‘Good-bye,’ said Anne for answer, and she walked away down the lane and turned off at the opening that led into the London road. CHAPTER VIII On a warm summer evening, some three weeks later, Richard Meadowes sat in the library of his town house thinking, perhaps not unnaturally, of Anne Champion and wondering where she was. ‘Dr. Sebastian Shepley, to wait upon you, sir,’ said the man-servant, showing some one in, and Meadowes rose to greet his visitor, feeling the room strangely warm. ‘Ah, Shepley,’ was all he said for welcome to the tall steady-eyed man who came forward into the room. Shepley sat down opposite to Richard Meadowes and facing the sunlight. His pleasant blue eyes rested on Meadowes inquiringly for a moment. ‘I fear I have intruded on you, sir,’ he said, noticing the other man’s embarrassment. ‘I—I am pleased to see you,’ said Meadowes, not with absolute veracity. The situation seemed at that moment intolerable to him—better, he thought, make a quick end of it. ‘You have heard about Anne Champion?’ he said, forcing himself to look straight at Sebastian Shepley. ‘I am come for no other reason than to ask your aid in the matter,’ said Shepley, ‘for the last I have heard of Anne was the message of thanks you gave me from her anent the amber necklace. Often as I’ve writ to her I have heard never a word in answer. Tell me, sir, do you know aught of where she went?’ ‘I know naught of Anne now,’ said Meadowes, looking down as he spoke. ‘_Now?_’ asked Shepley, for something in the other’s voice attracted his attention. ‘A year and more she lived with me, and she bore me a son,’ said Meadowes. There was a moment of silence that seemed to tingle. ‘There—swallow your lies!’ cried Shepley; and he struck with all his great strength across Meadowes’ lips. Without another word he left the room, passed out through the hall, and strode away down the Square. ‘Lies, lies—hellish black lies every word he spoke,’ he cried in his heart. ‘And ah! my poor Annie, what is come to you these weary years?’ Then remembering that Anne’s neighbours in Yard’s Entry might have some knowledge of her whereabouts he turned his steps in that direction. It was drawing to sundown when at last he reached Yard’s Entry. He stood still for a moment and looked up at the little window he had known as Anne’s, and which used to reflect the sunlight. It was blazing scarlet just now. Then he went up to the doorway and knocked; Mrs. Nare appeared in answer to his summons. ‘A good even to you, mistress,’ said Shepley. ‘And can you tell me aught of Anne Champion, who lived here some two years since?’ Mrs. Nare squinted up at him out of her narrow old eyes. ‘Anne, she came back here some three weeks agone,’ she said. ‘Came and went her ways again. And now she hath come here mortal stricken—taken with a fever she’ve caught working amidst the rags for a Jew man in Flower and Dean Street.’