“What! you again, Woodham?”

“Yes, sir,” said the woman, in her quiet, grave way.  “The time soon passes.  Every three hours.”

“Humph! six o’clock,” said Gartram, looking at her uneasily, as she shook up the bottle and poured out the accustomed dose.

“Bah!  Filthy!  Sugar.”

There was a lump laid on the little tray, and the big strong man took it as hurriedly as a schoolboy.

“Shall I bring the medicine here at nine, sir?”

“No; those gentlemen will be here smoking, perhaps.  Put the next dose in the glass, and leave it on the chimney-piece.  I’ll take it when I come in.”

“I beg your pardon, sir; but will you remember it?”

“Of course; if I don’t, you can remind me.  I don’t want to have to be taking stuff before visitors, do I?”

Sarah Woodham shook up the medicine, poured out another glassful, placed it on the mantelpiece as directed, and left the room.

Half-an-hour later, the doctor and Glyddyr arrived together, and were received by Claude, Gartram not being quite dressed.

Five minutes later he came down and hurried into the study, taking out his key as he crossed the room.

“Hallo, little lady,” he said sharply, as he found Mary standing by the fireplace with a wine glass in her hand; “what are you doing here?”

“I was only looking round, uncle,” she said quickly, “to see that everything was left straight.  You’ll have the coffee brought in here, I suppose, after dinner?”

“Yes, of course,” he said rashly; “but you ought to be in the drawing-room.  What are you doing with that glass?”

“It is a dirty one, uncle,” said the girl, in a hurried manner; “I was going to take it away.”

“You please to put it back, and don’t meddle with things in my room.”

“I’m very sorry, uncle dear,” she said; and replacing the glass quickly, she hurried out of the room.

“I mustn’t forget that,” said Gartram, as he opened the cabinet in which he kept his cigars, and then joined his guests in the drawing-room.

Five minutes after, dinner was announced, and Glyddyr took in Claude, who trembled as she felt what a quiet, respectful manner he had adopted, and how it seemed to indicate a feeling of satisfied assurance that, sooner or later, she would be his.

It was impossible to be quite calm under the circumstances; but she strove hard to keep away all such thoughts, and, in her quality of mistress of the house, did the honours of the table admirably, till it was time to rise and leave the gentlemen to their wine.

“We sha’n’t sit very long, Claude,” said Gartram; “and after a cigar, we shall want some music.”

“Yes, papa,” said Claude gravely; and she moved toward the door, which Glyddyr had hurried to open, fixing his eyes upon her in a dreamy, pleading way as she went out, and making her catch Mary’s arm nervously as soon as they were alone.

“Mary, dear,” she said excitedly, “if it were not for papa’s health, I should run away to aunt’s, and stay there.  This man seems so persistent, and his quiet way thoroughly frightens me.”

“Sapping and mining, instead of bold assault,” said Mary.

“Shall I ever be such a coward as to consent?”

“Bah!  How do we know what may not happen long before it is time to be obliged to say yes.”

“Nothing seems likely to happen to set aside my father’s wishes,” sighed Claude.

“Ah, you don’t know.  It is the unexpected which they say always happens.  So we are to sing to-night?”

“Yes.  Is anything the matter with you, Mary, dear?”

“With me?” was the reply, with a forced laugh.  “How absurd, dear.  No, of course not; nothing.  Why, Claude, you are making your great eyes look goggles.  You don’t think I have done anything, do you?”

“I don’t think you can be well, Mary, dear,” said Claude, taking her hand and kissing her brow; “why, your hands are cold and your forehead quite hot.”

“Of course they are.  Haven’t we just had dinner?”

Claude looked at her wearily, but her cousin laughed in a quick, excited way, and crossed to the canterbury to begin turning over the music.

“They’ll soon be here now,” she said.

But there did not seem to be much prospect of the gentlemen coming, for in a very few minutes after they were left alone, Gartram passed on the claret jug.

“Wine, gentlemen,” he said.  “Asher, you would prefer a glass of old port?”

“Indeed, no, my dear sir; nothing more for me.  I have to ask you to excuse me soon.”

“What!” cried Gartram.

“For about half-an-hour.  A patient.”

“What a nuisance!” said Gartram.  “Must you go?”

“Without fail.”

“Then come in the study and have a cup of coffee and a cigar first.”

“To be sure.  I am with you there.”

Gartram threw open the door; they crossed the hall and entered the study, where a shaded lamp was burning, the window, wide open, and the soft subdued light of the moon, as it rose slowly over the glistening sea, flooded the room.

“What a glorious night!” said the doctor, as he went to the table, filled a cup with coffee, and then took a cigar and cut off the end before looking round, and then walking to the chimney-piece, while Glyddyr threw himself in a chair and began to help himself.

“Give me a cup too, my dear boy,” said Gartram, as he took a cigar.  “Doctor does not cut down my smoking yet.  No matches?”

“All right; here they are on the chimney-piece,” said the doctor, and as he spoke the flame of the little wax match gave his face a peculiar aspect in the dim room.  “But, hallo!  What have we here?  Secret drinking.  What is this?” and, as he spoke, he took up a glass standing on the chimney-piece.

“Secret drinking, indeed!” grunted Gartram.  “It’s your confounded tonic, put there ready for me to take by-and-by.”

“A thousand pardons,” said the doctor, coming forward and taking up his coffee, while Glyddyr lay back in an easy-chair, gazing at the dimly-seen glass upon the mantelpiece, and smoking thoughtfully.

“You’ve no light, Glyddyr,” said Gartram, rising and going to the chimney-piece, where, with his back to his guests, he took up the wine glass, but uttered an impatient ejaculation, set it down again, and took up the match stand, which he placed beside Glyddyr, and then tossed off his coffee.  “What do you say to finishing our smoking out on the terrace?”

“To be sure; yes,” said the doctor.  “A most glorious night.”

He moved with his host toward the open French window, where the two men stood for a few moments darkening the room, and looking like two huge silhouettes to Glyddyr, as he lay back in his chair with his cigar half out.

Then suddenly Gartram turned and looked at him with a peculiar smile.

“You won’t join us, I suppose?” he said.

“I ­thanks ­if you will excuse me,” said Glyddyr, in a faltering voice.

“Excuse you, my dear boy? of course.  Come along, Asher, the sea looks lovely from the upper seat.”

Glyddyr’s whole manner changed, and grew cat-like in its quick, soft movements as the pair walked away from the window along the granite terrace, Gartram’s boots creaking loudly as they walked.

There was a death-like silence then in the room, which made Glyddyr’s long-drawn, catching breath sound strangely loud as he rose from his seat and walked silently over the thick carpet to stand listening by the window, his figure in turn looking perfectly black against the moonlight; and as he stood there, from outside there came the low murmur of the men’s voices, and from the house, all muffled, the music of the piano in the drawing-room.

With a quick, gliding movement Glyddyr walked to the chimney-piece, thrusting his hand into his breast-pocket.  Then, taking up the glass, he crossed to the window, and with a quick movement threw its contents sharply away, the liquid breaking up into a tiny sparkling shower in the soft yellow moonlight, and then it was gone.

Quickly and silently Glyddyr stole back to the chimney-piece, and replaced the glass.  There was a faint, squeaking noise, as of a cork being removed from a phial, then the tap of glass upon glass, a faint gurgling, and another tapping of glass upon glass, as if his hand trembled.

A low, catching sigh followed, then a repetition of the faint squeak of the cork, and Glyddyr once more moved towards the window, satisfied himself that the others were nowhere near, and then he drew back a little, extended his arm behind him, and hurled the little phial away with all his might.

There was the quick rustle and jerk of clothes, then silence; then a faint sound, and Glyddyr drew a long breath, as if of satisfaction as he felt that all had gone as he wished, and the bottle had shivered to atoms on the rocks far below, while the next tide would cover the fragments, and wash them into crevices among the granite boulders as it destroyed all trace of the contents.

Glyddyr stood thinking for a few moments, and then he gulped down his coffee, and went out into the hall, which he crossed, hesitated again for a few minutes, and then entered the drawing-room, where, as the door closed, a low fresh murmuring arose, and was succeeded a minute later by the sound of the piano and Claude’s voice, which came sweet and pure to the hall, as a portiere was drawn aside, and the dark figure of Sarah Woodham came forward into the light.

She stood listening by the drawing-room door for a few minutes, and then her dress rustled softly as she went across to the study, listened, tapped lightly, turned the handle and entered, closing the door after her.

The murmur of voices came from the terrace, and the woman replaced the coffee cups on the silver tray, and was in the act of lifting it, gazing out through the open window the while, but she set the tray down again, walked to the window, listened, and then went quickly to the chimney-piece.  Then there was an ejaculation that was almost a moan as she raised the glass, and then, after listening intently, she held it up to the light, uttered a piteous sigh, and crossing quickly to the tray, emptied the contents into one of the fresh-used coffee cups, and replaced the glass on the chimney-piece.  Then once more there was the faint squeaking of a cork in a bottle neck, the low gurgling of fluid being poured out, the replacing of the cork; and as the woman glided to the table, where the coffee tray remained, the light of the moon shone upon her dark dress and white apron, and showed her hurried movements as she thrust a bottle into the pocket among the folds of her dress.

A low sigh once more escaped her lips, and she muttered softly as she took up the tray and left the room.

“Not more than half an hour,” said a voice, which echoed from the terrace wall, and there were approaching steps.

“Make all the haste you can.  I’ll have my nap while you are gone.  I say, doctor.”

“Yes,” said Asher, pausing in the moonlight by the open window.

“Don’t disturb them in the drawing-room.”

“No, no, I understand,” said the doctor; and he stepped softly into the room, smiling as he went to the table, helped himself to a cigar, bit off and spat out the end, then took up the match stand, struck a light, and walked slowly across the room as he lit his cigar, stopping for a few moments puffing heavily to get it well alight before he set down the matches in their old place.

Five minutes after, Gartram’s creaking boots were heard as he came along the terrace, entered the room, went straight to the chimney-piece, tossed off the contents of the glass, and then threw himself in an easy-chair.

“There, Master Glyddyr,” he said; “you have the field to yourself, and you will not mind my having a nap.”

Claude played well, and after a little entreaty she sang an old ballad, in a sweet low voice that would have thrilled some men, but to which Glyddyr listened in an abstracted way, as if his attention was more taken up by what was going on without.

After a time the urn was brought in, and Claude was about to rise from the piano, but Glyddyr seemed to become all at once deeply interested, and begged so very earnestly that she stayed, a duet was produced, and Mary Dillon, directly after the prelude, took the first part in a voice so clear and piercing, so birdlike in its purity and strength, that for a few moments the visitor sat gazing at her in admiration.

But he soon became abstracted again, and as the final notes of the combined voices rang out, he rose with a sigh, and walked to the window, while Claude proceeded to make the tea.

“And never said `thank you,’” whispered Mary.  “Poor young man.  He is terribly in love.”

At that moment steps were heard passing down the stone pathway toward the gate.

“Doctor Asher gone to give some poor creature physic,” said Mary merrily; and Glyddyr came slowly back toward the table.

“You will take some tea, Mr Glyddyr?” said Claude.

“I?  No, thanks; I rarely take it,” he replied.  “I’m afraid I am rather a burden upon you two ladies, and if you will excuse me I will go and have a chat with Mr Gartram, as he is alone.”

“I am afraid you will not find papa very conversational,” said Claude gravely.  “He will be having his after-dinner nap.”

“Ah, well, I shall not disturb him.  I will go and have a cigar.”

He left the room in a hurried way, and as soon as the door was closed, Mary burst into a merry fit of laughter.

“Mary!”

“Well, I can’t help it, Claude,” she said.  “Oh, how grateful you ought to be to me.  I have saved you from no end of love-making.  Did you see how wistfully he kept on looking at us?”

“No,” said Claude, with a sigh of relief.

“But he did, dear.  Talk about the language of the eye; you could read his without a dictionary.  It was, `do go, my dear Miss Mary.  I do want a tete-a-tete with Claude so very, very badly.’”

“Pray be silent, Mary.”

“Yes, dear, directly.  Mute as a fish; but it was such fun to watch his pleading looks and refuse silently all his prayers ­for your sake, darling.  Remember that.”

“You are always good to me, Mary.”

“You don’t half know, my dear.  Then, after a time, a change came over the man, and he grew cross.  I could see him growling mentally, and calling me names for a little crook-backed female Richard the Third, and once I thought he was going to kick me out of the door, or throw me out of the window, for being such an idiot as to stay.”

“Mary, what nonsense you do talk.”

“It is not nonsense, dear.  Uncle kept the doctor out in the garden, so that Mr Glyddyr could come and have a sweet little chat with you; and I ought to have left the room, of course, but, to oblige you, I sat here like an ice, and kept the enemy at a distance.  Oh, how he must hate me!”

“Mary, dear, pray be serious.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll be serious enough, dear.  There, I am solidity itself; I could not be better, I’m sure, when the enemy approaches,” she whispered, as steps were once more heard crossing the hall.

“Shall I go, dear?  Perhaps I had better now.”

She rose from her seat and set down her cup, but Claude laid her hand upon the thin little arm, and motioned towards a chair.

The door opened, and Glyddyr re-entered.

“I beg your pardon,” he said; and the matter-of-fact man of the world seemed to have quite lost his ordinary aplomb, and came on in a quiet, hesitating way.

“I’m afraid I was very rude leaving you like that,” he said; “and I did not thank you for the duet.”

“We needed no thanks, Mr Glyddyr,” said Claude gravely.

“No, no, of course not,” he said.  “I meant to thank you.  Mr Gartram is asleep, and if you will not think me rude, I will go and sit in the study and smoke a cigar.”

“Pray do, Mr Glyddyr,” said Claude; and he once more left the room.

“Well, I couldn’t have believed it, Claudie.  The lion completely tamed by love.  Why, my poor darling, you’ve turned him from a sarcastic, sharp-tongued, clever London society man to a weak, hesitating lover.”

“For goodness’ sake, don’t talk like that, Mary,” cried Claude; for the picture her cousin painted seemed to her terrible.  She literally shuddered at the idea of this man really loving her, and sat looking aghast before her, while Glyddyr went slowly back, so excited that the perspiration oozed from his brow, and made him unconsciously take out his pocket handkerchief to wipe the palms of his hands.

Upon the first occasion he had strung himself up and walked quickly to the study determined to carry out his plans.

“It will only be a loan,” he told himself; “only borrowing what is to be my own some day, and he would never miss it.”

Closing the door behind him, and merely glancing at the easy-chair in which Gartram lay back, with his face in the shade, and his white shirt-front standing out of the gloom like some peculiar creature, Glyddyr walked to the mantelpiece, looked at the glass; then crossed to the table, and began picking and choosing from the cigars in the box, as in a furtive way he listened to his host’s slow, heavy breathing, and wondered whether he was sufficiently sound for him to attempt to get his keys.

The breathing came very regularly, and at last, after hesitating a great deal on the selection of a cigar, he said aloud ­

“Where do you get your cigars, Mr Gartram?”

No reply; only the heavy breathing.

“I said where did you get your cigars?” said Glyddyr, still more loudly.

“He must be safe,” he thought to himself; and to make sure he walked carelessly to the side of the chair, and gazed full in Gartram’s face.

“He would have winced if there had been any pretence,” he thought.  And then, “Pooh! what a fool I am.”

He glanced at the table in whose drawer the keys reposed, looked at the great section of the bookcase which swung round as upon a pivot, and then he walked quickly to the window and looked out right and left, listening the while to the beating of the waves upon the rocky coast far below.

“While I am hesitating,” he thought, “I might do it.  The doctor can’t be back yet, and no one is likely to come.”

There was a step outside.

He took a couple of strides, and then sharply threw himself into an easy-chair near the bookcase, and lay back in almost profound darkness, for the rays of the moon cut right across from the window, bathing the carpet with a soft light, but leaving beyond the well-defined line a deep shadow.

He had hardly taken his place when there was a faint tap at the panel of the door, the handle turned, and, silent and ghastly-looking in the gloom, Sarah Woodham came into the room, closed the door behind her, and walked across to Gartram’s chair.