, then it was part of her delusion
to believe he was trying to injure her. How could one know the truth?
She might die now, so easily; then one could never find out.

She might die----! The fear of this tortured him. The solution of the
mystery, even the question of whether his father's death had been due
to natural causes or not sank into comparative insignificance beside
that terrifying possibility. Nothing could undo what was done, nothing
could bring his father back--but here was this girl whom he loved
apparently about to slip over the border-line before his eyes and he
could do nothing to save her. The thought drove him distracted.

A maid brought the hot-water bottle: they put it near Esther's feet,
which were icy to the touch, even through her thin stockings. They
loosened her clothing, although there was not much to be done in that
line, her slender body being innocent of stays. Presently Miss
Clifford raised an anxious face.

"Don't you think we'd better get _him_ to do something after all?" she
whispered nervously. "I'm rather frightened!"

He frowned and shook his head, at the same time realising how strange
his refusal must strike her. Before he could frame a reasonable reply
Chalmers returned to inform him that he had found a doctor, who would
be with them in a few minutes.

"Thank God! Dido, we'll wait for him."

"Very well, my dear, if you think it's safe."

She glanced doubtfully at the inert form under the pink coverlet.

"I know what you're thinking," he said softly, putting his hand on her
shoulder, "but I believe I am acting for the best. You must simply
take my word for it."

Purposely disregarding her puzzled glance he consulted his watch, then
looked towards the figure seated in the armchair by the fire.
Sartorius, perfectly self-contained, was making entries in a notebook,
apparently little concerned with what went on behind him. A certain
scornful touch about his absolute sang-froid unnerved Roger somewhat.
It made him feel that perhaps he was acting the fool, jumping at false
conclusions. Was Esther's dread of this man purely the creation of a
disordered brain?

"_Pa