Doctor McMurdoch sat down on a chair beside the door, setting his
silk hat upon the floor and clasping his massive chin with his
hand.
"I will endeavour to do as you wish, Miss Abingdon," said Harley,
glancing anxiously at the physician.
But Doctor McMurdoch returned only a dull stare. It was evident
that this man of stone was as clay in the hands of Phil Abingdon.
He deprecated the strain which she was imposing upon her nervous
system, already overwrought to the danger point, but he was
helpless for all his dour obstinacy. Harley, looking down at the
girl's profile, read a new meaning into the firm line of her
chin. He was conscious of an insane desire to put his arms around
this new acquaintance who seemed in some indefinable yet definite
way to belong to him and to whisper the tragic story he had to
tell, comforting her the while.
He began to relate what had taken place at the first interview,
when Sir Charles had told him of the menace which he had believed
to hang over his life. He spoke slowly, deliberately, choosing
his words with a view to sparing Phil Abingdon's feelings as far
as possible.
She made no comment throughout, but her fingers alternately
tightened and relaxed their hold upon the arms of the chair in
which she was seated. Once, at some reference to words spoken by
her father, her sensitive lips began to quiver and Harley,
watching her, paused.
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