When she was gone Carey roused himself from his preoccupation, and concentrated his thoughts upon his correspondence. He was leaving England in two days, and travelling to the East on a solitary shooting expedition. He did not review the prospect with much relish, but inaction had become intolerable to him, and he had an intense longing to get away. He had arranged to return to town that afternoon. It was towards luncheon-time that he left his room, and, descending, came upon Lady Emberdale in the hall. She turned to meet him, a slight flush upon her face. "No doubt Gwen has told you our piece of news?" she said. He held out his hand. "It is official, is it? I am very glad. I wish you joy with all my heart." She accepted his congratulations with a gracious smile. "I think everyone is pleased, including those absurd children. By the way, here is a note just come for you, brought by a groom from Crooklands Manor. I was going to bring it up to you, as he is waiting for an answer." He took it up and opened it hastily, with a murmured excuse. When he looked up, Lady Emberdale saw at once that there was something wrong. She began to question him, but he held the note out to her with a quick gesture, and she took it from him. "My husband met with an accident while motoring this morning," she read. "He has been brought home, terribly injured, and keeps asking for you. Can you come? "N. CONINGSBY." Glancing up, she saw Carey, pale and stern, waiting to speak. "Send back word, 'Yes, at once,'" he said. "And perhaps you can spare me the car?" He turned away without waiting for her reply, and went back to his room, crushing the note unconsciously in his hand. X "And the sea--gave up--the dead--that were in it." Haltingly the words fell through the silence. There was a certain monotony about them, as if they had been often repeated. The speaker turned his head from side to side upon the pillow uneasily, as if conscious of restraint, then spoke again in the tone of one newly awakened. "Why doesn't that fellow come?" he demanded restlessly. "Did you tell him I couldn't wait?" "He is coming," a quiet voice answered at his side. "He will soon be here." He moved his head again at the words, seeming to listen intently. "Ah, Naomi, my girl," he said, "you've turned up trumps at last. It won't have been such a desperate sacrifice after all, eh, dear? It's wonderful how things get squared. Is that the doctor there? I can't see very well." The doctor bent over him. "Are you wanting anything?" "Nothing--nothing, except that fellow Carey. Why in thunder doesn't he come? No; there's nothing you can do. I'm pegging out. My time is up. You can't put back the clock. I wouldn't let you if you could--not as things are. I have been a blackguard in my time, but I'll take my last hedge straight. I'll die like a man." Again he turned his head, seeming to listen.