“There is a packet in the drawer for this lady and gentleman,” said Poynter, who had stood waiting for them in the corridor. “_Ah! bon_,” said the Sister. She crossed the room and returned with the packet, which she handed to Clementina. It was sealed and addressed to them jointly. “To Ephraim Quixtus and Clementina Wing. To be opened after my death.” Clementina stuffed it in the pocket of her skirt. “We’ll open it together by-and-by. Now we’d better go to our rooms and tidy up and have some food. Only a fool goes through such a day as is before us on an empty stomach. What’s your number? I’ll tell them to send you up some coffee and rolls.” He thanked her dreamily. She arranged a meeting at noon in order to go through the packet. They walked along the corridor, Poynter accompanying them. He proposed, it being convenient to them, to take the night train to Paris and home. In the meanwhile his services were at their disposal. “I wish I could pack you off to Piccadilly by Hertzian wave, right away,” said Clementina. “It’s Devonshire I’m longing for,” said he. They arrived at the lift door. “You’ll love it all the better for having played the Angel in Hades,” said Clementina with moist eyes. “Good-bye for the present.” She extended her hand. He took it, held it in a hesitating way. An expression of puzzledom came over his tanned, lined features. “Are you going to your room now?” “Yes,” said Clementina. “Pardon my presumption,” said he, “but—but aren’t you going to see the child?” “Child?” cried Clementina. “What child?” “Why—Mr. Hammersley’s—didn’t you know? She’s here——” “Here?” “When you came into the vestibule, didn’t you notice a little girl I was playing with—and a Chinese nurse——” “Lord have mercy upon us!” exclaimed Clementina. “Do you hear that, Ephraim?” “Yes, I hear,” said Quixtus tonelessly. The conflict within him between Mithra and Ahriman had left him weak and non-recipient of new impressions. “Hammersley has a little daughter. I wasn’t aware of it. I wonder how he got her. She must have a mother somewhere.” “The mother’s dead,” said Poynter. “From what I could gather from Hammersley, the child has no kith or kin in the world. That was why he was so desperately anxious for you to come.” Clementina peered at him with screwed-up monkey face, as if he were sitting for his portrait. “It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard in my life!” She clapped her hand to her pocket. “And this sealed envelope? Do you know anything about it?” “I do,” said Poynter. “It contains a letter and a will. I wrote them both at his dictation ten days ago. The will is a properly attested document appointing Dr. Quixtus and yourself his executors and joint trustees of the little girl. A dear little girl,” he added, with a touch of wistfulness. “You’ll love her.” “God grant it!” cried Clementina fervently. “But what an old maid like me and an old bachelor like him are going to do with a child between us, the Lord Almighty alone knows.”