Clarice kept her hands under the shawl. "No; I have asked you to come for another reason than to prescribe for me. Also, I have taken some simple remedies, and will be well in a few days." "Still----" "No, I can't ask the famous Sir Daniel Jerce to attend to a trifling case like mine." "Since the famous Sir Daniel is here," observed the doctor, good-humouredly, "he may as well exercise his profession. And you know," he added, earnestly, "I would do anything for you, even though you have treated me so cruelly." "You will persist in saying that," cried Clarice, petulantly, "when you know that I never loved you; that I never gave you any encouragement, and that you have no reason to blame me in any way. If you have come here to make yourself disagreeable----" "I have come because you sent for me," said Jerce, calmly; "and, if you remember, I said that I would never see you again unless you did send for me." "Oh! And I suppose you thought that my invitation meant that I had changed my mind about marrying Anthony?" "I did hope that," said Sir Daniel, plainly, "as I can conceive no other reason why you should ask me down; unless," he added, with some bitterness, "you wish to torture me." "Your own conscience should do that, Sir Daniel." "My own conscience? I don't understand you, Miss Baird." "Think again. You hinted that I should never marry Anthony." "I did," rejoined Jerce, steadily, "and I hope you won't." "Why not?" "Because I wish to marry you myself." "I see." Clarice drew the anonymous letter from her pocket, and placed it in his hand; "and to gain your ends you are willing to go to these lengths?" The doctor read the few lines gravely, and then handed back the letter. "Still I don't understand." "Yes, you do, Sir Daniel. You wrote that letter." Jerce sprang to his feet with an agility astonishing in so stout a man. "You insult me," he said, with cold, suppressed fury. "Have I not reason to," she flashed out, "when you seek to prevent my marriage by accusing Ferdy, of murder?" "I did not accuse him; I never wrote that letter; it is not in my handwriting; it is not written on my own stationery." "Of course not. You would have signed your name if it had been." "Did you ask me down to accuse me of this?" asked Sir Daniel, contemptuously. "Yes, I did, and I tell you that your plot will fail, as Ferdy is perfectly innocent." "I never said that he was guilty." "That letter--" "I did not write that letter." Clarice looked at him steadily. His face was calm, his nerves were unshaken. Either she had failed to take him unawares with her abrupt accusation, or the man was innocent. "If I have made a mistake I ask your pardon," she said, quietly, "but you have read the letter?" "Just this moment. I never set eyes on it before." "What do you think of the accusation?" "I don't know what to think," said Jerce, coolly.