Here her self-control left her and, with a gesture of despair, Penelope sank forward on a little table beside her chair and sobbed hysterically, her face hidden in her arms. "There! There!" soothed Dr. Owen. "I was a brute. I have taxed you beyond your strength." "I can't tell you how grateful I am for your patience and sympathy," murmured Penelope through her tears, and, presently, regaining her composure, she continued her confession. "I want you to know everything--now. In my dream there was a scene of passion between Captain Herrick and myself. He held me in his arms and kissed me and I--I responded. We both seemed to be swept on by a reckless madness and at one moment Chris seized me roughly with his hand and--of course you think this is all an illusion, but--look here!" She threw open her loose garment and on her beautiful shoulder pointed to five perfectly plain purple marks that might have been made by the fingers of a man's hand. "Extraordinary!" muttered the doctor. "Let me look at this closer. Have you got such a thing as a magnifying glass? Ah, thank you!" For some moments he silently studied these strange marks on the fair young bosom, then he said very gravely: "Mrs. Wells, I want to think this over before giving an opinion. And I must have a serious talk with Captain Herrick." CHAPTER V WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AT THE STUDIO For the purposes of this narrative, which is concerned almost exclusively with the poignant strangeness of a woman's experiences, it is sufficient to say that Captain Christopher Herrick was what is generally known as a fine fellow--handsome, modest, well-to-do, altogether desirable as a lover and a husband. At thirty-five he had made for himself an enviable position as a New York architect, one who was able to strike out boldly in new lines while maintaining a reasonable respect for venerable traditions. He had served gallantly in the war and he was now, for quite understandable reasons, desperately in love with Penelope Wells. On this particular evening when Christopher had been summoned by his much respected friend, Dr. Owen, to dine and discuss a matter of immediate importance, the young officer had accepted eagerly. For some time he had wanted to talk with the doctor about Penelope's nervous condition. He was drawn to this girl by a force that stirred the depths of his being--he could not live without her; yet his love was clouded by anxiety at her strange behavior. Christopher's face was troubled. His brain was in a turmoil. The happenings of the last few days bewildered him. Life had seemed so simple, so beautiful, with just their great love for each other to build on; but now.... He was only sure of one thing, that from the moment Penelope Wells had come to him as a ministering angel across the scarred and broken battle field, he had adored her with a love that would endure until the day of his death ... and, he told himself, beyond that!