She lifted up her face--simply as a child might have done. Slowly he leaned nearer to her, his heart was pounding furiously; the blood rushed to his temples.

Suddenly he started back! He must not--he dare not----!

For a moment he crushed her fingers to his lips; then turning abruptly, he strode towards the door.

"You'll come to-morrow, won't you?" she cried.

"Yes, to-morrow," he answered.

"Early?"

"As early as I can."

"Good-bye, husband. I will be so lonely without you," she called after him, but he resolutely closed the door.

At the foot of the stairs a nurse was waiting for him.

"The doctor would like to speak to you for a moment," she said as she led the way to the consulting-room.

"Well, how did you find Lady Wilmersley's memory; were you able to help her in any way to recall the past," inquired the doctor.

Cyril was too preoccupied to notice that the other's manner was several degrees colder than it had been on his arrival.

"I fear not." Cyril felt guiltily conscious that he was prevaricating.

"You astonish me. I confess I am disappointed. Yes, very much so. But it will come back to her--I am sure it will."

"I say, doctor, how long do you think my wife will have to remain here?"

"No longer than she wishes to. She could be moved to-morrow, if necessary, but I advise waiting till the day after."

"You are sure it won't hurt her?" insisted Cyril anxiously.

"Quite. In fact, the sooner Lady Wilmersley resumes her normal life the better."

"How soon will I be able to talk freely to her?" Cyril asked.

"That depends largely on how she progresses, but not before a month at the earliest. By the way, Lord Wilmersley, I want you to take charge 

 Prev. P 59/173 next