memory of former
vain splendours and the rags of old fineries, nursing a dear hatred for
some more fortunate fellow.

Nearly an hour had passed before he again panted up to the levelled
shelf on which the cottage stood.

The doctor was sitting at the window as Kitson passed.

"How is he?"

"About the same. He had one paroxysm. Is that the strychnine? I can't
tell you how much obliged I am to you."

He took the small packet and placed it on the window-ledge and Mr.
Kitson passed into the house.

"Honestly, doctor, what do you think of his chance?" he asked.

Dr. van Heerden shrugged his shoulders.

"Honestly, I do not think he will recover consciousness."

"Heavens!"

The lawyer was shocked. The tragic suddenness of it all stunned him. He
had thought vaguely that days, even weeks, might pass before the end
came.

"Not recover consciousness?" he repeated in a whisper.

Instinctively he was drawn to the room where his friend lay and the
doctor followed him.

John Millinborn lay on his back, his eyes closed, his face a ghastly
grey. His big hands were clutching at his throat, his shirt was torn
open at the breast. The two windows, one at each end of the room, were
wide, and a gentle breeze blew the casement curtains. The lawyer
stooped, his eyes moist, and laid his hand upon the burning forehead.

"John, John," he murmured, and turned away, blinded with tears.

He wiped his face with a pocket-handkerchief and walked to the window,
staring out at the serene loveliness of the scene. Over the weald a
great aeroplane droned to the sea. The green downs were dappled white
with grazing flocks, and beneath the windows the ordered beds blazed
and flamed with flowers, crimson and gold and white.

As he stood there the man he had met in the plantation came to his mind
and he was half-inclined to speak to the doctor of the incident. But he
was in no mood for the description and the speculation which would
follow. Restlessly he paced into the bedroom. The sick man had not moved
and again the lawyer returned. He thought of the girl, that girl whose
name and relationship with John Millinborn he alone knew. What use would
she make of the millions which, all unknown to her, she would soon
inherit? What----

"Jim, Jim!"

He turned swiftly.

It was John Millinborn's voice.

"Quick--come...."

The doctor had leapt into the room and made his way to the bed.

Millinborn was sitting up, and as the lawyer moved swiftl