I had known Lady Dennisford for a good many years in a neighborly sort of way; but the woman who stood before me in the small sitting-room to which I had led her was a stranger to me. She had raised her veil; she was as pale as a woman may be, and her mouth, usually so firm and uncompromising, was now relaxed and tremulous. Before she spoke, I knew that tragedy was in the room with me. She tried to speak twice before the words came.

"Mr. Courage," she said, "may I speak to you as a friend?"

"Most certainly you can, Lady Dennisford," I answered.

I said and I meant it, for I was exceedingly sorry for her.

"Once I was to have married him," she said, "and I have cared for no one else all my life. There was a great scandal—a political scandal—and it was he upon whom the burden fell. His lips were sealed. I did not understand then, but I understand now. I sent him away! I joined with the others who persecuted him. And all the time—all the time he was innocent!"

Her last words were almost a wail. I was relieved to see that the tears were in her eyes at last.

"It was very hard fortune," I said awkwardly.

"His life has been one long exile," she said. "He has never married; he has been dead to the world for many years. His name, of course, is not Leslie Guest! If I dared tell you, you would understand I want him—oh! I want him so much to have a few years of happiness."

"What can we do, Lady Dennisford?" I asked earnestly.

"Take me up to him. Leave me with him alone."

I opened the door.

"At once!" I said.

He was still writing. The air of the room was thick with cigarette smoke. I opened the door gently, and Lady Dennisford glided past me. I myself hastened downstairs.

Mr. Stanley was apparently very comfortable. He was smoking one of my best cigars, and a whisky and soda stood at his elbow. He looked up from behind the Times as I entered.

"Lady Dennisford is with him," I said. "She will endeavor to persuade him to see you."

"Excellent!" he remarked. "Pray do not trouble to stay with me, if you have other matters to attend to. I have both time and patience to spare."

I went out into the garden. I began to feel the need of being alone. Events had marched rapidly with me during the last few hours and I was not used to such eruptions in my quiet life. I gave a few orders to my bailiff and gamekeeper, who were waiting to see me. I little guessed then how unimportant to me would be the prospects of the coming sport. It must have been nearly an hour before a servant found me, and announced that my guest desired to see me in his room. I hastened there at once.

Lady Dennisford was sitting at the table by Guest's side. She looked up as I entered, and I saw that the shadows lay deeper still upon her face.

"He chooses death!" she said simply.

He leaned over and touched her hand. His tone and manner had softened wonderfully.

"Eleanor," he said earnestly, "it is not I who choose. There is no choice! Your friend downstairs would say, 'Tell me all that you know of a certain matter, and the sentence which has been passed upon you shall be held over.' But when I had told him, when he knew everything, no agreement, no promise, could possibly be binding. I could not myself expect it. In his place I should make very sure that in a matter of hours I was a dead man. I say that myself, whose whole life has been sacrificed to a matter in which honor was largely concerned."

Lady Dennisford began to weep softly. He laid his hand upon hers.

"Are you sure, Mr. Guest," I said, "that you are not exaggerating the importance of this secret knowledge of yours? I dare say that Mr. Stanley, like every other man, has his price. If money—"

He interrupted me with a slight gesture of impatience.

"My young friend," he said, "I am not a poor man. Mr. Stanley is not to be dealt with as a single individual. He represents a system. I do not blame you for not being able to grasp these things. There is scarcely one Englishman in a thousand who would. I think that you have shown a great amount of trust as it is. Believe me now when I tell you that there are only two things in the world which can be done for me. The first is that you leave me a few minutes to say good-bye to Lady Dennisford; and the second that you keep every one away from me for one hour, while I Finish—these documents."

I left them alone! There was nothing else which I could do, and I waited in the hall below for Lady Dennisford.

When she came, she walked like a woman in a dream. Her veil was close drawn, and I could not see her face; but I was very sure that she had been weeping. I had already ordered her carriage round, and she took her place in it without a word.

I went back to the man whom I had left in the library.

He had lighted a fresh cigar, and was showing no signs of impatience.

"Our friend," I said, "has asked for one hour for consideration. If you will allow me, I should be pleased to show you the gardens and stables."

He accepted my offer at once, and proved himself an intelligent sightseer. He seemed to know a little about everything, including horses. I took him on to the orchid-houses, and it was quite an hour and a half before we returned to the house. I left him once more in the library, and I was on my way upstairs, when I came face to face with Rust and another man on their way down. For a moment I was speechless.

"Professor Kauppmann was unfortunately indisposed," Rust explained; "but he has sent this gentleman down—Dr. Kretznow, Mr. Courage. Curiously enough, Dr. Kretznow has already been called in to attend our friend upstairs."

"Mr. Courage no doubt remembers me," the newcomer remarked. "I am sorry to find our patient no better."

I looked him steadily in the face.

"You think that he will die?" I asked.

"I must admit," the doctor answered, "that I think he has very little chance of recovery. His constitution has gone. He has no recuperative powers."

Rust drew me a little on one side.

"You will be relieved to hear," he said, "that Dr. Kretznow considers his state quite a natural one. He does not encourage in any way the suspicions which, I must admit, I had formed."

"Indeed!" I answered.

"We are going to try an altogether new treatment," Rust continued, as we stood together upon the landing. "I think perhaps you ought to know, however, that our friend here gives very little hope."

I nodded.

"I shall leave you to entertain Dr. Kretznow," I said, "for a few minutes. I want to see Mr. Guest!"

I found him anxiously awaiting me. He had ceased writing but he held a roll of papers in his hand, and there was an ominous bulge in the pocket of his dressing-gown. He had more color than I had yet seen him with, and his eyes were unusually bright.

"For Heaven's sake come in, Courage, and close the door," he said irritably. "You see the result of your little doctor meddling with things he does not understand. I could have told you that no one would be allowed to enter these doors who might possibly give them away."

"We sent for Kauppmann," I explained.

"Of course! You will not realize what you are up against. You might as well have sent for the Angel Gabriel. Now will you do exactly as I ask you?"

"Go on," I said.

"Ring for your man and let him sit in the room with me. Go downstairs and get rid of those doctors. Then come up yourself, and be prepared to spend at least three hours here."

I obeyed him. I kept silent as to the fact that Stanley was in the house. I thought that he was already sufficiently excited. Downstairs I found that Dr. Kretznow was on the eve of departure. I did not seek to detain him for a moment. Rust, I think, wondered a little at my apparent lack of courtesy; but I almost bundled them out of the house.

He offered me his hand as he climbed up into the dog-cart, which I pretended, however, not to see.

"Mind, I give you very little hope, Mr. Courage," he said. "I studied the case very seriously in London, and I perceived symptoms which our friend here has not yet had the opportunity of observing. My own opinion is that his time is short."

"I am sorry to hear you say so, doctor," I answered; "for I quite believe that you are in a position to know."

He blinked at me for a moment from behind his thick spectacles, and I fancied that he was going to say something more. Apparently, however, he changed his mind, and the carriage drove off. I made my way at once into the library. Mr. Stanley was still awaiting me.

"My mission," I announced, "has been a failure. He declines even to discuss the matter."

Mr. Stanley knocked the ash off his cigar and rose to his feet. His face showed neither disappointment nor surprise.

"The lady, I am afraid," he remarked, "will be sorry."

"It will be a great blow to her," I answered, "if he should die!"

Mr. Stanley shrugged his shoulders.

"He will die, and very soon," he declared. "You and I know that very well. You are a young man, Mr. Courage," he added very slowly, and with his eyes fixed intently upon me. "You have a beautiful home and a simple, useful life—a long one, I trust—before you! Mr. Guest is not by any means old, but he made enemies! It is never wise to make enemies."

"Is this a warning?" I asked.

"Accept it as one, if a warning is necessary," he answered. "Take my advice. If Leslie Guest, or the man who is dying upstairs, has a legacy to leave, let him choose another legatee! There is death in that legacy for you!"

"Death comes to all of us," I answered. "We must take our risks."

He picked up his hat.

"Number 317, was it not?" he repeated thoughtfully, "an unlucky number for you, I fear! … By the bye, Mademoiselle is in the neighborhood."

"What of it?" I asked.

He looked at me long and curiously. Then he sighed and lit still another of my finest Havanas as he prepared to depart.

"You will be better off," he said, "without that legacy!"