Jeanie was indeed flushed with nervous excitement, and Avery thought she had never seen her eyes so unnaturally bright. She endured her father's hand under her chin with evident discomfort, and the Vicar's face was somewhat severe when he finally released her.

"I am afraid you are getting a little fanciful, my child," he said gravely. "I know that our kind friend, Lady Evesham--" his eyes twinkled ironically and seemed to slip inwards--"has always been inclined to indulge your whims. Now how do you occupy your time?"

"I read," faltered Jeanie.

"And sew, I presume," said the Vicar, who prided himself upon bringing up his daughter to be useful.

"A little," said Jeanie.

He opened his eyes upon her again with that suggestion of severity in his regard which Jeanie so plainly dreaded. "But you have done none since you have been here? Jeanie, my child, I detect in you the seeds of idleness.

If your time were more fully occupied, you would find your general health would considerably improve. Now, do you rise early and go for a bathe before breakfast?"

"No," said Jeanie, with a little shiver.

He shook his head at her. "Then let us inst.i.tute the habit at once! I cannot have you becoming slack just because you are away from home. If this indolence continue, I shall be compelled to have you back under my own eye. I clearly see that the self-indulgent life you lead here is having disastrous results. You will bathe with me to-morrow at seven-thirty, after which we will have half an hour of physical exercise.

Then after a wholesome breakfast you will feel renewed and ready for the day's work."

Avery, when this programme was laid before her, looked at him in incredulous amazement.

"But surely Dr. Wyndham explained to you the serious condition she is in!" she exclaimed.

Mr. Lorimer smiled his own superior smile. "He explained his point of view most thoroughly, my dear Lady Evesham." He always p.r.o.nounced her name and t.i.tle with satirical emphasis. "But that--very curious as it may appear to you--does not prevent my holding a very strong opinion of my own. And it chances to be in direct opposition to that expressed by Dr.

Maxwell Wyndham. I know my own child,--her faults and her tendencies. She has been allowed to become extremely lax with regard to her daily duties, and this laxness is in my opinion the root of the evil. I shall therefore take my own measures to correct it, and if they are in any way resisted or neglected I shall at once remove the child from your care. I trust I have made myself quite explicit."

He had. But Avery's indignation could not be contained.

"You will kill her if you persist!" she said. "Even as it is--even as it is--her days are numbered."

"The days of all of us are numbered," said the Reverend Stephen. "And it behoves us to make the very utmost of each one of them. I cannot allow my child's character to be ruined on account of a physical weakness which a little judicious discipline will speedily overcome. The spirit must triumph over the flesh, Lady Evesham. A hard rule for worldlings, I grant you, but one which must be observed by all who would enter the Kingdom of Heaven."

Argument was futile. Avery realized it at the outset. He would have his way, whatever the cost, and no warning or entreaty would move him. For the rest of that day she had to stand by in impotent anguish, and watch Jeanie's martyrdom. During the afternoon he sat alone with her, conducting the intellectual examination which Jeanie had so dreaded, reprimanding, criticizing, scoffing at her ignorance. In the evening he took her for what he called a stroll upon which Avery was not allowed to accompany them. Mr. Lorimer playfully remarking that he wished to give his young daughter the benefit of his individual attention during the period of his brief sojourn with them.

They returned from their expedition at eight. Avery was walking to and fro by the gate in a ferment of anxiety. They came by the cliff-road, and she went eagerly to meet them.

Jeanie was hanging on her father's arm with a face of deathly whiteness, and looked on the verge of collapse.

The Reverend Stephen was serenely satisfied with himself, laughed gently at his child's dragging progress, and a.s.sured Avery that a little wholesome fatigue was a good thing at the end of the day.

Jeanie said nothing. She seemed to be speechless with exhaustion, almost incapable of standing alone.

Mr. Lorimer recommended a cold bath, a brisk rub-down, and supper.

"After which," he said impressively, "I shall hope to conduct a few prayers before we retire to rest."

"That will be impossible, I am afraid," Avery rejoined. "Jeanie is overtired and must go at once to bed."

She spoke with quiet decision, but inwardly she was quivering with fierce anger. She longed pa.s.sionately to have the child to herself, to comfort and care for her and ease away the troubles of the day.

But Mr. Lorimer at once a.s.serted his authority. "Jeanie will certainly join us at supper," he said. "Run along, my child, and prepare for the meal at once!"

Jeanie went up the stairs like an old woman, stumbling at every step.

Avery followed her, chafing but impotent.

At the top of the stairs Jeanie began to cough. She turned into her own room with blind, staggering movements and sank down beside the bed.

The coughing was spasmodic and convulsive. It shook her whole frame. In the end there came a dreadful tearing sound, and she caught her handkerchief to her mouth.

Avery knelt beside her, supporting her. She saw the white linen turn suddenly scarlet, and she called sharply to Mr. Lorimer to come to them.

He came, and between them they got her on to the bed.

"This is most unfortunate," said Mr. Lorimer. "Pray how did it happen?"

And then Avery's pent fury blazed suddenly forth upon him. "It is your doing!" she said. "You--and you alone--are responsible for this!"

He looked at her malignantly. "Pshaw, my dear Lady Evesham! You are hysterical!" he said.

Avery was bending over the bed. "Go!" she said, without looking up. "Go quickly, and fetch a doctor!"

And, very curiously, Mr. Lorimer obeyed her.

CHAPTER III

THE GAME

Jeanie rallied. As though to comfort Avery's distress, she came back for a little s.p.a.ce; but no one--not even her father--could doubt any longer that the poor little mortal life had nearly run out.

"My intervention has come too late, alas!" said Mr. Lorimer.

Which remark was received by Avery in bitter silence.

She had no further fear of being deprived of the child. It was quite out of the question to think of moving her, and she knew that Jeanie was hers for as long as the frail cord of her earthly existence lasted.

She was thankful that the advent of a nurse made it impossible for the Vicar to remain, and she parted from him with almost open relief.

"We must bow to the Supreme Will," he said, with his heavy sigh.

And again Avery was silent.

"I fear you are rebellious," he said with severity.

"Good-bye!" said Avery.

Her heart bled more for Mrs. Lorimer than for herself just then. She knew by instinct that she would not be allowed to come to her child.