of
her conversation with Deryck. She had said: "Shall I ever have the
courage to carry it through?" And Deryck had answered, earnestly: "If
you value your own eventual happiness and his, you will."

A tap came at her door. Jane walked across the room, and opened it.

Simpson stood on the threshold.

"Dr. Mackenzie is in the library, nurse," he said, "and wishes to see
you there."

"Then, will you kindly take me to the library, Mr. Simpson," said Nurse
Rosemary Gray.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE NAPOLEON OF THE MOORS

On the bear-skin rug, with his back to the fire, stood Dr. Robert
Mackenzie, known to his friends as "Dr. Rob" or "Old Robbie," according
to their degrees of intimacy.

Jane's first impression was of a short, stout man, in a sealskin
waistcoat which had seen better days, a light box-cloth overcoat three
sizes too large for him, a Napoleonic attitude,--little spindle legs
planted far apart, arms folded on chest, shoulders hunched up,--which
led one to expect, as the eye travelled upwards, an ivory-white
complexion, a Roman nose, masterful jaw, and thin lips folded in a line
of conscious power. Instead of which one found a red, freckled face, a
nose which turned cheerfully skyward, a fat pink chin, and drooping
sandy moustache. The only striking feature of the face was a pair of
keen blue eyes, which, when turned upon any one intently, almost
disappeared beneath bushy red eyebrows and became little points of
turquoise light.

Jane had not been in his presence two minutes before she perceived
that, when his mind was working, he was entirely unconscious of his
body, which was apt to do most peculiar things automatically; so that
his friends had passed round the remark: "Robbie chews up dozens of
good pen-holders, while Dr. Mackenzie is thinking out excellent
prescriptions."

When Jane entered, his eyes were fixed upon an open letter, which she
instinctively knew to be Deryck's, and he did not look up at once. When
he did look up, she saw his unmistakable start of surprise. He opened
his mouth to speak, and Jane was irresistibly reminded of a tame
goldfish at Overdene, which used to rise to the surface when the
duchess dropped crumbs. He closed it without uttering a word, and
turned again to Deryck's letter; and Jane felt herself to be the crumb,
or rather the camel, which he was finding it difficult to swallow.

She waited in respectful silence, and Deryck's words passed with
calming effect throu