“Where is Sir Ronald?” he asked, quickly.
“He cannot see any one.”
“Nonsense!” interrupted the stranger, “he must see me; I insist upon seeing him. Take my card and tell him I am waiting. You send a groom to attend to my horse; I have ridden hard.”
Both obeyed him, and the gentleman sat down in the entrance hall while the card was taken to Sir Ronald. The servant rapped many times, but no answer came; at length he opened the door. There sat Sir Ronald, just as he had done the night before—his head bent, his eyes closed, his face bearing most terrible marks of suffering.
The man went up to him gently.
“Sir Ronald,” he asked, “will you pardon me? The gentleman who brought this card insists upon seeing you, and will not leave the house until he has done so. I would not have intruded, Sir Ronald, but we thought perhaps it might be important.”
Sir Ronald took the card and looked at the name. As he did so a red flush covered his pale face, and his lips trembled.
“I will see him,” he said, in a faint, hoarse voice.
“May I bring you some wine or brandy, Sir Ronald?” asked the man.
“No, nothing. Ask Mr. Eyrle to come here.”