"Keep calm, my boy," urged the doctor; "it can profit us nothing, it can profit Myra nothing, for you to shatter your nerves at a time when real trials are before you. You are inviting another breakdown. Oh! I know it is hard; but for everybody's sake try to keep yourself in hand." "I am trying, sir," replied Robert hollowly. Dr. Cairn nodded, drumming his fingers upon his knee. "We must be diplomatic," he continued. "That James Saunderson proposed to return to London, I had no idea. I thought that Myra would be far outside the Black maelstroem in Scotland. Had I suspected that Saunderson would come to London, I should have made other arrangements." "Of course, sir, I know that. But even so we could never have foreseen this." Dr. Cairn shook his head. "To think that whilst we have been scouring Egypt from Port Said to Assouan--_he_ has been laughing at us in London!" he said. "Directly after the affair at Meydum he must have left the country--how, Heaven only knows. That letter is three weeks old, now?" Robert Cairn nodded. "What may have happened since--what may have happened!" "You take too gloomy a view. James Saunderson is a Roman guardian. Even Antony Ferrara could make little headway there." "But Myra says that--Ferrara is--a frequent visitor." "And Saunderson," replied Dr. Cairn with a grim smile, "is a Scotchman! Rely upon his diplomacy, Rob. Myra will be safe enough." "God grant that she is!" At that, silence fell between them, until punctually to time, the train slowed into Charing Cross. Inspired by a common anxiety, Dr. Cairn and his son were first among the passengers to pass the barrier. The car was waiting for them; and within five minutes of the arrival of the train they were whirling through London's traffic to the house of James Saunderson. It lay in that quaint backwater, remote from motor-bus high-ways--Dulwich Common, and was a rambling red-tiled building which at some time had been a farmhouse. As the big car pulled up at the gate, Saunderson, a large-boned Scotchman, tawny-eyed, and with his grey hair worn long and untidily, came out to meet them. Myra Duquesne stood beside him. A quick blush coloured her face momentarily; then left it pale again. Indeed, her pallor was alarming. As Robert Cairn, leaping from the car, seized both her hands and looked into her eyes, it seemed to him that the girl had almost an ethereal appearance. Something clutched at his heart, iced his blood; for Myra Duquesne seemed a creature scarcely belonging to the world of humanity--seemed already half a spirit. The light in her sweet eyes was good to see; but her fragility, and a certain transparency of complexion, horrified him. Yet, he knew that he must hide these fears from her; and turning to Mr. Saunderson, he shook him warmly by the hand, and the party of four passed by the low porch into the house.