"Oh, she was only moved to London yesterday, so nothing can be known yet. However, Mrs. Gaunt is anxious." "Do you mean that she wants to be there? Ought one to let her go?" asked Gaunt, startled. "On no account. She is quite unfit for such exertion. Only, if it can be done, arrange that she gets good news, that nobody writes disquieting bulletins." "I'll see to that," replied Gaunt with emphasis, as the doctor rode off. This was a chance to send a line to his mother-in-law--a chance of which he would take the fullest advantage. He would write also to the head of the nursing home where Pansy was installed, directing that his wife should be as much reassured as was consistent with the facts. * * * * * During the days that followed found Gaunt himself the object of a universal sympathy and kindness. Dr. Dymock had dropped hints, among those of his patients best famed for gossiping, as to the chivalrous nature of the misogynist's marriage. It seemed that he had found a fair maiden languishing in bondage, and had endowed her with the half of his kingdom. Unfortunately, she had suffered so severely as to undermine her health, and the first task for the newly made husband was to have her properly nursed and fed. This, of course, explained why he had not taken her upon a wedding tour. That would doubtless come later, when she was strong enough to enjoy it. Rumours of her beauty and of Gaunt's devotion were rife. When he drove into the market town he found people cordial after a wholly new fashion. Meanwhile, he himself was changing to an extent of which he was far from being aware. The heart and head which for so many years had been wholly occupied with self, were now filled exclusively with the image of another. As the days passed, and he held rigidly to his promise to Dr. Dymock, his thoughts were more and more completely given up to the question of Virginia's future health and happiness. Some deep-lying shyness had prevented his admitting to the doctor that, except for the ceremony, she was not as yet his wife. Yet he had this fact in reserve, as perhaps his only chance to restore to her her freedom. He recognised that, as soon as she was strong enough, he and she must come to an understanding. He must show her his change of heart, and if it could be done, he must give her liberty. She would have to know that he was no longer her jailer, but her devotee. He could see now how for all these years he had been yielding himself prisoner to the devil, and how his apprenticeship had culminated in the perpetration of a devilish deed. Night and day he was haunted by the memory of Virginia sitting up, tearing his jewels from her fingers, wringing her bare hands and crying that she was not clean.