When the vehicle was at the door, Dora, with Gabrielle at her side, descended the steps with a firm foot, seated herself in the cab, and gave the driver an address in Finchley Road.

She was set down in front of the office of an estate agent, and told the driver to wait. There she was given several addresses of apartments to let. Two or three rooms, one of them large and possessing a good north light, was what she wanted.

After a round of inspection, she fixed her choice upon a set of rooms a few yards from Elm Avenue. The place suited her requirements in every respect, and the price was reasonable, thirty pounds a year.

She was not asked for references, for her name was well known in these regions. The people who let her the rooms thought that Philip had need of a studio there for some special work, and that his wife had been sent to choose a suitable one for him.

"When do you wish to take possession, madam?" asked the agent, who had accompanied her.

"At once," replied Dora, "that is, to-morrow or the next day."

And the whole matter was arranged then and there.

When Dora got into her cab again, she began to talk almost gaily. She looked happy once more. It was a glimpse of the old Dora that Gabrielle had known all her life, but missed for a while, and now rejoiced to see again.

At the end of a couple of hours they were at home again. Poor Hobbs had been a prey to terrible fears, all the while conjuring up in her mind visions of her beloved mistress being brought back on a litter in a dying condition. She had spent the time watching at the window in mortal anxiety.

Dora stepped briskly out of the cab, paid the driver, and threw her arms round the poor woman, who looked more dead than alive.

"Ah, at last," gasped Hobbs. "Oh, ma'am how could you! how could you!"

So saying, she burst into tears, and then began to smile again on seeing Dora standing so alert and on the point of making fun of her.

"But what do you mean, my dear Hobbs?" said Dora. "I feel quite recovered. The fresh air has done me a lot of good and has given me a ferocious appet.i.te."

"Well, well! I declare!" exclaimed Hobbs, comforted a little by these words and the sight of her patient. But she went on wondering whether she was dreaming or whether Dora had gone clean mad.

"Hobbs," said Dora, "we must make haste about our preparations. We leave the house to-morrow, and, G.o.d be praised, never to return," she added.

"To-morrow, ma'am!" rejoined Hobbs, with a look that seemed to express the impossibility of further astonishment.

"Yes, to-morrow, we get to a new home and take leave of this one."

"She has already taken leave of something else," thought the distressed servant.

"We go to St. John's Wood! But why do you stare so, Hobbs? You are not going to remain here and let me go without you, surely?"

"How could I think of doing such a thing!" said poor Hobbs, really hurt by the suggestion.

And she fell to laughing and crying softly to herself without knowing why, thoroughly bewildered at the turn things had taken.

Dora pa.s.sed the remainder of the day in choosing the things she intended to take away with her; first, the furniture of her own bedroom and that of Hobbs, then some studio belongings, the two easels, and her portrait which Philip had not finished, the old clock that stood in the hall, and a few other things that belonged to her personally; some table silver, and many an odd piece of furniture that had been dear to her in the old house, but which had been since relegated to the attics, as being not worthy to figure in the new one. The next day she bought a j.a.panese screen and a few things which, while costing little, would yet help her in the execution of the project which she had set her mind upon. These purchases made, there remained twenty pounds in her purse.

She summoned the servants to the dining-room and told them that their master would return home shortly and would pay their wages.

On the morning of the second day after her sudden decision, a van was brought to the door for her few effects, and at five o'clock she had turned her back upon the house that she had grown to loathe. Two days later she was thoroughly installed in her new one.

Here she had succeeded in fitting up a studio, which was an imitation, a cheap and pathetic reproduction, exact in almost every detail, of the one in which she had pa.s.sed the happiest hours of her old life in Elm Avenue.

Each item of furniture occupied precisely the same spot as in the St.

John's Wood studio, and the whole effect was tasteful, for the work had been a labour of love to Dora. The two easels were placed side by side in the centre of the room, and on Philip's stood the unfinished portrait. On one side of the door she had placed an old oak chest that she had picked up at a dealer's for a small sum, and which resembled closely one that Philip owned and prized; on the other side of the door stood the old clock, which she did not, however, set going. What did the time of day matter to her now? Clocks go too slowly when one is tired of life. Away in a corner she hung Philip's old working jacket, which she had come across in the depths of a chest in one of the attics. It would no longer be only in her dreams that she would see the St. John's Wood studio, for it had sprung into existence again under her hands; and in these surroundings she would be able to continue the life that had been interrupted by the events already chronicled. She was going to try to bring to life again one part of her past. She turned to work to help her to forget the other.

She had come here with new hope in her heart, to call her talent to her rescue, and to serve Art faithfully and ask of it her bread. At the least, she felt that here she could, when her time came, die without a malediction on her lips.

Dora gave orders to Hobbs to refuse her door generally. Lorimer and Dr.

Templeton were the only exceptions. She laid the greatest stress on these directions, and Hobbs solemnly promised to obey to the letter.

Without delay she traced herself a programme which she resolved to follow out faithfully. She would work at her easel three hours every morning, would take outdoor exercise every afternoon to keep herself refreshed and strong, and the evenings should be devoted to reading and needlework.

She had brought with her several excellent photographs of Eva, and fully intended to make a portrait of the child whom death had robbed her of.

Her brush would help her to see again that sweet flesh of her flesh.

"But not yet, not just yet," she said.

As she had to earn a livelihood, and painting was to be her means of subsistence, she resolved to look about at once for a model. She chose a little Italian boy who played a concertina under her windows almost every day. The picturesque urchin was ready enough to pose for the _signora_, and beamed with delight at the shilling Dora put into his grubby little palm at the conclusion of each sitting.

Dora took her first walk in the neighbourhood, and Hobbs went with her.

They set out without any destination in view, but had not been walking more than five minutes when they found themselves in Elm Avenue. No trace of any emotion crossed Dora's face, and, instead of turning back as Hobbs was for doing, Dora would insist on going as far as No. 50. The house was to let. No one had lived in it since Philip left. Dora drew up on the other side of the road in front of the house. Hobbs tried to draw her away, for she feared that the sight of her old home might be too painful for her mistress.

"No," said Dora, "I am going to show you how thoroughly cured and strong I am ... I am going in."

Hobbs remembered Dr. Templeton's injunctions never to cross her whims, and so did not persist further.

Dora rang the bell. A woman, evidently a caretaker, opened the door.

"Do you wish to see the house, ma'am?"

"Yes, if you please," replied Dora.

She was invited to "step in," and the woman prepared to show her over the premises.

"The studio is a very fine one, and communicates with the garden. Your husband is an artist, I suppose, ma'am?"

"Yes," said Dora.

"Then you would like to see the studio first, perhaps?"

As soon as they reached it, Dora asked the woman to leave her there alone a little while, under pretence that she had measurements to take and many details to think out.

For the first time since the sudden change had come over her, which had so astonished her sister, Dora was seized with a fit of sadness. Her lips trembled, her teeth chattered. Hobbs did not take her eyes off her mistress, but she did not venture to speak. Dora opened the door that led to the garden, and a sharp cry escaped her. A little girl of Eva's age was romping about on the lawn. She stood rooted to the ground, and a flood of tears gushed from her eyes.

"Let us go away," said Hobbs. "You ought never to have come in at all.

You think yourself much stronger than you are."

"Yes, let us go," said Dora.

They straightway went home.

Dora remained pensive all the evening. She scarcely opened her lips again that day. The book she tried to read fell again and again from her hands. When she noticed Hobbs look at her, she said, "I tell you it is nothing. I was wrong to go into the house, and I shall not do it again. But how was I to know that, when I opened the garden door, I should see on the lawn" ...