Jane fell upon her knees, at the window, and prayed for strength, wisdom, and courage. She could realise absolutely nothing. She had thought so much and so continuously, that all mental vision was out of focus and had become a blur. Even his dear face had faded and was hidden from her when she frantically strove to recall it to her mental view. Only the actual fact remained clear, that in a few short minutes she would be taken to the room where he lay. She would see the face she had not seen since they stood together at the chancel step--the face from which the glad confidence slowly faded, a horror of chill disillusion taking its place. "Anoint and cheer our soiled face With the abundance of Thy grace." She would see that dear face, and he, sightless, would not see hers, but would be easily deluded into believing her to be some one else. The gig had turned the last bend of the road, and passed out of sight on its way to the front of the house. Jane rose and stood waiting. Suddenly she remembered two sentences of her conversation with Deryck. She had said: "Shall I ever have the courage to carry it through?" And Deryck had answered, earnestly: "If you value your own eventual happiness and his, you will." A tap came at her door. Jane walked across the room, and opened it. Simpson stood on the threshold. "Dr. Mackenzie is in the library, nurse," he said, "and wishes to see you there." "Then, will you kindly take me to the library, Mr. Simpson," said Nurse Rosemary Gray. CHAPTER XVIII THE NAPOLEON OF THE MOORS On the bear-skin rug, with his back to the fire, stood Dr. Robert Mackenzie, known to his friends as "Dr. Rob" or "Old Robbie," according to their degrees of intimacy. Jane's first impression was of a short, stout man, in a sealskin waistcoat which had seen better days, a light box-cloth overcoat three sizes too large for him, a Napoleonic attitude,--little spindle legs planted far apart, arms folded on chest, shoulders hunched up,--which led one to expect, as the eye travelled upwards, an ivory-white complexion, a Roman nose, masterful jaw, and thin lips folded in a line of conscious power. Instead of which one found a red, freckled face, a nose which turned cheerfully skyward, a fat pink chin, and drooping sandy moustache. The only striking feature of the face was a pair of keen blue eyes, which, when turned upon any one intently, almost disappeared beneath bushy red eyebrows and became little points of turquoise light. Jane had not been in his presence two minutes before she perceived that, when his mind was working, he was entirely unconscious of his body, which was apt to do most peculiar things automatically; so that his friends had passed round the remark: "Robbie chews up dozens of good pen-holders, while Dr. Mackenzie is thinking out excellent prescriptions."