as many good fish in the sea as had ever come out of it—­there was only one Gladys.  Hamar should never marry her—­he would marry her himself.  She must be told at once of Hamar’s infamous designs.  A mad desire to see her came over him, and disregardful of the doctor’s orders that he should remain in bed several more days, he got up, and dressing as fast as his weak condition would allow him, took a taxi and drove to Waterloo.

On reaching the Cottage, at Kew, he found Gladys at home, and to his great joy, alone.

There is nothing that appeals to a woman more than a sick man, and Shiel, in coming to Gladys in his present condition, had unwittingly played a trump card.  Had he appeared well and strong she would probably have received him none too cordially—­for she was very tired of men just then; but the moment her eyes alighted on his thin cheeks and she saw the dark rings under his eyes, pity conquered.  This man at least was not to blame—­he was not of the same pattern as other men, he was not like so many men whose adulations had grown fulsome to her, and—­he was totally unlike Hamar.

In very sympathetic tones she inquired how he was, and on learning that he had been sufficiently ill to be kept in bed, asked why he had not told her.

“Aunty and I would have called to see you,” she said, “and brought you jelly and other nice things.  Who waited on you, had you no nurse?”

Fearful lest he should give her the impression he was speaking for effect, or trying to trade on her feelings (Shiel was one of those people who are painfully exact), he told her as simply as he could just how he had been placed.

“But why come here,” Gladys demanded, “when you were told to stay in bed till the end of the week.  It is frightfully risky.”

Shiel then explained to her the purport of his visit.

“Then it was to warn me, to put me on my guard against Hamar, that you disobeyed the doctor’s orders,” she said.

Shiel nodded.  “You are not displeased, are you?” he asked nervously.

“I am displeased with you for thinking so little of yourself,” Gladys said, “and more than obliged to you for thinking so much of me.  You know I only consented to marry Mr. Hamar to save my father—­and you say he no longer has the power to work spells?”

“I believe that to be a fact,” Shiel replied.

“Then he lied to me!” Gladys observed.  “He threatened that unless I saw him as often as he wished, and went with him wherever he wanted, and a good many more things, he would inflict my father with every conceivable disease.  You are quite sure your information is correct?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then, thank God!” Gladys said with a great sigh of relief.  “I shall know how to act now.”

“You will break off your engagement?” Shiel inquired eagerly.

“No!  I can’t do that!” Gladys said sadly.  “I’ve promised to marry Mr. Hamar, and, therefore, marry him I must.”