Betty's hesitation was brief. Climbing the fence, she turned her back on the road and placing the scarf on the rock she drew out a silver match box. The first match failed to light, with the second she was more successful, and three minutes later the scarf was a smoldering heap of ashes. Drawing in her breath she blew them off the rock, and with a lighter heart, regained the road just in time to recognize her aunt's Rolls-Royce approaching, Pierre at the wheel. The recognition was mutual and the powerful car came to a stop. Before the little chauffeur could climb out of his seat the limousine door was swung open and Doctor Nash sprang to Betty's side, and assisted her into the car. "Upon my word, Betty!" he exclaimed, at her wet boots. "You are most imprudent!" "As usual." A sigh accompanied the words and Doctor Nash turned and scanned her closely. Her brilliant color and the sparkle of her eyes accentuated the haggard lines caused by harassing thoughts and sleepless nights, but did not detract from her beauty. Nash's critical expression softened and Betty, quick to read his thoughts, laid her hand in his. "I need your help." "You can count on me, Betty, always." Nash spoke with warmth and Betty's color deepened. She paused, however, before addressing him again. "Promise me," she began, sinking her voice so that he had to bend nearer to catch what she said. "Promise me not to admit to Sheriff Trenholm that you and I were at Abbott's Lodge on Monday night." Nash straightened up with a jerk. "Betty!" "Please!" Betty's soft voice was pathos itself. There was silence in the limousine and Pierre dropped his eyes from the vision mirror in which were plainly outlined the likenesses of his two passengers in time to turn into the driveway to Abbott's Lodge and stop under the _porte cochère_. Nash sighed deeply. "Does your aunt know?" Betty shook her head. "No one must know," she protested vehemently. "_No one._" She looked at him and the wistful, pleading appeal in her lovely eyes stirred him out of himself. His low but fervid "Betty" reached not only her ears, but Alan Mason's, who stood by the door of the car, held open by the attentive Pierre. Alan broke the pause. "I'm glad you've come, Nash," he said. "Your wife is worse." CHAPTER IX THE DENIAL DOCTOR ROBERTS removed his fingers from Mrs. Nash's wrist, after taking her pulse, and then bowed gravely to her husband. "Your wife has rallied and we can safely leave her with the nurse," he said. "Come, Nash, you must be very weary after your anxious night," and laying his hand persuasively on his companion's shoulder he gently pushed him toward the hall door, then turned back to speak to Miriam. "I will be downstairs in the living room if you need me."