Chloe Carstairs had not been among the guests at Greengates that afternoon. In vain had Sir Richard and Lady Laura invited her, in vain had Iris added her entreaties. On this point Chloe was adamant, and although her brother argued with her for an hour or more on the advisability of making her reappearance in Littlefield society under the aegis of the Waynes, she merely shook her head with an inscrutable smile.

"If I cared to re-enter Littlefield society," she said calmly, "I should have done so long ago. But I am really so indifferent to those people that I have no desire to meet them, even as a guest at Greengates."

"I didn't suppose you wanted to meet them—for your own sake," retorted her brother, "for a duller and more stupid set of people were never born; but as Iris is to be your sister-in-law I think you might stretch a point and go with me to Greengates this afternoon."

But Chloe shook her head.

"No, Bruce. I am sorry to disappoint you, but it cannot be done. As you know, I am fond of Iris"—knowing his sister Bruce was quite satisfied with this moderate expression of her affection—"but I won't go to Greengates to-day, nor to the wedding to-morrow. If you like to bring Iris down to say good-bye this evening when all the people are gone I shall like to see her."

"All right." Bruce gave up the contest. "I'm staying on—quietly—to dinner; but I'll bring her down for half an hour afterwards."

"Very well." Chloe rose from the breakfast-table as she spoke, and sauntered to the window, from whence she looked over the pretty garden with appreciative eyes. "It is lucky the weather is so beautiful—Greengates will look at its best on a day like this."

And Bruce agreed heartily as he stepped on to the lawn to enjoy his after-breakfast pipe.

True to his promise Bruce motored his fiancÉe over to Cherry Orchard in the gloaming of the September evening, after a somewhat protracted argument with Lady Laura, whose sense of propriety was, so she averred, outraged by the project.

Sir Richard, however, to whom the loss of his only daughter was a deep though hidden grief, gave his consent readily enough when he saw that Iris really wished to bid her friend good-bye; and making Bruce promise to bring her back in good time he himself went to the door to pack them safely into the motor.

"Take care of her, Bruce—she is very precious to me!" He laid his hand on the young man's arm, and his voice held an appeal which Bruce involuntarily answered.

"Trust me, sir!" There was a note of rather unusual feeling in his tone. "She can't be more precious to you than she is to me!"

And with the words he got his car in motion and glided away down the dusky, scented avenue beneath the tall trees which had not, as yet, put off their summer tints for their autumn livery of scarlet and gold.

Somehow they did not talk much as they sped on through the cool, perfumed night. Both, indeed, felt a sense of shyness in each other's company on this last evening; and it was with something like relief that they realized they were at Cherry Orchard in less time than they generally allowed for the little journey.

The hall door, as usual, stood hospitably open; but there was no sign of Chloe, waiting for them with her gracious welcome; and as they crossed the threshold both felt instinctively that something was wrong.

A moment later their suspicions were confirmed, for Hagyard, the manservant, who adored both his mistress and her small daughter, came forward to meet them with an air of relief which did not conceal the anxiety in his whole bearing.

"Mr. Cheniston—sir—there's been an accident—Miss Cherry—she's burnt——"

"Burnt!" Iris and Bruce echoed the word simultaneously; and the man hurried on.

"Yes, sir, yes, miss—Miss Cherry got playing with matches—Tochatti left her alone for a moment when she did not ought to have done"—in his distress his usual correctness of speech and deportment fell away from Hagyard, leaving him a mere human man—"and Miss Cherry's dress—a little flimsy bit of muslin it was, caught fire, and before it was put out she'd got burned——"

"Where is Mrs. Carstairs?"

"Upstairs with Miss Cherry, sir. We've been ringing up the doctor—but we can't get no answer——"

Bruce cut him short without ceremony.

"Come, Iris, let's see what's to be done. We can go ourselves and fetch the doctor, anyway."

Together they ran up the broad staircase, and Bruce led the way to Cherry's little room, where, as he guessed, the child was lying.

As they entered Chloe Carstairs looked round; and her eyes appeared almost black, so dilated were the pupils.

"Bruce!" Her deep voice held a note of relief. "You have come at last—now perhaps we can do something for the child."

"Is she badly burnt?" Iris approached softly and stood looking down at the moaning little figure in the bed.

"Yes." Chloe's manner was impressive by reason of its very quietness. "She is—very badly burnt, and until the doctor comes we can do so little...."

"You have done something for her?"

"Oh, yes—Tochatti and I have done all we can, but"—for a second Chloe's face quivered—"we can't do anything more, and I'm afraid if something isn't done soon——"

The child on the bed gave a sudden convulsive cry, and Chloe's white face grew still paler.

"You see—she's in horrible pain, and—oh, why doesn't the doctor come? We've rung up again and again, and they've never answered!"

"Shall we go and fetch him, Chloe? The car's here, and we'll bring him back in no time!" He turned to Iris. "You'll come?"

She hesitated.

"Won't you go—and I'll stay here?"

Chloe looked up at that.

"No, Iris. I don't want you to stay—yet. Go with Bruce, and when you come back you shall stay—if you will."

"Very well." Iris deemed it best to do as she was requested. "We will go—immediately—we shall soon be back."

They ran downstairs together as swiftly as they had run up a few minutes earlier; and in an incredibly short space of time the car was flying through the sweet night air once more.

Arriving at the Gables they could win no response to their ringing; but it was imperative they should gain an entrance; and so it came about that the first time Iris entered Anstice's house she entered it unheralded, and unwelcomed by any friendly greeting.

So, too, it came about that when Anstice at last awoke to the fact that there were other human beings in the house beside himself he realized, with a pang of consternation and amazement sufficiently sharp to pierce even through the fog which clouded his spirit, that one of his uninvited guests was the girl from whom, a few short hours earlier, he had parted, as he thought, for ever.

He half rose from the couch on which he crouched, and stared at the advancing figures with haunted eyes.

"I ... I ..." His voice, husky, uncertain, brought both his visitors to a halt; and for a wild moment he fancied that after all they were no real beings, only more than usually vivid shadows, projected visions from the whirling phantasmagoria of his brain. The light behind them, streaming in through the open door, confused him, made him feel as though this were all a trick of the nerves, a kind of chaotic nightmare; and with a muttered curse at his own folly in imagining for one moment that Iris Wayne herself stood before him, he fell back on the couch and closed his aching eyes wearily.

"Anstice—I say, you're wanted—badly—at Cherry Orchard." Surely that was Bruce Cheniston's voice which beat upon his ears until it reached his inner sense. Yet what was that he was saying ... something about an accident ... to Cherry ... but the time of cherries was over ... surely now the summer was dead ... he was cold, bitterly cold, the fire must be out, his teeth were chattering ... there was a mist before his eyes....

"Dr. Anstice, is anything the matter? Are you ill?"

That voice belonged to no one on earth but Iris Wayne, yet that insubstantial grey shadow which seemed to speak was only another ghost, a figment of his overwrought brain. He wished—how he wished—that these ghosts would leave him, would return to the haunted place whence they came and allow him to sink once more into the blessed oblivion from which they called him with their thin, far-away voices....

"It's no use, Iris!" Cheniston spoke abruptly, puzzled by the other man's strange behaviour, to which as yet he could assign no cause. "The man's asleep—or dazed—or—or"—suddenly a suspicion swept into his brain—"or perhaps there's a less creditable cause for this extraordinary behaviour."

"What do you mean, Bruce?" Iris' grey eyes dilated and her face blanched. "Is he—ill—or——"

"I am not—ill, Miss Wayne." Somehow he had caught her words, her dear voice had penetrated through the fog which enveloped his senses. "Don't, please, be afraid.... I ... I am only ..."

"Anyway you're not fit to speak to a lady," cut in Cheniston incisively. "We came to fetch you to Cherry Orchard; there's been on accident, my little niece is badly hurt and Mrs. Carstairs wanted you—but it's evident you're not in a fit state to come...."

Once more the fog lifted for a moment; and although he felt everything to be whirling round him Anstice rose unsteadily to his feet and faced his accuser.

Through the open door the light streamed on to his haggard face; and as she saw the ravages which suffering had wrought in him Iris uttered an exclamation.

"Don't be afraid, Miss Wayne." He could only, it seemed, repeat himself. "I ... I didn't expect any one coming here." He spoke slowly, a pause between each word. "I ... if there's anything—I can do——"

"There isn't—unless you can pull yourself together sufficiently to come to Cherry Orchard," said Cheniston coldly. "And judging from your appearance you can't do that."

The contempt in his voice stung Anstice momentarily into self-defence.

"What are you implying?" He spoke a little more clearly now, "I ... I believe after all I'm ill—but——"

At that moment Bruce's eyes, roving here and there, caught sight of a small decanter of brandy which stood on the table at his elbow. As a matter of fact it had been brought there for a patient whose nerves had failed him, earlier in the day, on hearing what practically amounted to a sentence of death; but to Cheniston the innocent object appeared as the confirmation of his suspicions, and his lip curled.

"Come along, Iris." His disdain was cruel. "We must go and find some one else—some one who hasn't fuddled his wits like our friend here."

Iris' eyes, following his, had seen the brandy; and in a flash of insight she knew what he meant. But before she could speak, could utter the denial which trembled on her lips, Anstice himself interposed.

"You are mistaken, Cheniston." He still spoke haltingly, but his eyes looked less dim than they had done a moment ago. "That"—he pointed to the decanter—"is not my particular vice. I confess I am not myself to-night; and I fear I'm not capable of attending any one for the present; but it is not brandy which is responsible, I assure you of that."

He stopped, feeling suddenly that the effort of speech was too much for him. A terrible dizziness was overwhelming him ... he had only one desire on earth, that Iris Wayne would leave him, that he might sink down on to the couch again, and let the fathomless sea which was surging round him drown his soul and senses in its rolling flood....

Yet by a great effort he stood upright, steadying himself by the edge of the table; and through all his mental and physical misery he saw Iris' grey eyes fixed upon his face with a great pity in their depths.

"Dr. Anstice"—regardless of Bruce's presence she took up the hypodermic syringe which lay on the table, gleaming in a strong beam of light which streamed through the open door—"you have been trying this way out—again?"

Her voice, which held no condemnation, only an overwhelming compassion, drove back for a moment those cruel waves which surged around him; and when he answered her his voice was almost steady.

"Yes, Miss Wayne. I ... I could find no other way, and so—I took this one."

Iris placed the syringe down gently on the table, and her eyes were full of tears.

"Dr. Anstice, I'm sorry," she said in a low tone; and the pity in her voice nearly broke his heart.

"Miss Wayne—I——"

What he would have said she never knew; for Bruce Cheniston broke in angrily, annoyed by a scene to which he held no key.

"Look here, Iris, we mustn't waste time. Cherry's badly hurt, and since Dr. Anstice can't come someone else must be found. Come along, we'll be off and find another doctor—one who can be relied upon."

The mists were closing in on Anstice once more, the hungry sea which billowed round him threatened to engulf him body and soul. Yet he thought he heard Iris striving to silence Cheniston's cruel words, he could have sworn he saw her eyes, big with tears, shining through the mist which kept him from her; and with a mental effort which turned him cold he spoke once more to her before she left him.

"Miss Wayne ... please don't condemn me altogether ... I did not give in at once ... but this seemed—before God, I thought it was the only way out—to-night...."

And then the miracle happened. Regardless of the man who stood fuming by her side, Iris laid her soft hand on Anstice's arm and spoke one last gentle word.

"Dr. Anstice, I believe you—and good-bye! But—oh, do, do remember—for my sake let me ask you to remember that this is not the true way out!"

And then, as Cheniston took her arm impatiently to lead her away, she smiled through the tears which threatened to blind her, and went out from his presence without one reproachful word.

When she had gone he stood gazing after her for a long moment, and the look in his face would have broken the heart of a woman who had loved him. Then, with a despairing feeling that now nothing mattered in all the world, he sank down again on the couch and let the flood overwhelm him as it would.