We walked for two blocks in absolute silence, save that every now and
then she choked back a sob. She was her own mistress again at length,
however. "Why did you come--of all times to-night?" she asked. "I do not know." "Did you wish to see my father?" "No. You." "Why?" "I had a subconscious conviction that you might be needing me." "Truly?" she cried--and pressed my arm. "That or something else. At any rate, I felt obliged to call. It may
have been from a desire to reassure myself about the colour of your
eyes." "Ah! I suppose you are wondering--because--Dr.
Belleville--because--I----," she paused. "I am human," I observed. "I want you to forget it. Will you, Dr. Pinsent?" "On the spot." "That is good of you." Her tone was crisp with disappointment. "You are
indeed a friend." "But not in need a friend, eh? Come, come, Miss Ottley, you are in
trouble. I am strong and trustworthy and capable. There are times when
a man may tell the truth about himself, and this, I think, is one of
them. Can I help you?" "No one can help me," she said sadly, "you least of all." "And why least of all?" "Because you hate my father." "Is he in trouble, too?" "He is the willing but unwitting victim of a wicked, wicked man--but,
oh, what am I saying? Dr. Pinsent, please, please let us talk of
something else." "You are trembling--May." "Oh!" she said--and looked at me. "It slipped out--unconsciously," I stammered. "I did not mean to
be impertinent. I think of you--by that name. Is it impertinent to
think----"

"No, no." "Then you'll forgive me?" "What is there to forgive?" "All that the circumstance implies. Come, after all, I am not sorry for
the slip. Why should I twist its meaning either, like a coward. It is
only the weak who need the shelter of hypocrisy. Look straight before
you--May--and do not turn your eyes. May again, you see." "You have something to tell me," she said gravely. "The old, old story, May," I answered with a short but reckless laugh. "Should you--Dr. Pinsent--do you think?" "Yes, because the husband you have chosen is a gallant fellow and my
friend. I am too fond of him to wish to do him an ill turn, even in
my own adventure. Why, look you, May, were you to turn to me and say,
'I love you, Hugo Pinsent,' I would answer, 'Yes--and we both love
Frankfort Weldon.'" "Yes," said Miss Ottley. She stopped and we looked deep into each
other's eyes. "Yes," she said again. "And we both love Frankfort Weldon." "God help us," I exclaimed. "It is a good prayer. God will hear it," she said softly. "What made you?" I asked a little later; we were walking on again--but
now apart. "You," she said. "It is very wonderful." "And sad," said she. "But grand and beautiful." "I shall not go to the opera to-night," she said. "Will you put me in a
cab?" "You will go home?" "Yes." "And Belleville?" "He will be at work. I shall not see him." "He threatened you?" "Not me, but Captain Weldon. He demands that I shall marry him. My
father also wishes it. You see I tell you everything--now. You will
help me, will you not?" "Of course. But you must teach me how. In what fashion does Belleville
threaten Weldon?" "He vows--that unless I do as he demands within this week--Captain
Weldon will be found dead in his bed." "Murder!" I cried. "He does not scruple to conceal the fact. He declares he has nothing
to fear. He pretends to possess a secret which gives him as great a
power over life and death as Providence. An esoteric power, of course. It is connected with the discovery of Ptahmes. He claims to have
already tested it. My father has used it in other ways. He has been
experimenting on the Stock Exchange. In ten days he has already doubled
his fortune. Surely of that you must have heard." "I have heard that he has been speculating with extravagant success. But that his luck was due to supernatural agency I decline to believe. In my opinion Belleville is simply putting up a scoundrelly game of
bluff." "I wish I could think so, too. But I cannot." "But, my dear girl, consider the probabilities. Belleville's story
belongs to the Middle Ages." "Yes--but he believes it. I am as sure of that as that I live." "And is that a reason why you should believe it, too? The man is
perhaps a lunatic." "Ah!" she said. "I knew that you would take this view. That was partly
why I felt you could not help me." But her distress cut me to the quick. "It does not matter what view I
take," I muttered hastily. "I'll do anything you wish." "Anything?" "Did you doubt it?" "No." "Then----"

"Then go and stay with Captain Weldon. He will welcome you, for he
likes you out of mention. Spend the week with him. Do not let him from
your sight at night. Especially guard him while he sleeps. Is it too
much to ask?" "No." "There is a cab--stop it, please! Thanks. Now say good-bye to me." "Good-bye--May." I helped her into the vehicle. "Would it be
permissible to kiss your hand?" "No!" she said, "but give me yours." I felt her lips upon my fingers, and with a sort of groan I snatched
them away from her grasp. That was our good-bye. Chapter XVI

Lady Helen Prescribes for Her Husband


Next morning early I picked a quarrel with Hubbard, and left him biting
his finger nails. I went straight to Jermyn Street with my valise. Weldon was in bed. I told him I had had a fight with Hubbard and asked
to be put up for a few days. He agreed with acclamation, though I am
sure he was perfectly astounded at my strange request. I proceeded
to astound him further. I mendaciously informed him that my nerves
were in rags and that I was obsessed with a horrible hallucination of
a mysteriously threatened life at night. Would, then, he give me a
shakedown in his own bedroom, just for a week? It is wonderful how easy
lying comes to one after the first plunge. I did the thing thoroughly. Mind you, I felt all along the utmost scorn for Dr. Belleville's
threats against young Weldon's life. But Miss Ottley had asked me to
look after him, and I was determined to fulfil the trust to the very
foot of the letter. He was a splendid fellow to live with. It gives
me a heartache to remember the anxiety to make me comfortable, the
almost absurd cordiality of his welcome, the unselfish sincerity of
his desire to please. One would have thought me a superior creation,
a sort of divinity in disguise, the way he treated me. I had never
awakened such affection in any living thing before, except in a mongrel
retriever which once upon a time followed me home and which I had to
turn away after it had licked my hand. And the amazing thing was, I
had done nothing in the world to deserve it. I had never put myself
out of my way in the smallest particular to serve the Captain. When we
first met I had treated him with the scantest courtesy and afterwards
with a sort of good-natured contempt. Even now I cannot understand it
properly. It may have arisen from a secret disposition to hero-worship. Some men are like that.