Part 2 (1/2)

He nodded.

”I am,” he answered.

She looked him over from head to foot. There was scarcely an inch of his person which did not speak of poverty and starvation.

”You have had trouble,” she remarked.

”I have,” he admitted.

”The lady who wrote that letter,” she said, ”is at present in Spain.”

He turned to go.

”I am not surprised,” he answered. ”My star is not exactly in the ascendant just now.”

”Don't be too sure,” she said. ”And whatever you do, don't go away.

Sit down if you are tired. You don't seem strong.”

”I am not,” he admitted. ”Would you like,” he added, ”to know what is the matter with me?”

”It is nothing serious, I hope?”

”I am starving,” he declared, simply. ”I have eaten nothing for twenty-four hours.”

She looked at him for a moment as though doubting his words. Then she moved rapidly to a desk which stood in a corner of the room.

”You are a very foolish person,” she said, ”to allow yourself to get into such a state, when all the time you had this letter in your pocket. But I forgot,” she added, unlocking the desk. ”You had not read it. You had better have some money to buy yourself food and clothes, and come here again.”

”Food and clothes!” he repeated, vaguely. ”I do not understand.”

She touched the letter with her forefinger.

”You have a very powerful friend here,” she said. ”I am told to give you whatever you may be in need of, and to telegraph to her, in whatever part of the world she may be, if ever you should present this letter.”

Saton began to laugh softly.

”It is the turn of the wheel,” he said. ”I am too weak to hear any more. Give me some money, and I will come back. I must eat or I shall faint.”

She gave him some notes, and watched him curiously as he staggered out of the room. He forgot the lift, and descended by the stairs, unsteadily, like a drunken person, reeling from the banisters to the wall, and back again. Out in the street, people looked at him curiously as he turned northward toward Oxford Street. His eyes searched the shop-windows. He hurried along like a man feverishly anxious to make use of his last stint of strength. He was in search of food!

CHAPTER II

OLD ACQUAINTANCES

Rochester was walking slowly along the country lane which led from the main road to Beauleys, when the hoot of a motor overtaking him caused him to slacken his pace and draw in close to the hedge-side. The great car swung by, with a covered top upon which was luggage, a chauffeur, immaculate in dark green livery, and inside, two people. Rochester caught a glimpse of them as they pa.s.sed by--the woman, heavily m.u.f.fled up notwithstanding the warm afternoon, old and withered; the man, young, with dark, sallow complexion, and thoughtful eyes. They were gone like a flash. Yet Rochester stood for a moment in the road looking after them, before he turned into a field to escape the cloud of dust. The man's face was peculiar, and strangely enough it was familiar. He racked his brains in vain for some clue to its ident.i.ty--searched every corner of his memory without success.

Finally, with a little shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the subject.

He was soon to be reminded of it, though, for when he reached home, he was told at once that a gentleman was waiting to see him in the study.