I began to protest at once, but he hurled an oath at my head and rushed out. Desperation had lent him a rat's courage. I followed quickly, but he was already in the sick-room before I reached the door. There I paused and silently surveyed the scene. Marion, as though conscious that her patient would dislike to see his visitor, had swiftly interposed herself between Mr. Sefton and the bed, and by signs she now forbade the young man to advance. Sir William was asleep. "Kindly stand aside," muttered Mr. Sefton Dagmar; "I intend to see my uncle, and you won't prevent me!" "Another time," whispered Marion, whose eyes were simply ablaze. "You cannot see him now; he is asleep!" What wild fancy possessed the young man I do not know. Perhaps the fool imagined that his uncle was dead, and that for some base, esoteric purpose Marion wished to hide his death. At all events, he suddenly stepped forward and thrust her brutally aside. The noise of that scuffle, slight as it was, awakened the sick man. His eyes opened and he looked up to gaze upon his nephew's rage-distorted visage. "You here!" he gasped. Mr. Sefton Dagmar turned grey. "I--I--I--hope--I hope you're feeling better, sir!" he stammered. "Why are--you--in London?" whispered Sir William. "I--I--your illness, sir." "When did you come up?" "Last night, sir," lied the nephew. The uncle closed his eyes, and appeared to reflect. A moment passed and then very silently he opened them again. "Marion!" he said. She stepped to his side. She still seemed greatly agitated. "Make him go!" whispered the sick man very faintly. "Make him leave my house at once. Tell Brown!" The words died in a sigh. He closed his eyes once more and to all appearances he slept. Marion turned to Mr. Sefton Dagmar with the imperial manner of a queen. "You heard, sir!" she said coldly. The young man for a moment made no reply; then he broke into a snarling stream of words. "I see how it is," he hissed. "You are using your infernal prettiness to cheat me out of my inheritance. I've heard of your sort before. 'Marion' he called you--'Marion!' Perhaps you've wormed a will out of him already. Perhaps you want to marry him on his death bed! Oh! I know your sort. Of course, you'd like to turn me out of the place neck and crop; I might interfere with your precious scheming, hey? But I'm not going to let you fleece me. Not much. Here I am, and here I stay! Do your damndest----" What further insults the vulgar ruffian might have heaped upon the beautiful woman he confronted I cannot guess. But at that juncture Marion threw me a glance of passionate entreaty, and my heart leaped to answer her appeal. In another second I had him by the throat, and in still another I had hurled him sheer across the room and through the door. Before he could arise I was at his throat again. No man was ever nearer death than he, for I am physically strong, and at that while I was fairly lunatic with passion.