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“Thank you very much for bringing me,” she said in a small voice.

He dismissed that with an almost impatient gesture of his hand as if he felt that he had already said all that was necessary about the help he had given.

“I must return home now—but I shall be back,” he told her quietly.

“Oh, but really, there’s no need—I’m sure they’ll look after me—” Meg said hastily. “And I really can’t—”

She had been going to say: “get further into your debt” but again he made that dismissing gesture.

“By the time I get back, there may be news as to your aunt’s plans,” he pointed out. “And I’m sure you would like to know what they are. Besides—” momentarily his grave face relaxed though not to the point where one could say he had actually smiled, “my aunt has given me some explicit orders—and I always do what she tells me!”

“Do you?” Meg said in unfeigned amazement.

“When I happen to agree with what she says,” he explained calmly and, sketching a salute, left her.

Meg, knowing that there could well be a long wait ahead, did her best to settle down to looking at an out-of-date magazine, but it was impossible to concentrate, and in the end she gave up the attempt. Once or twice hurried footsteps approached the door of the waiting room and each time Meg tensed expectantly. But each time the footsteps continued along the corridor.

An hour passed—then another half-hour. At last the door opened and Meg sprang to her feet. But it was Hector Heronshaw, not Dr Muir, who came in.

"Your aunt is flying up first thing in the morning and I’ll meet her,” he began without preamble. “She asked Aunt Millicent to give you her love and to tell you to be sure to have something to eat and drink.”

Involuntarily Meg smiled, even if rather wanly. How very like Aunt Ellen! Genuinely concerned for Uncle Andra—Meg had no doubt about that—but even intense anxiety didn’t prevent her from being thoroughly practical.

“And so,” Sir Hector went on, laying a small case down on a table, “my aunt, who thoroughly approved, has sent some sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. Oh yes, and I dropped in at the hotel and collected your handbag. Malvern sent you his best wishes, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Meg said in a small voice, feeling that was entirely inadequate in view of all that had been done for her and yet incapable of saying more.

He didn’t reply and Meg, wondering if her lack of enthusiasm had annoyed him, saw something in his face which startled her. The blue eyes were looking at her with an intensity which she had never seen in them before and the firm lips twitched slightly as if he was on the brink of saying something which would, she was sure, have been very important. Then all expression vanished from his face and when he spoke, it was in his usual even, almost dry voice.

“So now, if there’s nothing more—” he began, when the door opened and this time it was Dr Muir. Meg turned to him eagerly.

“It’s too soon yet for me to give you any reliably good news,” he told her, coming bluntly to the point. “But I can at least say this—your uncle has stood the journey well and his condition is as good as one can expect at this juncture. And, for your comfort, it could have been very much worse.”

Meg nodded silently and after a moment Dr Muir went on briskly:

“Now, if you feel up to it, you can help me a lot by giving me any information you have about your uncle’s health and so on. Has he, for instance, ever had an attack of this sort before?”

.“Not to my knowledge,” Meg told him carefully. "But his sister—my aunt—and I have been very much worried about him because he’s been overworking for some time past. We had hoped that now he’s retired he would take life more easily, but—” in spite of herself there was a note of bitterness in her voice, “it hasn’t worked out that way.”

“I see,” Dr Muir nodded, evidently not thinking it worthwhile asking just what she meant by that. “Now, about this evening. Will you tell me all you can of Mr Ainslie’s actions and manner from, say, about six o’clock onwards? In particular, will you tell me what he had to eat and drink?”

“I didn’t see him as early as six,” Meg explained, forcing herself to recollect all the details of a time that now seemed so long ago. “We met in the bar by arrangement at half-past six. I was a little late and Uncle was drinking a sherry. He had another one with me. We went in to dinner rather early because we were leaving the hotel tomorrow and we both had packing to do.”

“And dinner?”

“He didn’t eat very much. In fact, I was a little bit worried because his appetite was so poor. He had a glass of wine, but he left half of it. Then I went up to my room to pack and I understood that he was going to do the same thing. When I’d finished I went to his room, but he wasn’t there, so I went downstairs. I met Mr Malvern who runs the hotel coming up to find me. He was worried because Uncle had gone out. He said—he said—”

“Yes, Miss Ainslie?” Dr Muir prompted as she faltered.

“That Uncle had had a telephone call which upset him considerably.” Involuntarily she glanced at Sir Hector, who shook his head.

“No, it was not I who rang him up,” he denied quietly. “Though it was on account of it that he came to see me. And, as I’ve already told Dr Muir, he was in a state of considerable excitement In fact—” he hesitated, “he was completely overwrought”

“But why?” Meg demanded. “Why had that call upset him so—and what had it got to do with you?”

“Actually, nothing,” Sir Hector replied, still in that quiet voice. “But unfortunately, I couldn’t persuade Mr Ainslie of that. In fact, the more I tried to, the more incensed he became, until finally he collapsed.”

Meg drew a deep breath.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” she said in a queer, strained voice. “You’ve got to tell me what it was all about! Don’t you see, I must know?”

Dr Muir put up his hand as if to check Sir Hector’s reply but he was answered only by a slight shake of the head. Clearly Sir Hector realised, if the doctor didn’t, that Meg would not be gainsaid.

“I must get back to my patient,” Dr Muir said, and went quickly out of the room.

“Well?” Meg demanded.

“Your uncle was under the impression that it was due to my intervention that he could get no local help to repair the cottage,” Sir Hector began slowly.

Meg waved that aside with an impatient hand.

"Yes, I know that! But there was a man coming over from Callerton tomorrow—” she paused, suddenly suspicious. “Do you mean that the telephone call was from him—and that he’d backed out?”

“Just that,” Sir Hector acknowledged, and waited.

Something seemed to snap in Meg’s brain.

“So it’s all your fault that Uncle is ill!” she accused him shrilly. “You bullied the Callerton man into refusing to work for him just as you did the local ones!”

“No,” he denied briefly and, if Meg had been in any state to appreciate it, with a note of weariness in his voice.

“I don’t believe you!” Meg told him uncompromisingly. “Ever since we came to Blytheburn you’ve made yourself as unpleasant and obstructive as you possibly could! You’ve gone out of your way to baulk and frustrate Uncle and you can’t deny it! The evidence speaks for itself! And so—and so—” her voice rose to the shrill pitch of hysteria. “If anything happens to Uncle—if he dies—it will be your fault—yours, do you understand?
Yours!
”

He made no effort to deny it, but his hands grasped her shoulders in a painful grip and the eyes which she had thought were so incredibly blue became grey and steely.

“You’re in a hospital,” he told her sternly. “There are sick people, possibly quite near at hand, who are trying to rest. How dare you—how
dare
you make such an outrageous noise?”

Meg gasped as if he had thrown a bucket of cold water over her and her knees suddenly buckled. She felt those strong hands propel her backwards and then, with a final shove, force her down into a chair. Then he let her go and she slumped limply, her breath still coming in uncontrollable gulps.

“That’s better,” he said critically. “No, don’t try to speak. You’re going to listen to me. No doubt allowances must be made because you’ve had a shock and you’re genuinely concerned on your uncle’s account. All right. But nothing—
nothing
—excuses you for having lost your self-control in this stupid way. What use do you think you would be if your uncle were to need you now? None whatever—in fact, I’m reasonably certain that in no circumstances would Dr Muir allow you to see him tonight. Do you understand?”

“You—you—” Meg began, but the words choked in her throat though her eyes glowered with hostility.

“I know,” he told her coolly. ‘I'm a brute and a bully —you make that perfectly dear. All right. But now it’s my turn to say what I think. Basically you probably have both integrity and intelligence. But you allow yourself to be governed by sentiment and prejudice, and unless you take yourself in hand, you’re going to cause great unhappiness not only to yourself but to those who care for you. Think that over! And now—” a brisker note came into his voice and he changed the subject as if the last word had been spoken, “I’ll relieve you of my hateful presence. If, tomorrow, you want to thrash this matter out, we’ll do so. But not here and not now. Good night!”

And Meg found herself alone. Her mind was in utter confusion. At that moment she hated Hector Heronshaw as she had never hated anyone in her life before. How dared he speak to her like that! How dared he treat her as if she was a troublesome, wayward child and he an all-wise adult! After all the trouble he had caused—

But he had denied being responsible for having caused the Callerton builder to back down. Well, of course he would, seeing what a disastrous result his interference had caused—just as, when he realised for just how much trouble he was responsible, he had done everything in his power to suggest that he was the Good Samaritan in person! It was clever because it put both Uncle Andra and herself under an apparent obligation. But, Meg told herself fiercely, he hadn’t taken her in! She knew him now for what he was and he would never be able to deceive her again ! What was more, she would take very good care to see that she never accepted any apparent kindness from him again! It was far, far too risky, for it meant that one lost one’s freedom of action —which was just what he intended, of course!

But she had no need, or for that matter, any opportunity, of making that clear to Sir Hector, for during the remainder of that long, anxious night he didn’t come near and, irrationally, she found cause in that to criticise him. Surely anyone with decent human feeling—

Of the care she received from the hospital staff, however, she could not have spoken too highly. Everything was done to make her as comfortable as possible. Twice a young nurse brought her a cup of tea and biscuits and the Sister came in with news which, if not exactly good, at least was not entirely bad.

“You will appreciate, Miss Ainslie, that it’s far too soon to say that Mr Ainslie is out of danger,” she warned on the second visit. “But at least I can tell you this, his condition is as good as can be expected so far. No, he’s not conscious yet and we don’t expect that he will be for some hours yet. So now—” she glanced at her watch. “It’s past seven o’clock. I suggest that you should go home, have a bath and a meal and, if you can possibly manage it, a rest, however short. Then you’ll be fresh to meet your aunt and to face what is, I’m afraid, likely to be a difficult day. Now, if you’re ready, Sir Hector is waiting in his car—”

“But I can’t possibly—” Meg began, but found she was addressing her protest to Sister’s retreating back. Perforce, she had to follow knowing, with every step she took, that it was becoming increasingly difficult to refuse Sir Hector’s help. Impossible, in fact, since she had no other means of transport. But this would be the last time—

He was already in the driver’s seat and though he leaned over and opened the door for her, he didn’t speak. Indeed, the journey began in absolute silence on both their parts until, suddenly, Meg awoke to the realisation that she was in a real predicament She simply had nowhere to go—and yet Sir Hector was driving with a smoothness which made it clear that he had no doubt about their destination.

“Sir Hector, where are you taking me?” she asked sharply.

“To my home,” he told her laconically.

“But I can’t—it’s out of the question—” she began stormily, and then, realising that the only way to compel him to accept her point of view was to speak with the assurance which only self-control could give her, she went on firmly: “Sir Hector, you must surely appreciate that in the circumstances it’s impossible for me to accept your hospitality—”

“Indeed?” He didn’t sound particularly interested. “Then may I ask where you propose to stay? And, even more important, where do you intend Mrs Farmer should be accommodated?”

Aunt Ellen! For the moment Meg had forgotten all about her. But she had to admit that although she wouldn’t have minded roughing it herself if she could have found a room in either of the two villages, to ask that of Aunt Ellen was out of the question.

“What has been arranged is this,” Hector went on coolly, evidently taking her silence as acquiescence, “My aunt, Mrs Laidlaw, has what amounts to a flat of her own in Heronshaw House. There’s room for both you and Mrs Farmer if you don’t mind sharing a room. There are two advantages in the plan. One is that our respective aunts were good friends in their younger days and both approve of the arrangement. The other —” he paused momentarily and then went on deliberately, “is that you and I will come into contact with one another only to a minimum degree. That, I trust, will reduce any feeling of obligation to me which you might otherwise have had. Well?”

He had cut the ground from under her feet—and both of them knew it. There was no alternative.

“In the circumstances, as you know, I have no alternative but to accept,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I should like to assure you that not only will this—this imposition on your hospitality be of as brief a duration as possible but that, while I have to accept it, I’ll take very good care to keep out of your way just as much as I possibly can!”