“Of course you will,” he replied composedly.  “Just as well I came with you, isn’t it?” he added with great cheerfulness.

Her expression relaxed.

“You really are rather a nice person, Dan,” she allowed graciously.  “I was horribly afraid you’d suggest wiring Michael again, or something silly like that.  I’m not going to trust to anything of that kind.”

Accordingly, the only wire despatched was one to Lady Arabella, informing her as to their movements, and a few hours later found Dan and Gillian rushing across Europe as fast as the thunderous whirl of the express could take them.  They travelled day and night, and it was a very weary Gillian who at last opened her eyes to the golden sunshine of Italy.

At the hotel whither Madame Ribot had directed them, fresh disappointment awaited them.  The manager—­when he found that the two dusty and somewhat dishevelled-looking travellers who presented themselves at the inquiry bureau were actually friends of Signor Quarrington, the famous English artist who had stayed at his hotel—­was desolated, but the signor had departed a month ago!  Had he the address?  But assuredly.  He would write it down for the signora.

“He’s in Normandy!” exclaimed Gillian in tones of bitter disappointment.  “At—­what’s the name of the place?—­Armanches.  Oh, Dan!  We’ve got to go right back to Paris again and then on to the coast.”

Her face was full of anxiety.  This would mean at least a delay of several days before they could possibly see Michael, and meanwhile it was a moot question as to how much longer Lady Arabella could restrain Magda from taking definite steps with regard to joining the sisterhood.

Storran nodded.

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “But all the same, you’ll not start back till to-morrow—­”

“Oh, but I must!” interrupted Gillian.  “We can’t afford to waste a moment.”

He glanced down at her and shook his head.  Her face was white and drawn, and there were deep violet shadows underneath her eyes.  Suspense and her anxious impatience had told upon her, and she had slept but little on the journey.  And now, with the addition of this last, totally unexpected disappointment, she looked as though she could not stand much more.

“We can afford to waste a single day better than we can afford the three or four which it would cost us if you collapsed en route,” said Storran.

“I shan’t collapse,” she protested with white lips.

“So much the better.  But all the same, you’ll stay here till to-morrow and get a good night’s rest.”

“I shouldn’t sleep,” she urged.  “Let’s go right on, Dan.  Let’s go——­”

But the sentence was never finished.  Quite suddenly she swayed, stretching out her hands with a blind, groping movement.  Dan was just in time to catch her in his arms as she toppled over in a dead faint.

It was a week later when, in the early morning, a rather wan and white-faced Gillian sprang up from her seat as the train ran into Bayeux.