Chapter II

THERE was no doubt about it, thought Aunt Anna, as, with Jim, she set out to join the shooters at lunch on the day before Lord Maresfield was to leave — there was no doubt but that the mysterious movement of autumn had begun, the third of the year's great symphonies. Three days ago summer had ended on a full close — the day that Lord Maresfield had come: the woods had stood erect and confident for the last time; it was the day too (she learned next day) on which Nevill had actually bathed, all alone, after dinner. They had talked about it at breakfast next morning. The wind had got up that night; the clouds had come; and when she had gone out to give the collies, and Jim, a run, after the early Mass, the first faint agitation of the new season was in the air.

To-day the last shred of doubt was gone — the motif, so to say, was announced; for there was come, over the face of the woods, a definite tint that had not been there last week. The key had changed into the minor. The trees were still opulent and full-leaved, the grass still heavy and luxuriant; the warmth was practically as great as three days ago. Yet the thing was there.

Jim was a shade silent this morning. He had secretly hoped that he would be allowed to start with the shooters after breakfast; and had appeared, gaitered and capped, with an assured air, so soon as the keeper came up with the beaters. Lessons, he had seemed to think, would melt as inevitably as morning-mists before the sun, in the glory of the first day after the partridges. He had been undeceived — in spite of Nevill's intercession — and sent back to take off his gaiters. Anna had been a little astonished that Nevill had pleaded for him, out loud, in his presence. But she could not relent. Jim's lessons were beginning to rest rather heavily on her conscience — and more than ever now that Downside was postponed till further notice.

" You must keep close," she said, as they came out through the belt of trees towards the approach to the valley where lunch was to be. " You'll remember, won't you? "

" Oh — I know all about that," said Jim indifferently, trudging along with his hands in his pockets and an ashplant under his arm in imitation of Mr. Dane, the keeper. He presented a very sturdy and resolute little figure.

It was a very charming view on which presently they looked, as they came out from the trees and halted. Beneath, a sharp little valley, enclosed in woods, sloped away into a broad flatness at the lower end on the right, and rose to a point at the upper end on the left. It was usually the last drive before lunch, as the keeper's cottage stood conveniently at the edge of the woods on the extreme point of the valley; and the birds had a way of taking refuge here after the drives in the open country to the right.

From where the two stood the whole strategy was plainly visible, for they were at a point about half-way up the valley; they could see the line of beaters moving up from the right, and the three guns in ambush behind little clumps of may-trees that dotted the pasture on the left. It was possible even to make out which was which. Nevill was nearest to them, in his grey suit, perhaps a hundred yards away, and fifty feet below their level: Lord Mares-field next, in the middle, in russet-brown, and Algy Lennox beyond, in a delicate green. They had arrived, too, exactly in time, and would see the drive from beginning to end. The sun, come out for a little space from the clouds, stood high behind them, and the valley was full of light — from the green pasture where the guns stood, across the mustard-patch half-way, down to the newly-cut stubbles and pasture, again, up which the beaters came.

As soon as the birds began to arrive, it was evident that Nevill was in form. (He had seemed very cheerful at breakfast, and had talked almost in his old way.) For the first three coveys came straight over him; and each time it was possible to make out they left two of their number behind.

Each time there was a sudden halt, and a cry from the line of tiny, doll-like figures that laboured slowly upwards; something white waved vigorously; and then Anna could make out a moving pattern of dots, scarcely changing their relative positions as they came, slide across the background, blackish-looking against the yellow of the mustard, brown again against the green meadow-land. Then, as they approached, came the shots, in each case from Nevill, one as they approached, and one as they passed on; and the covey was smaller by two. Jim stood dead silent, trembling a little, drawing his breath sharply as the shots were fired.

" O-o-o-h! " said Jim, after the sixth.

The last covey of that drive, numbering at least a dozen birds, broke from the nearer edge of the mustard as the beaters entered at the other, and dispersed wildly; and, simultaneously a hare burst out of the ground. There were shots in all directions; at least three from Algy and two from Lord Maresfield, as well as another from Nevill. Then the two spectators came out from the edge of the wood to make their way downwards. Anna was glad that Nevill had had so much shooting; and that he had acquitted himself so well. (She often found herself watching him during these days.)

He was in the highest spirits at lunch; and, flushed with exercise, looked as well as he had ever looked in his life. He came round the corner briskly, from laying aside his gun in an outhouse, into the low wide living-room where lunch was laid.

" Algy; you bungled that last drive disgracefully. Where's my hare that I wanted to eat? "

" Your hare's sitting in a ditch. At least, I saw him go in; and he never came out again."

" Did you fire twice at him? I couldn't see."

" Please, the sun was in my eyes, and I couldn't see. And the ball shot; and it was a fast wicket; and I'm not feeling very well."

" Well, I am, thank God! Oh! Aunt Anna. Mutton-pies! And don't do it again, Algy. Beer, anybody? "

It was really very picturesque, here in this raftered room. Through the lattices the sun streamed in upon the white-laid table, the aluminum boxes of food, the glass and silver, the great glass jug of beer. The walls were brightly papered between the upright beams; a rack of old guns hung over the high fireplace. A kettle sang on the hob. The men, too, looked healthy and exercised; Jim looked charmingly childish. She herself, if she had known it, with her grey hair and young face, was the most picturesque of them all.

A flush of pleasure swept over Aunt Anna. It was all so very healthy and reassuring. It was only at moments like this, yet at none before so strongly, that she realised that vague burden of anxiety that she always carried at other times. Yet she scarcely knew about what she was anxious. There was no question that he had borne his trouble finely; and that it had left none but the most superficial marks. It was obvious, she thought, that he was better than he had been even six months ago. He had not even an hour's headache, so far as she knew, since the night on which she had sat by him. Then what in the world did she feel anxious about? The shadow of which Mr. Morpeth had spoken had surely done its worst....

" Jim," said Nevill, " what have you done with your stick? "

" I have left it outside, Cousin Nevill," explained Jim. " Like your gun." (He bit into a mutton-pie.)

"Oh! I see. Did you take the cartridges out?"

Jim disposed of his mouthful solemnly, regarding Nevill as he did so.

" I always take out the cartridges before putting it down anywhere," he said at last.

" That's right, old man."

" There are twenty-three partridges — I mean twelve — I mean eleven and a half braces," observed Jim presently.

" Well done, my boy," said Aunt Anna. Jim's arithmetic was a weak point.

He turned a cold eye on her.

" And three hares. And a bird I don't know the name of."

" That must be one of Algy's," said Nevill.

" It's a black-looking bird with blue "

"Jay. One of mine. What?" said Maresfield. "Got him in the woods."

"Why did you shoot him?" inquired Jim, anxious for information.

" Steal eggs, old man. No end. Eh? "

" Why do you always say Eh? "

" That'll do, Jim," remarked his mother.

" Eh — What? " began Maresfield. And then he laughed loudly.

She liked Lord Maresfield thoroughly. But he was a very odd mixture. Yesterday he had sat out all the afternoon making a perfectly charming sketch of the pavilion on a little wooden panel of which he carried two or three always in his flat travelling paint-box. (When it was quite finished, Jim had come out, and inquired what it was meant to be.) And now to-day he looked a competent sportsman. She perceived that he was distinguished from his type by a streak of art that he had never learned to be ashamed of. He was very pleasant always to Jim, too; and never exchanged glances with grown-up people while he answered him. She liked that. She often found Jim a good touchstone. She made up her mind that she would have a little talk to Lord Maresfield before he left.

" We'll do the down last thing," said Nevill presently, feeling for his pipe. " In honour of you, Maresfield."

The other inquired what this might be. Nevill explained that the down was a steep grass slope with roots at the bottom. Driven properly, it furnished the best beat of the day. Driven improperly, nothing happened whatever. They would drive it properly this afternoon; the guns would be stationed in a kind of dry ditch, with a view against the sky.

" They come as thick as peas," he said, " in a good year. We ought to do pretty well this afternoon. Birds aren't too shy, yet."

It was within an hour of sunset when they began to take their places for the last drive; and the sky was beginning, ever so delicately, to show a premonitory flush.

The afternoon had been delightful. She had never meant to keep Jim out so long; but she simply had not the heart to take him away: she contented herself by a word to him that he must do his lessons better than ever to-morrow morning. Jim had regarded her with a detached kind of air. He was in another world altogether by now.

He was very conscientious, too, in his attentions to the sportsmen; and attached himself by turns to each. She had asked each, privately, to send him back to her if he was troublesome; but his reports were excellent. He remained quite motionless; he spoke in a whisper and not too much; and he collected all the empty cartridge cases at the end of every drive. The pockets of his jacket bulged with them by now. His face wore a rapt expression.

They had really done very well; and the shooting had been excellent. She herself had stood now with one and now with another; and there was not much to choose between them. Above forty brace of birds, besides extras, were laid out at the end of the last drive, before the sports-men descended to the dry ditch in the hollow.

It was her turn with Lord Maresfield now; and she led him, since he did not know the ground, with infinite precautions, lest the birds should be alarmed, under cover of a rise in the ground, out to the extreme left. Algy would be next, in the middle; and Nevill on the right. The three guns were quite enough: the slopes rose on either side up to copses, sufficiently high to steer all but the most obstinate birds over the hedge of death. When they reached the position, she sat down on a convenient bank.

" There's plenty of time/' she said in a low voice. " The beaters will be ten minutes yet. They've got to go right round behind, you know."

He sat down beside her, and took out his pipe and pouch.

" He's on the spot, eh? " he said, without even mentioning Nevill's name. " Told me so, anyhow. Looks like it. What?"

(Nevill had indeed distinguished himself by a very swift right and left at the end of the last drive.)

" Lord Maresfield," she said. " I want to ask you something. Do you know my nephew well? "

" Eh? Well, pretty well, I suppose. Good chap. (Very impertinent of me to say that!) Like him immensely."

" I thought you did. And you've heard about his trouble, I suppose? "

He nodded, without speaking. And, somehow, she liked that, too. Above all, she liked him for not saying that everyone had heard of it.

" I think it was with Miss Bessington that you first met him?"

" That's it," he said. " Academy, wasn't it? "

" I want to know what you think, if you don't mind telling me. I mean whether you think it is a misfortune, or not."

He puffed at his pipe an instant.

" I think it's a very good thing," he said suddenly. " Not suitable, you know. Eh? "

Her heart warmed to hear him.

" Well; I thought so too, you know. And you don't think it's done my nephew any harm? He's not different at all, is he, from when you first got to know him? "

Again he puffed for a moment before answering.

" Daresay it's all my fancy," he said. " But "

"Yes?"

" Seems a bit more apart, don't you know. More silent, somehow. Eh? At least, I thought so till to-day. Natural enough, though. But I didn't see very much of him in town, you know."

"And to-day you think he's better again? " she pursued, disregarding his explanations. Somehow she felt a confidence in this man's opinion, and wanted to know what he thought.

" Why, yes. Talked first-rate at lunch. Eh? "

She sat, silent and relieved. It was not just her fancy, then, that his spirits were beginning to come back. She felt very grateful to Lord Maresfield for agreeing with her. She said so, presently, in a word or two.

Meanwhile, in his corner in the dry ditch over on the left, Nevill, if only they had known it, could emphatically have corroborated the views of his friends. It seemed to him as if this new spirit that had come to him and whispered to him so coherently only three days ago, had more than kept its promises. The air and exercise of this long day, the genial warmth and sunlight, his own success, the pleasantness of the party — all these things combined to make him very content. Over him rose the faintly-flushing sky, clear now of clouds; the grasses that fringed his horizon in front, the tops of the copses which he could see on either side against the sky; the general sense of well-being — all these appeared, as nature will appear to sympathetic humanity — to adapt themselves exquisitely to his own individual point of view. Again, as he mused over a cigarette, waiting for the beaters, he told himself that he had found his balance once more; that his instincts, the other night, had been right; that a man who is sane and healthy is best at home with his own Great Mother: that Gpd and Man may be very well for the specialists in emotion; but that those who do not aim at being emotional had better leave such things alone — beyond, so to speak, a bowing acquaintance with them. After all, what more could he want? God was too remote; men and women were too near. A man was his own best friend, or at least could make himself so. What more could he want? He had his health again; his position; his wealth; the companionship of Anna and Jim and congenial friends — an excellent thing, this companionship, so long as it was not emotional. And he had found all this out for himself — at a certain considerable price, it is true; but the price was now paid, and the article was his. Never again would he trust emotion; it had led him wildly wrong, at least twice. He had thought both God and Enid other than what they were. Very well; he was initiated now; he had found his grail: he would drink it sedately and steadily as it deserved. And if a little cynicism was mixed in that cup; if, for the future, he found himself just despising women a little, and finding men clumsy; if he grew a little materialistic in his philosophy and took more pains about the perfection of his bodily, rather than of his spiritual health — well, the sweetest cup was none the worse for a little sour spicing....

" I think they might be coming soon," said Anna in a low voice. " Shall I be all right here? "

" That's all right," said the man shortly. He beat out his pipe softly: opened and snapped to again the breech of his gun, and slipped to his feet.

The sky had perceptibly deepened in colour during the last ten minutes, revealing what the eye had scarcely taken in before — a multitude of tiny, fleece-like clouds, ranged, it seemed, in a great curved vault down towards the west. The sun was behind the hill on their right; and the slope up which the position looked was in shadow.

But the ditch was so deep in which Anna sat and her companion stood, that nothing but sky was to be seen over the brow by which the birds would come; and so wide that it would be possible to loose the first barrel as they topped the horizon: the second barrel must be fired behind the line.

As Anna looked along the line westwards, first two caps were very. visible, one of the greenish tint that went with Algy's clothes, the other of the brown which Jim had been allowed to choose for himself. Those caps were visible, close to one another, as if their owners were discussing some high matter together. (It was beyond all reasonable doubt, all things considered, that Jim was being allowed to handle his friend's empty gun.) The rest of them was hidden by a break in the bank on which they sat. Quite clear and detached, however, forty yards further on, was the grey figure of Nevill, seen against a bramble-patch on the slope of the hill. It was the sudden appearance of this figure, gun in hand, that had caused her to speak. Nevill was obviously alert: perhaps he had caught some sound or sight coming down the ground.

The world, however, seemed perfectly quiet, rapt in a sunset calm. (It really seemed a little hard, thought Anna, on the birds — that they should be routed by stick-wielding apparitions and sent skimming once more down the long slopes, out of their fragrant coverts, just when a Sabbath peace descended on the earth.) The sky looked like a, vault whose lines were strewn by those mackerel clouds. Behind the line, as she turned her head to look, lay the meadows and the beginning of the park proper, clear of the shadow of the hill, bright in the last hour of sunshine.

Two sudden explosions to the right brought her back from beauty to sport. Algy had fired twice; and when she looked, the two caps had parted company. The green, supported by Algy's head and shoulders, stood up clear; the brown remained motionless in its original position. As she looked, Nevill too raised his gun and fired once.

Then began for her that confused state of the spectator who watches shooting from the side of a shooter; for the birds began to come immediately overhead. She crouched lower on her seat, so that she should not distract her companion, hearing now and again, as from another world, the reports from further up the line; but with her nerves braced to bear the shots fired in her immediate neighbourhood. Covey after covey came over: Nevill indeed had been right in saying that they ought to do pretty well at " the down " this afternoon. They whirred up, suddenly visible, against the sky, twenty yards ahead, to be met by one barrel, and speeded by another, as they sank behind. It was impossible for her to know, except very rarely, how her companion fared. Two or three times only did she catch sight of that strange transformation that takes place when one bird in a covey passes in an instant from the high intensity of life to the passivity of death; and only once did she hear the thud of its body over the bank behind. He seemed satisfied, however; he fired, wheeled, fired again, and reloaded, swiftly and mechanically. Now there came a pause, when he waited; now he tore at his pocket to snatch out another cartridge or two.

It was not till a final pause came, at the end of which he drooped his gun, and relaxed his tense attitude, that she looked again down the line. And there, to her astonishment, Nevill was sitting on the bank, smoking a cigarette, with no glimpse of a gun visible. As she stared, Mr. Dane's ruddy face appeared over the top of the bank.

" Pretty good lot of birds, my lord! " he said. " Hope your lordship had plenty of shooting? " " First-rate, eh? "

She waited a minute or two, as Lord Maresfield stood on the top of the bank, directing Mr. Dane and one of the beaters as to the line in which his birds had mostly fallen; and for that minute thought no more" of Nevill. But when she turned again, her surprise came back.

The grey figure was still seated on the bank; but there was a little group of three about him. Algy and Jim formed two-thirds; and the other was one of the elder beaters. They appeared to be regarding the sitting figure.

She said nothing to her companion; but began to walk towards them. She was not yet exactly uneasy; but she wondered why Nevill was sitting down; why Algy and Jim and the beater were looking at him. That was all.

" Absolutely no good, my dear man," she heard him say as she came near. " Couldn't see a thing."

He looked unusually flushed and upset, she thought; he was drawing almost savagely upon his cigarette.

" What's the matter? " she asked.

" Couldn't see. Chucked it," he said.

She ran her eyes over him, vaguely uneasy.

" How do you mean, my dear? "

And then she saw that the hand that held the cigarette was shaking violently.... Surely he couldn't be as angry as all that?

" I couldn't see," he repeated steadily.

Jim was staring on him with solemn eyes of reproachful wonder.

" You hardly fired at all," he said.

" No, old man."

" Are you going blind, Cousin Nevill? Like the game? "

She saw a very strange expression pass over his face. At first she thought it to be anger. Then she perceived that, at any rate, it was not all anger.

"Game?" she asked.

Nevill got up. His whole bearing seemed odd and unusual.

" Yes. Someone's having a game with me," he said softly. And his voice shook.

"Just stay up here," she said, commanding her voice as well as she could. " I'll send tea up to you. The doctor will be here in half an hour. I'll send at once."

The walk back had been very strange and disquieting. She told herself a dozen times that it was liver, that it was the sun in his eyes earlier in the afternoon. But he seemed to follow her very closely along the wood-paths; and he stumbled half a dozen times: then, as she came through the garden gate, she suddenly felt his hand on her arm. (The other two had walked on ahead, as if unconscious that anything was wrong. Yet she knew that it had been deliberate.)

" It's no good," said a voice in her ear, which she would scarcely have recognised. " You must give me your arm, Aunt Anna."

It was not until she had got him upstairs that she attempted to face the thing out. She planted him in a chair where the light would fall on his face; and sat down.

" Now then, my dear," she said. " Just tell me what's the matter. What is it like? And when did it begin? "

He was silent a moment. Underneath the wholesome tan on his face she could see his pallor; and there were unusual lines about his eyes and mouth.

" It's perfectly ridiculous," he said; and she could hear that he, too, had to make an effort to speak naturally.... "Well; it began just before the birds began to come over, at the last drive. It was only little lines and — and skeins at first. I fired one shot at the first lot. I've had it before, you know, as bad as that — I — I think it must be liver."

" And you never told me! " she said quietly. " Go on, my dear."

" What was the good? I thought it was liver — or — or a hundred things.... And it always went away again."

" Go on, my dear."

" Well; after the first shot it suddenly became worse. I rubbed my eyes; and that did no good. Two more lots passed me. I heard them; but I couldn't see more than streaks. Then I sat down."

"Is it worse since then? "

" Yes."

" Oh! my dear; do tell me."

"Well; I could just make you all out. I couldn't see your faces. I had to follow you very close behind. It grew worse. At the garden-gate I knew I couldn't go on."

" How bad is it now? "

" Well; I can make out that it's you, by your dress. But everything else is all whirling and spinning."

It was then that she stood up, and said that he must have tea up here; and that she would send for the doctor.

He sat quite still, without protesting. Yet there was no sign in his eyes themselves that anything was wrong. They seemed to her exactly as usual — the dark iris, the clear white below it. Was it, perhaps, what she had thought it? — the glare of the sun, or a disordered digestion?

" You don't feel anything else? " she asked suddenly.

" My head feels a bit heavy. That's gun-headache, I expect."

" Shall I come up and have tea with you? "

" I'd sooner not," he said instantly. " Besides, there are Maresfield and Algy." And, upon the words, the suspicion came, swift as light, that he wished to be alone to — to face the thing he feared. She trod it fiercely down; she must not give way to her tremors. Neither must she encourage him in his own.

"Well; I'll send up Charleson," she said. "I — I wish you were in your old room."

He said nothing. A great tenderness suddenly welled up in her.

" Never mind, old boy: you'll just be sent to bed early and wake all right. Well; I'll send down to the village at once."

She stooped and kissed him lightly on the forehead; and, from the start he gave, she understood how complete was his blindness. But again he said nothing.

Such was her emphasis in the message she gave to Masterson that before tea in the hall was half over, she heard the wheels of the car draw up outside; and, simultaneously, Masterson came up from the servants' staircase. He, too, must have been looking and listening.

" That'll be the doctor," she said cheerfully to the two men. " That's the worst of living in a hall; either one has to bolt, or one can't escape. I'll see him in the morning-room, Masterson."

She was in there when he came through — an incompetent little man who had at least the grace to know his limitations. There was never any bother about calling in a consultant. He was a small, clean-shaven man with a diffident manner.

" Good-evening, Dr. Mackenzie. Yes; it's about Sir Nevill. I thought I'd better see you in here first, and answer any questions I can. He hates being fussed, you know."

" I understand from the servant that it was his eyes "

" Yes: I expect it's only liver. But one wants to know. It began quite suddenly, out shooting this afternoon. But he's had it before, he tells me. I thought he'd better stay upstairs till you came."

She described very briefly what Nevill had told her.

" And he has no pain in the eyes at all? "

" None. But he has a little headache. That's only natural after shooting, isn't it?"

" Very likely," said the doctor. " Is he quite blind, at present? "

She winced a little.

"Well; he said he could make out my dress, just now. But it was getting rather dark, you know."

He nodded. " I've brought a few things in a bag," he said.

" Perhaps you'd better see him at once," she said, rising. She touched the bell. " I think I'll ask you to go up without me. He hates a fuss, he always says. And — doctor — I'll be here till you come downstairs again. I should like to know at once, what you think.... Take Dr. Mackenzie up to Sir Nevill's room, Masterson."

She sat very still again, when the door had closed behind the two men. Outside in the hall she could hear the two guests talking once more, but she was entirely unable to face them. It would be all right, presently, of course. As soon as the doctor had come down and gone again, she would go out and tell them that there was nothing whatever to be anxious about — that Nevill's liver was badly out of order, and that that was the one and only cause of the trouble. Of course that was the truth. Only she thought she would wait till it had been certified to be so.

This was a homely and pleasant room in which she sat. It was here that she had her own writing-table, and added up the books and interviewed servants and wrote her letters when it was too wet or cold for the pavilion. An oil-painting of Nevill, at the age of five, in frilled knickerbockers, holding a feeble-looking bat, with very much tumbled hair, and the bridge and bathing-pool in the background, hung over her table. She had thought, sometimes, of having Jim painted in the same kind of way.

But the room was a little gloomy at this particular hour of the day, as its windows looked very nearly eastwards; and the shadows were gathering steadily and swiftly in the corners. The sun must be set by now, she thought....

She could not sit still very long; for if she did not keep moving or distracting herself, certain other memories came up which she did not, just now, want to think about. For instance — Nevill had had this affection of the eyes before, and had not told her. Would he not have told her if it had been as unimportant as he pretended? There was that sinister little game of Blind Man — of which she had learned the details from Jim as she went to see that he had changed and was having tea, properly, in the upstairs schoolroom. Surely that was a very odd game to play on a summer's morning after bathing! Besides it had bored Jim considerably. But these were not the worst. Back and back to her mind came her memory of Mr. Morpeth's talk in the pavilion — of the " shadow " of which he had spoken, of his severely disturbing certitude that some experience lay before Nevill which the world might call a " curse." She had thought that the remembrance of this talk of his was fading from her mind during these last three months: things had gone so surprisingly well. Yet it came up now, from that strange under-region of human consciousness where nothing is forgotten or even attenuated; it came up, like some sinister person whom one thinks to have left the house, but who has been in hiding all the while — it came up and looked her full in the face, until she turned her back upon it by an effort of will.

She was standing at the darkening window presently, and looking out upon the garden; humming softly to herself, and framing little unspoken sentences for her own reassurance. He would be " better after a night's sleep." Probably " he had better not come down to dinner." She would " order something light to be taken up to his room." What a " bore " it all was, just when there were guests in the house! How nice the two men had been just now at tea — so easy and unanxious!

Outside, the garden grew darker as she looked; for she felt it was more reassuring to look out of doors than in. And still there was no step outside, nor hand laid upon the door. How cross poor Nevill would be, with such a long visit from the doctor! He hated being " pulled about."

A thrush skimmed suddenly out upon the lawn from one of the shrubberies, lighted and skipped three or four yards in long springy hops, and paused. Then he bounced again two or three times and vanished. Then, from the shrubbery whence he had emerged, came the sound of a bird's loud scolding — that fierce sharp twittering, in which' the note of fear as well as anger is so evident, uttered only when some danger threatens that will not depart. Then out came another bird — perhaps a missel-thrush; she was not sure — flew, lighted, skipped again and disappeared. She watched the shrubbery, wondering what it was that had disturbed its inmates. Then, as she half expected, the head of the stable cat — a lean and subtle Tom, who disdained her always in the stableyard — appeared cautiously and looked this way and that. Then he, too, came out, and went at a business-like jog-trot in the direction of the cedars. She rapped sharply on the window; but he never turned his head; he quickened his pace a little, and also disappeared. How maddening it must be, she thought, j ust when one had settled for the night on a suitable branch, to be hunted out like that, and to see the face of one's supreme enemy peering up from below. But it was better, at any rate, than being caught in one's sleep.

Still darker grew the garden; and still there was no step outside, nor hand laid upon the door.

The colours now were practically gone; there was no more than the dullest glow from the rows of autumn flowers below the terrace; the cedar ferns were gone grey, and the shadows beneath them were as thick as wool. It was like going blind, surely....

Then, from the grand piano in the hall she heard a few chords struck. That must be Algy: he had played a little to them last night. No; that could not be Algy; it sounded too competent. It must be Lord Maresfield. She didn't know that he played at all. But why that melancholy Russian thing, whose composer's name began with Rack, and ended in inoff? It was like darkness incarnate — darkness lit by fiery wheels — such as a man saw when he was going blind.... But perhaps Masterson had turned on the lights in the hall, by now. For no one could have the heart to play such music in the dark.

Then the music ceased again after a bar or two; and one or two desultory chords sounded again; and then came silence. It must be that the doctor was coming downstairs. Should she turn the lights on before he came? She hesitated. No; it was still light enough to see; and she did not want more than was necessary.

And still there was no step outside; nor hand laid upon the door.

When he came in at last, Mrs. Fanning started up from a chair so suddenly as to make him jump.

She said nothing, but waited. It was so dark that he could not see her face.

" Mrs. Fanning? "

" Yes."

" I am afraid Sir Nevill must go up and see a specialist at once. It is some trouble with the optic nerves, I am sorry to say. It is beyond my province. It is probably some pressure upon the nerves from behind. I think a brain-specialist — for instance, Sir Arthur Handsworth — had best be consulted first. I think it was Mr. Matthieson last time he went to. Sir Nevill complains very much of headache. That is what makes me fear that it is the brain, rather than the eyes themselves.... Yes; I am afraid it may be serious. I have not told Sir Nevill what I fear."