"Balham!" was bawled two minutes later; and among a stream of clerks and nondescripts, he descended a flight of steps and emerged into a narrow street. No cab was visible, and, having obtained directions, he set forth for Rosalie Road afoot. A glimpse he had of cheap commerce, of the flare of gas-jets on oranges, and eggs, and fifth-rate millinery; and then the shops and the masses were left behind, and he was in obscurity. The sound of footsteps occurred but seldom here, and he wandered in a maze of little houses for nearly half an hour before a welcome postman earned a shilling. Rosalie Road began in darkness, and ended in a brickfield. He identified Number 44 by the aid of a vesta, and pulled the bell. Impatience was mastering him when he discerned, through the panes, a figure advancing along the passage. His voice was strange in his ears, as he inquired if Mamie was in. "Yessir; she's in the drorin'-room. 'Oo shall I say?" "Sir George Heriot. Is Mrs. Baines at home?" His title rendered the little maid incapable of an immediate response. "Missis is out of a herrand, sir," she stammered; "she won't be long." "When she comes in, tell her that I'm talking privately to her niece. 'Privately'; don't forget!" She turned the handle, and Heriot followed her into the room. Vaguely he heard her announce him; he saw the room as in a mist. Momentarily all that was clear was Mamie's face, white and wondering in the lamplight. She stood where she had been standing at his entrance, looking at him; he had the impression of many seconds passing while she only looked; many seconds seemed to go by before her colour fluttered back and she said, "You?" "Yes, it's I. Won't you say you're glad to see me?" "Aunt Lydia has written to you," she said, still gazing at him as if she doubted his reality. "Her letter has gone." "I've come to hear what Dr. Drummond says." She motioned him to a chair, and drooped weakly on to the shiny couch. "I am not going to die," she muttered. "Your sympathy has been thrown away--I'm a fraud." In the breathless pause he felt deafened by the thudding of his heart. "He has given you hope?" "He said, 'Bosh!' I told him what the doctor told me in Duluth. He said, 'Bosh!' One lung isn't quite sound, that's all; I may live to be eighty." "O dear God!" said Heriot slowly, "I thank You!" She gave a short laugh, harsh and bitter. "I always posed. My last pose was as a dying woman!" "Mamie," he said firmly--he went across to her and sat down by her side--"Mamie, I love you. I want you to come back to me, my darling. My life's no good without you, and I want you for my wife again. Will you come?" He heard her catch her breath; she could not speak. He took her hands, and drew her to him. Their lips clung together, and presently he felt tears on his cheek. Then she released herself with a gesture of negation. "You are mad!" she said. "And _I_ should be madder to accept the sacrifice!" For this he was prepared.