at the pattern of the
carpet with a frown. To my annoyance, I could not keep Sarakoff's words
out of my mind. And yet Alice was right. I felt sure that no one is a
free agent in the sense that he or she can be guided solely by love. It
is necessary to make a compromise. As these thoughts formed in my mind I
again seemed to hear the loud voice of Sarakoff, sounding in derision
at my cautious views. A conflict arose in my soul. I raised my eyes and
looked at Alice. She was standing by the mantelpiece, staring listlessly
at the grate. A wave of emotion passed over me. I took a step towards
her.

"Alice!" And then the words stuck in my throat. She turned her head and
her eyes questioned me. I tried to continue, but something prevented me,
and I became suddenly calm again. "Please take me up to your father," I
begged her. She obeyed silently, and I followed her upstairs.

Mr. Annot was lying in a darkened room with his eyes closed. He was a
very old man, approaching ninety, with a thin aquiline face and white
hair. He lay very still, and at first I thought he was unconscious. But
his pulse was surprisingly good, and his breathing deep and regular.

"He is sleeping," I murmured.

She leaned over the bed.

"He scarcely slept during the night," she whispered. "This will do him
good."

"His pulse could not be better," I murmured.

She peered at him more closely.

"Isn't he very pale?"

I stooped down, so that my face was close to hers. The old man certainly
looked very pale. A marble-like hue lay over his features, and yet the
skin was warm to the touch.

"How long has he been asleep?" I asked.

"He was awake over an hour ago, when I looked in last. He said then that
he was feeling drowsy."

"I think we'll wake him up."

Alice hesitated.

"Won't you wait for tea?" she whispered. "He would probably be awake by
then."

I shook my head.

"I must get back to London by five. Do you mind if we have a little more
light?"

She moved to the window and raised the blind half way. I examined the
old man attentively. There was no doubt about the curious pallor of his
skin. It was like the pallor of extreme collapse, save for the presence
of a faint colour in his cheeks which seemed to lie as a bright
transparency over a dead background. My fingers again sought his pulse.
It was full and steady. As I counted it my eyes rested on his hand.

I stooped down suddenly with an exclamation. Alice hurried to my side.

"Wher