Our mother lay on the floor, Bettina standing over her, agonised, helpless. We lifted her on to the bed. We loosened her clothing, and brought water, and bathed her temples. She opened her eyes and smiled--then the lids went down. Still that look, the look that made her a stranger. Was this death?... Bettina shrank from it. But I told her not to leave the room a second. I would bring the doctor quickly. Bettina's face.... "I cannot stay alone," she whispered. "I will send up one of the servants." She held my arm. "Suppose ... while you are gone---- Oh, I am afraid." "I will run all the way," I said. CHAPTER VIII ANNAN I could not speak when I reached the village. They gave me water. I had in any case to wait a moment till the postmaster was free, for I could not use the telephone myself. My mother had a horror of our touching the public one. She had spoken with disgust of the mouthpiece that everybody breathed into. "Full of germs!" Then it must be bad for other people, we said. "Other people must take their chance." I remembered that as I leaned against the counter, panting, while the postmaster wrote out a telegram. _We_ were "taking the chance" now. Such a little thing--my not knowing how to telephone. Yet it might cost my mother her life. The postmaster rang up Brighton. The doctor was out. What could be done but leave a message! I would go to the Helmstones and ask for a motor-car. Why had I not thought of that before? Then the postmaster said that the Helmstones had all left for London that morning. He had seen them go by. Two motors full. He recommended the doctor at Littlecombe. If I waited a while, the baker's cart would come back from its rounds, and I could send, or go myself with the driver to Littlecombe. "Wait"? There was that at Duncombe that would not wait. For me, too, waiting was the one impossible thing. I cast about in my distracted mind. That new acquaintance of the Helmstones'! Was he not a sort of a doctor? "The scientific chap," as his lordship called the man who had taken rooms at Big Klaus's farm. Lord Helmstone had complained of his Scotch arrogance--"frankly astonished if a Southron makes a decent drive." We had not seen him--at least, not to distinguish an arrogant Scot from other golfers. I ran most of the way to the farm. As I stood waiting for the door to open, a man came up the path with golf clubs. Tallish. In careless clothes, otherwise of a very un-careless aspect. In those seconds of watching the figure come up the pathway with a sort of rigidity of gait, I received an impression of something so restrained and chilling that I hoped he was not the man I had come for. In any case this was not a person before whom one would care to show emotion. I asked if he were Mr. Annan. Yes, his name was Annan. His tone asked: and what business was it of mine? But he halted there, below me, as I stood on the step explaining very briefly my errand. He did not want to come; I could see that.