"I knew you would come and see me this morning," she said brightly. "The Voices told me so, and they never deceive. You don't know what a number of secrets they whisper to me, and whatever they bid me do that I am bound to do. It is not only that, if I were to refuse, I should run the risk of their displeasure, but because I cannot help myself. Oh, to disobey them would be terrible! The mere thought----" "Anna!" Merely her name pronounced by Mrs. Jenwyn, but its effect on the girl was instantaneous. She still had hold of Drelincourt's hands, and he was conscious of a momentary spasmodic twitching of her fingers, such as might have been caused by a slight electric shock. Then his hands were released; something seemed to catch her breath for a second or two, her eyes opened and shut quickly several times, and therewith her mood changed. "What have I been rambling on about?" she asked, with a rippling, childlike laugh. "How silly of me! But whatever it was, it's all gone--all gone. And now, Felix, you must come and say 'Good morning' to Ninon, and ask her how she is. She is a good little thing on the whole, but sometimes I feel her temper rather trying." With that she drew him forward by the lapel of his coat. "Sit down," she said, "and nurse her for a little while. I fancy she looks slightly feverish this morning. I hope I shall not have to call in Dr. Carew." Drelincourt did as he was told. The doll was placed in his arms, and was held by him as awkwardly as might be expected. A smile, which had in it as much of pathos as of humor, played round his lips, but the expression of his eyes was one of grave tenderness and pity for the unhappy girl. Mrs. Jenwyn sat a little way apart, busy with her favorite crochet work, seeing everything without seeming to do so. It was evident that her presence acted powerfully on Anna as a restraining influence. Drelincourt stayed a quarter of an hour longer, chatting as lightly and pleasantly with Anna as though he had not a thought or a care beyond those of the passing moment, although all the while that dread Object lying cold and stark in another room framed itself like a ghastly picture on the background of his consciousness. * * * * * * * It was a month later, when, on a certain afternoon, as Mr. James Ormsby was walking down the platform of one of the London terminal stations on his way to the train, he was startled by a tap on his shoulder. On turning in his touchy way to ascertain who had ventured on such a liberty with him, he was pleasurably surprised to find that the offender was none other than Tom Thornswade, son of Squire Thornswade of Highcroft, whom he had known from the time he was short coated.