"Then leave her alone. No more drugs; no medicine even. Give Nature a
chance. Thank Heaven, the girl has a perfect constitution."
"Chris is not going to die," Enid repeated, doggedly, "but the
certificate will be given, all the same. Oh, Hatherly, you must trust
me--trust me as you have never done before. Look at me, study me. Did you
ever know me to do a mean or dishonourable thing?"
They were down in the drawing-room again; David waiting, with a strange
sense of embarrassment under Margaret Henson's distant eyes; indeed, it
was probable that she had never noticed him at all. All the same she
turned eagerly to Bell.
"Tell me the worst," she cried. "Tell me all there is to know."
"Your niece's sufferings are over," Bell said, gravely; "I have no more
to tell you."
A profound silence followed, broken presently by angry voices outside.
Then Williams looked in at the door and beckoned Enid to him. His face
was wreathed in an uneasy grin.
"Mr. Henson has got away," he said. "Blest if I can say how. And they
dogs have rolled him about, and tore his clothes, and made such a picture
of him as you never saw.
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