ng glance at the slender figure on the couch the
good woman bustled away, leaving Magda alone with her unknown host and
burning with indignation at the cool way in which he had ordered her to
remain where she was.

He had his back to her for the moment, having turned to poke up the
fire, and Magda raised herself on her elbow, preparatory to getting off
the couch. He swung round instantly.

"I told you to stay where you were," he said peremptorily.

"I don't always do as I'm told," she retorted with spirit.

"You will in this instance, though," he rejoined, crossing the room
swiftly towards her.

But quick though he was, she was still quicker. Her eyes blazing
defiance, she slipped from the couch and stood up before he could reach
her side. She took a step forward.

"There!" she began defiantly. The next moment the whole room seemed to
swim round her as she tottered weakly and would have fallen had he not
caught her.

"What did I tell you?" he said sharply. "You're not fit to stand."

Without more ado he lifted her up in his arms and deposited her again on
the couch.

"I--I only turned a little giddy," she protested feebly.

"Precisely. Just as I thought you would. Another time, perhaps, you'll
obey orders."

He stood looking down at her with curiously brilliant grey eyes. Magda
almost winced under their penetrating glance. She felt as though they
could see into her very soul, and she summoned up all her courage to
combat the man's strange force.

"I'm not used to obeying orders," she said impatiently.

"No?"--with complete indifference. "Then it will be a salutary
experience for you. Now, lie still until tea comes. I have a letter to
write."

He walked away and, seating himself at a desk in the window, appeared to
forget all about her, while his pen travelled swiftly over the sheet of
notepaper he had drawn towards him.

Magda watched him with rebellious eyes. Gradually, however, the
rebellion died out of them, replaced by a puzzled look of interest.
There was something vaguely familiar about the man. Had she ever seen
him before? Or was it merely one of those chance resemblances which one
comes across occasionally? That fair hair with its crisp wave, the lean,
square-jawed face, above all, the dark-grey eyes with their bright,
penetrating glance--why did she feel as though every detail of the face
were already known to her?

She failed to place the resemblance, however, and finally, with a little