ferent from every one else. You
always looked--so wonderful. I've always been like that, wanted my hero,
and I haven't generally been able to speak to them--my heroes I mean. I
never thought, of course, that I should speak to you. And then they
sent me that day to you, and you came with me--it was so wonderful--I've
thought of nothing else since. I don't think God would matter if you'd
only let me come to see you sometimes and talk to you--like this."

"Don't talk that sort of rot. Always glad to see you. Of course you may
come in and talk if you wish."

"Oh! you're so different--from what I thought. You always looked as
though you despised everybody--and now you look--Oh! I don't know--but
I'm afraid of you---"

The wretched Bunning was swiftly regaining confidence. He was now, of
course, about to plunge a great deal farther than was necessary and to
burden Olva with sell-revelations and the rest.

Olva hurriedly broke in--

"Well, come and see me when you want to. I've got a lot of work to do
before Hall. But we'll go for a walk one day. . . ."

Bunning was at once flung back on to his timid self. He pushed his
spectacles back, blushed, nearly tumbled over his chair as he got up,
and backed confusedly out of the room.

He tried to say something at the door--"I can't thank you enough. . ."
he stuttered and was gone.

As the door closed behind him, swiftly Olva was conscious again of the
Pursuit. . . .

He turned to the empty room--"Leave me alone," he whispered. "For pity's
sake leave me alone."

The silence that followed was filled with insistent, mysterious urgency.

2

Craven did not come that night to Hall. Galleon had asked him and Olva
to breakfast-the next morning. He did not appear.

About two o'clock in the afternoon a note was sent round to Olva's
rooms. "I've been rather seedy. Just out for a long walk--do you mind my
taking Bunker? Send word round to my rooms if you mind.--R. C." Craven
had taken Bunker out for walks before and had grown fond of the dog.
There was nothing in that. But Olva, as he stood in the middle of his
room with the note in his hand, was frightened.

The result of it was that about five o'clock on that afternoon Olva paid
his second visit to the dark house in Rocket Road. His motives for going
were confused, but he knew that at the back of them was a desire that he
should find Margaret Craven, with her grave eyes, waiting for him in the
musty little drawing-room, and