Two months, Martha!  Two—­whole—­months!” The words seemed to clog in her throat.  “All that time he hid himself in his club, abusing me to every man he met.  Somebody told me so.  What was I to do?  He had turned over to his father every shilling he possessed and left me without a penny—­or, worse still, dependent on my father, and you know what that means!  And then, when I could stand it no longer and went home, he sailed for South Africa on a shooting expedition.”

Martha listened patiently.  The outburst was not what she had expected, but she knew the unburdening would help in the end.  She slid one plump hand under the tired head, and with the other stroked back the mass of hair from the damp forehead—­very gently, as she might have calmed some fevered patient.

“May I finish what Stephen tried to tell you, my lady?” she crooned, still stroking back the hair.  “And may I first tell you that Mr. Felix never went to Africa?”

“Oh, but he did!” she cried out again.  “I know the men he went with.  He was disgusted with the whole business—­so he told one of his friends—­and never wanted to see me or England again.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes, I heard about it in Ostend when—­” She did not finish the sentence.

The nurse’s free hand now closed on Lady Barbara’s thin fingers, with a quiet, compelling softness, as if preparing her for a shock.

“Mr. Felix—­came here—­to New York—­my lady—­ and is here now—­or was some weeks ago—­doing nothing but walk the streets.”  The words had come one by one, Martha’s clasp tightening as she spoke.

The wasted figure lifted itself from the pillow and sat bolt upright.

“Martha!  What do you mean!”

“Yes, right here in New York, my lady.”

“It isn’t so!  Her hands were now clutching Martha’s shoulders.  “Tell me it isn’t so!  It can’t be so!”

“It’s the blessed God’s truth, every word of it!  He and Stephen have been looking for you day and night.”

“Looking for me?  Me!  Oh, the shame of it, the shame!” Then with sudden fright:  “But he must not find me!  He shall not find me!  You won’t let him find me, will you, Martha?” Her arms were now tight about the old woman’s neck, her agonized face turning wildly toward the door, as if she thought that Felix were already there.  “You don’t think he wants to kill me, do you?” she whispered at last, her face hidden in the nurse’s neck.

Martha folded her own strong arms about the shaking woman, warming and comforting her, as she had warmed and comforted the child.  She would go through with it now to the end.

“No, it’s not you he wants to kill,” she said firmly, when the trembling figure was still.

Lady Barbara loosened her grasp and stared at her companion.  “Then what does he want to see me for?” she asked, in a dazed, distracted tone.

“He wants to help you.  He never forgets that you were his wife.  He’ll have his arms around you the moment he gets his eyes on you, and all your troubles will be over.”