ooking eagerly around. Thirsty men seeking precious water
in a desert might have looked like her. Ever and anon her lips moved, but
no sound came from them. Occasionally she spoke to one or the other of
her guests, but she never followed her words with her eyes. Such a sad,
pathetic, pitiable figure, such a grey sorrow in her rags and snowy hair.

The meal came to an end at length, and Mrs. Henson rose suddenly. There
was a grotesque suggestion of the marionette in the movement. She bowed
as if to some imaginary personage and moved with dignity towards the
door. Reginald Henson stood aside and opened it for her. She passed
into the dim hall as if absolutely unconscious of his presence. Enid
flashed a look of defiance at him as she disappeared into the gloom and
floating dust.

Henson's face changed instantly, as if a mask had fallen from his smug
features. He became alert and vigorous. He was no longer patron of the
arts, a wide-minded philanthropist, the man who devotes himself to the
good of humanity. The blue eyes were cold and cruel, there was a hungry
look about the loose mouth.

"Take a bottle of claret and the cigars into the small library,
Williams," he said. "And open the window, the dust stifles me."

The dignified butler bowed respectfully. He resembled the typical bad
butler of fiction in no respect, but his thoughts were by no means
pleasant as he hastened to obey. Enid was loitering in the hall as
Williams passed with the tray.

"Small study and the window open, miss," he whispered. "There's some game
on--oh, yes, there is some blessed game on again to-night. And him so
anxious to know how Miss Christiana is. Says she ought to call him in
professionally. Personally I'd rather call in an undertaker who was
desperately hard up for a job."

"All right, Williams," Enid replied. "My sister is worse to-night. And
unless she gets better I shall insist upon her seeing a doctor. And I am
obliged for the hint about Mr. Henson. The little study commands the
staircase leading to my sister's bedroom."

"And the open window commands the garden," Williams said, drily.

"Yes, yes. Now go. You are a real friend, Williams, and I will never
forget your goodness. Run along--I can actually _feel_ that man coming."

As a matter of fact, Henson was approaching noiselessly. Despite his
great bulk he had the clean, dainty step of a cat; his big, rolling ears
were those of a hare. Henson was always listening. He would have