Ogilvie went up to Sibyl. Suffering and love had taught him many lessons, amongst others those of absolute self-control. His face was smiling and calm as he crossed the room, bent over the child and kissed her. Those blue eyes of hers, always so full of penetration and of knowledge, which was not all this earth, could detect no sorrow in her father's. "I must go to town, I shall be away for as short a time as possible. As soon as I come back I will come to you," he said. "Look after her, please, Miss Winstead. If you cannot remain in the room, send nurse. Now, don't tire yourself, my little love. Remember that father will be back very soon." "Don't hurry, father darling," replied Sibyl "'cos I am quite happy thinking about you, even if you are not here." He went away, ran downstairs, put on his hat and went out. His wife was standing in the porch. "One moment, Phil," she called, "where are you going?" "To town." "To do what?" "To do what I said," he answered, and he gave her a strange look, which frightened her, and caused her to fall back against the wall. He disappeared down the avenue, she sank into a chair and began to weep. She was thoroughly miserable and frightened. Philip had returned, but all pleasant golden dreams were shattered, for although he had sent a cablegram to Lord Grayleigh, saying that all was well, better than well, his conscience was speaking to him, that troublesome terrible conscience of his, and he was about to destroy his own work. "What fearful creatures men with consciences are," moaned Mrs. Ogilvie. Meanwhile Ogilvie walked quickly up the avenue. Just at the gates he met an old couple who were coming in. They were a queer-looking old pair, dressed in old-fashioned style. Ogilvie did not know them, but the woman paused when she saw him, came forward, dropped a curtsey and said: "I beg your pardon, sir." "What can I do for you?" said Ogilvie. He tried to speak courteously, but this delay, and the presence of the old couple whose names he did not even know, irritated him. "If you please, sir, you are Mr. Ogilvie?" "That is my name." "We know you," continued the old woman, "by the likeness to your little daughter." The mention of Sibyl caused Ogilvie now to regard them more attentively. "May I inquire your names?" he asked. "Holman, sir," said the woman. "This is my husband, sir. We heard only yesterday of dear little Missie's illness, and we couldn't rest until we came to enquire after her. We greatly 'opes, sir, that the dear little lamb is better. We thought you wouldn't mind if we asked." "By no means," answered Ogilvie. "Any friends of Sibyl's, any real friends, are of interest to me." He paused and looked into the old woman's face. "She's better, ain't she, dear lamb?" asked Mrs. Holman. Ogilvie shook his head; it was a quick movement, his face was very white, his lips opened but no words came. The next instant he had hurried down the road, leaving the old pair looking after him.