His hand was on the door--John Chetwynd sprang to his feet.

"No one must see her," he cried excitedly. "I absolutely forbid it.
It would be most dangerous--most improper."

The two men looked into each other's faces for the space of several
seconds; then Mr. Bolingbroke turned away with a sigh and an
impatient word. "Absurd! As if I could do her any harm," he said.
"Well, I will be round again later in the day," he added with a nod
to Saidie, and a minute later the hall door shut upon him.

"Who is that man?" asked Sir John sternly.

Saidie shrugged her shoulders.

"You shall tell me--what is he to Bella?"

"He is a good and noble man, and let me tell you there ain't too many
knocking around. If she lives to get over this he will make her his
wife."

And there was silence--a silence in which John Chetwynd read clearly
his own heart at last, and stood face to face with facts--facts
stripped of false adornments--naked, convincing.

Then he strode across the room and entered that in which Bella lay.

She was asleep, and he drew his chair close to the bedside and fixed
his eyes on the wan, thin face, fever flushed, and fought the