“Cab, ma’am?” exclaimed the driver of this vehicle in an ingratiating voice, touching his hat.

“No, thank you,” replied Mrs. Holymead.  “I’ll walk.”

Miss Fewbanks was astonished when the parlourmaid announced the arrival of Mrs. Holymead.  She hurried to the drawing-room to meet her visitor, but the warm greeting she offered her was checked by her astonishment at the ill and worn appearance of her beautiful friend.

“Please, don’t,” said the visitor, as she held up a warning hand to keep away a sisterly kiss.  She looked at Miss Fewbanks with the air of a woman nerving herself for a desperate task, and said quickly:  “I have dreadful things to tell you.  You can never think of me again except with loathing—­with horror.”

The impression Miss Fewbanks received was that her visitor had taken leave of her senses.  This impression was deepened by Mrs. Holymead’s next remark.

“I want you to save my husband.”

There was an awkward pause while Mrs. Holymead waited for a reply and Miss Fewbanks wondered what was the best thing to do.

“Say you will save him!” exclaimed Mrs. Holymead.  “Do what you like with me, but save him.”

“Don’t you think, dear, you would be better if you had a rest and a little sleep?” said Miss Fewbanks.  “I am sure you could sleep if you tried.  Come upstairs and I’ll make you so comfortable.”

“You think I am mad,” said the elder woman.  “Would to God that I was.”

“Come, dear,” said Miss Fewbanks coaxingly.  She turned to the door and prepared to lead the way upstairs.

“Sleep!” exclaimed Mrs. Holymead bitterly.  “I have not had a peaceful sleep since your father was killed.  I have been haunted day and night.  I cannot sleep.”

“I know it was a dreadful shock to you, but you must not take it so much to heart.  You must see your doctor and do what he tells you.  Mr. Holymead should send you away.”

At the mention of her husband’s name Mrs. Holymead came back to the thought that had been foremost in her mind.

“Will you save him?” she exclaimed.

“You know I will do anything I can for him,” answered the girl gently.  Her intention was to humour her visitor, for she was quite sure that Mr. Holymead was in no danger.

“Will you stop Mr. Crewe?”

“Stop Mr. Crewe?” Miss Fewbanks repeated the words in a tone that showed her interest had been awakened.  “Stop him from what?”

“Stop him from arresting my husband.”

“Do you mean to say that Mr. Crewe thinks Mr. Holymead had anything to do with the murder of my father?”

“If I tell you everything will you stop him?  Oh, Mabel, darling, for the sake of the past—­before I came on the scene to mar the lives of both of them—­will you save him?  It is I—­not he—­who should pay the penalty of this awful tragedy.  Will you save him?”

“Tell me everything,” said the girl firmly.