So only a few minutes after Ennison's departure, while Anna stood indeed with her sister's open letter still in her hand, Courtlaw drove up in hot haste. She opened the door to him herself. "Will you come round to the hospital?" he asked. "Hill has asked for you, and they will take his depositions to-night." She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. "Will he die?" she asked. "Impossible to say," he answered. "We have a private room at St. Felix. Everything is being done that can be." "You are sure that he asked for me--not for Annabel?" "Certain," Courtlaw answered. "Has he accused any one yet?" "Not yet," he answered. "I have scarcely left his side." He was still conscious when they reached the hospital and his state was much more favourable. The doctor and another man were by his bedside when they entered the room, and there were writing materials which had evidently been used close at hand. He recognised Anna, and at once addressed her. "Thank you--for coming," he said. "The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons--for shooting myself. I've told them all that was necessary, but I--wanted to ask your pardon--for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms--and to thank you--the doctor says you bound up my wound--or I should have bled to death." "I forgive you willingly," Anna said, bending over him. "It has all been a mistake, hasn't it?" "No more talking," the doctor interposed. "I want two words--with Miss Pellissier alone," Hill pleaded. The doctor frowned. "Remember," he said, "you are not by any means a dying man now, but you'll never pull through if you don't husband your strength." "Two words only," Hill repeated. They all left the room. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. "Tell your sister she was right to shoot, quite right. I meant mischief. But tell her this, too. I believed that our marriage was genuine. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me." "I will tell her," Anna promised. "She has nothing to be afraid of," he continued. "I have signed a statement that I shot myself; bad trade and drink, both true--both true." His eyes were closed. Anna left the room on tiptoe. She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. _Chapter XXX_ SIR JOHN'S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of his tie and hair were almost rakish. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat.