"It's only a motor-car coming round to the front door. I hope they will send whoever it is away," the colour rushed into her face. "Oh, surely Howse will do that to-day----" And then she saw the man-servant come out of the house and advance towards them. There was a salver in his hand, and on the salver a note. "The gentleman who brought this is waiting, ma'am, to see you." She took up the envelope and glanced down at it. Her new name looked so odd in Dr. Haworth's familiar writing--it evoked a woman who had been so very different from herself, and yet for whom she now felt a curious kind of retrospective tenderness. She opened the note with curiosity. "DEAR MRS. GUTHRIE, "The bearer of this, Mr. Reynolds of the Home Office, will explain to you why we are anxious that you should come into Witanbury for an hour this afternoon. I am sure Major Guthrie would willingly spare you if he knew how very important and how delicate is the business in question. Please tell him that we will keep you as short a time as possible. In fact, it is quite probable that you will be back within an hour. "Very truly yours, "EDMUND HAWORTH." She looked down at the letter with feelings of surprise and of annoyance. Uncaring of Howse's discreet presence, she read it aloud. "It's very mysterious and queer, isn't it? But I'm afraid I shall have to go." "Yes, of course you will. It would have been better under the circumstances for the Dean to have told you what they want to see you about." In the old days, Major Guthrie had never shared Mrs. Otway's admiration for Dr. Haworth, and now he felt rather sharply disturbed. The Home Office? The words bore a more ominous sound to him than they did, fortunately, to her. Was it possible that she had been communicating, in secret, with some of her German friends? He rose from the bench on which they had been sitting: "Is the gentleman in the motor, Howse?" "Yes, sir. He wouldn't come in." "Go and tell him that we are coming at once." And then, after a moment, he said quietly, "I'm coming, too." "Oh, but----" she exclaimed. "I don't choose to have my wife's presence commanded by the Dean of Witanbury, or even, if it comes to that, by the Home Office." She seized his arm, and pressed close to him. "I do believe," she cried, "that you suspect me of having got into a scrape! Indeed, indeed I have done nothing!" She was smiling, though moved almost to tears by the way he had just spoken. It was a new thing to her to be taken care of, to feel that there was someone ready, aye, determined, to protect her, and take her part. Also, it was the first time he had called her his wife. * * * * *