She had placed Beth in her own room, which they would share together for that night, at any rate. The younger girl was sleeping placidly; there was a smile on her face—her lips were parted like those of one who is utterly and entirely happy. She made a fair picture as she lay there, with her yellow hair streaming over her shoulders. She just murmured something in her sleep, as Vera bent over her and brushed her forehead lightly with her lips.
"Oh, I wonder how long this cloud will last!" Vera murmured—"how much longer I shall be till I am free! How terrible it is to have the offer of a good man's love, and be compelled to spoil it as I do, or, at least, as I appear to do. And yet I should be a happy woman if I could only throw off these shackles—"
Vera paused, unable to say more, for something seemed to rise in her throat and choke her. She was utterly tired and worn out, almost too tired to undress and get into bed—and yet once her head was on the pillow she could not sleep; she tossed and turned wearily. All London seemed to be transformed into one noisy collection of clocks. The noise and the din seemed to stun Vera and throb through her head like the beating of hammers on her brain. She fell off presently into a troubled sleep, which was full of dreams. It seemed to her that she was locked in a safe, and that somebody outside was hammering at the walls to let her free. Then she became conscious of the fact that somebody really was knocking at the door. As Vera stumbled out of bed a clock somewhere struck three. She flicked up the light and opened the door. A sleepy-looking chambermaid handed her a note, which was marked "Urgent" on the envelope. With a thrill, she recognised the handwriting of Mark Fenwick. What new disaster was here? she wondered.
"Is there anybody waiting for an answer?" she asked tremblingly. "Is the messenger downstairs?"
"Yes, miss," the sleepy chambermaid replied. "It was brought by a gentleman in a motor. I told him you were in bed and fast asleep, but he said it was of the greatest importance and I was to wake you. Perhaps you had better read it."
With a hand that trembled terribly, Vera tore open the envelope. There were only two or three lines there in Fenwick's stiff handwriting; they were curt and discourteous, and very much to the point. They ran as follows—
"I am writing you this from Canterbury, where I have been for the last hour, and where I have important business. I have sent one of the cars over for you, and you are to come back at once. Whatever happens, see that you obey me."
* * * * *
"You will tell the gentleman I will be down in a few moments," Vera said.
"I will not detain him any longer than I can help."
"What is to be done?" the girl wondered directly she was alone. She felt that she dared not disobey this command; she would have to go at all costs. She knew by bitter experience that Fenwick was not the man to brook contradiction. Besides, at the present moment it would be a fatal thing to rouse his suspicions. And yet, she felt how impossible it was for her to leave Beth here in the circumstances. Nor could she see her way to call up Venner at this hour and explain what had happened. All she could do was to scribble a short note to him with a view to explaining the outline of the new situation. Ten minutes later she was downstairs in the hall, where she found the man awaiting her. He was clad in furs, his motor cap was pulled over his eyes as if he shrank from observation; but all the same Vera recognised him.