ere by her side--this swarthy-faced stranger whom
she had disliked instinctively at first sight?

And then--suddenly it rushed through her mind that he was the
bearer of evil tidings, that he had come to tell her that Guy was
dead. She raised herself sharply.

"Oh, what is it? What is it?" she gasped. "Tell me quickly! It's
better for me to know. It's better for me to know."

He put out a narrow, claw-like hand and laid it upon her arm. His
eyes were like onyxes, Oriental, quite emotionless.

"Do not agitate yourself, madam!" he said. "My patient is better.
I think, that with care--he may live. That is, if he finds it
worth while."

"What do you mean?" she said in a whisper.

That there was a veiled meaning to his words she was assured at the
outset. His whole bearing conveyed something mysterious, something
sinister, to her startled imagination. She wanted to shake off the
hand upon her arm, but she had to suffer it though the man's bare
touch revolted her.

He was leaning slightly towards her, but yet his face was utterly
inanimate. It was obvious that though he had imposed his
personality upon her with a definite end in view, he was personally
totally indifferent as to whether he achieved that end or not.

"I mean," he said, after a quiet pause, "that the desire to live is
sometimes the only medicine that is of any avail. I know Guy
Ranger. He is a fool in many ways, but not in all. He is not for
instance fool enough to hang on to life if it holds nothing worth
having. He was born with an immense love of life. He would not
have done this thing if he had not somehow lost this gift--for it
is a gift. If he does not get it back--somehow--then," the black,
stony eyes looked into hers without emotion--"he will die."

She shrank at the cold deliberation of his words. "Oh no--no! Not
like this! Not--by his own hand!"

"Ah!" He leaned towards her, bringing his sallow, impassive
countenance close to hers, repulsively close, to her over-acute
sensibilities. "And how is that to be prevented? Who is to give
him that priceless remedy--the only medicine that can save him?
Can I?" He lifted his shoulders expressively, indicating his own
helplessness. And then in a voice dropped to a whisper, "Can you?"

She did not answer him. There was something horrible to her in
that low-spoken question, something that yet possessed for her a
species of evil fascination that restrained her from open revolt