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Statistics for Biomedical
Engineers and Scientists
Statistics for Biomedical
Engineers and Scientists
How to Visualize and Analyze Data

Andrew P. King
Robert J. Eckersley
Academic Press is an imprint of Elsevier
125 London Wall, London EC2Y 5AS, United Kingdom
525 B Street, Suite 1650, San Diego, CA 92101, United States
50 Hampshire Street, 5th Floor, Cambridge, MA 02139, United States
The Boulevard, Langford Lane, Kidlington, Oxford OX5 1GB, United Kingdom
Copyright © 2019 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publisher. Details on how to seek permission, further
information about the Publisher’s permissions policies and our arrangements with organizations such
as the Copyright Clearance Center and the Copyright Licensing Agency, can be found at our website:
www.elsevier.com/permissions.
This book and the individual contributions contained in it are protected under copyright by the
Publisher (other than as may be noted herein).
Notices
Knowledge and best practice in this field are constantly changing. As new research and experience
broaden our understanding, changes in research methods, professional practices, or medical treatment
may become necessary.
Practitioners and researchers must always rely on their own experience and knowledge in evaluating and
using any information, methods, compounds, or experiments described herein. In using such
information or methods they should be mindful of their own safety and the safety of others, including
parties for whom they have a professional responsibility.
To the fullest extent of the law, neither the Publisher nor the authors, contributors, or editors, assume
any liability for any injury and/or damage to persons or property as a matter of products liability,
negligence or otherwise, or from any use or operation of any methods, products, instructions, or ideas
contained in the material herein.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-0-08-102939-8

For information on all Academic Press publications

visit our website at https://www.elsevier.com/books-and-journals

Publisher: Mara Conner

Acquisition Editor: Tim Pitts
Editorial Project Manager: Joshua Mearns
Production Project Manager: Kamesh Ramajogi
Designer: Mark Rogers
Typeset by VTeX
Dedication

A.P.K. – For my parents, Bernard and Maureen.

R.J.E. – In memory of Prof. David Cosgrove.

v
“The quiet statisticians have changed the world, not by discovering new facts
or technical developments but by changing the ways we reason, experiment,
and form our opinions about it.”
Ian Hacking
About the Authors

Andrew King has over 15 years of experience of

teaching courses at university level. He is currently
a Reader in Medical Image Analysis in the School
of Biomedical Engineering and Imaging Sciences at
King’s College London.
In 2001–2005, Andrew worked as an Assistant
Professor in the Computer Science department at
Mekelle University in Ethiopia and was responsible
for curriculum development, design, and delivery of
modules.
Andrew’s research interests focus on the use of machine learning and medi-
cal imaging to learn clinically useful information, with a special emphasis on
moving organs (http://kclmmag.org).

Robert Eckersley has been a Senior Lecturer in the

School of Biomedical Engineering and Imaging Sci-
ences at King’s College London since 2012. He has
been teaching at undergraduate and postgraduate
levels since 2006. Prior to 2012, Robert was a lecturer
in the Department of Imaging Sciences at Imperial
College London.
Robert’s research is centered around the use of ultra-
sound in medical imaging. He has a long standing
interest in the use of microbubbles as contrast agents
for ultrasound imaging.

Together Andrew and Robert run the Computational Statistics module for
Biomedical Engineering students upon which this book was based.

xv
Preface

AIMS AND MOTIVATION

Recent years have seen a rapid increase in the use of technology in healthcare,
and the field of statistics provides essential tools for understanding and test-
ing the impact of new biomedical technologies and techniques. The authors
have been teaching an undergraduate module on statistics using MATLAB
for Biomedical Engineering students at King’s College London for a number of
years, and this book has grown out of this experience. We have seen the wide
range of challenges, difficulties, and misconceptions faced by students when
trying to learn about statistical techniques and their practical application in
biomedicine, and we have developed a variety of ways of addressing them. We
have tried to incorporate these into this book, and we hope that the result is
a clear and logically structured introduction to the fundamental concepts of
statistics, featuring intuitive explanations motivated by realistic examples.
The module that we have been teaching is aimed at Biomedical Engineering
students, and so most of the examples and exercises reflect this fact. How-
ever, we believe that the content of the book and its presentation will be more
widely applicable. Therefore the intended audience of this book is any un-
dergraduate or postgraduate student who wants to learn the fundamentals of
visualizing and analyzing data using statistical techniques. We also believe that
researchers working in the biomedical sciences and related areas who are look-
ing to include statistical analysis in their work may benefit from the book.
We believe that it is important not just to learn how to apply statistical meth-
ods, but also to appreciate some of their underlying concepts and theory. The
content of this book reflects this belief. However, we stop short of including
lengthy mathematical proofs and derivations of the techniques we present,
but rather we try to get across an “intuitive” feel for the underlying theory. To
make things easier for the reader, we often separate these explanations of why
techniques work from the descriptions of how they can be applied. This allows
the readers to have more flexibility in how they use the book. If you are only
interested in quickly getting started on using statistics to analyze and visualize
your data, then you can skip these sections (which are boxed off with the head-
ing The Intuition). If, however, you want to come to a deeper understanding of xvii
xviii Preface

the methods that you are using (which we hope you do), then you can read
and understand these extra sections.
At the beginning of each chapter, clear learning objectives are provided. In the
chapter bodies a range of practical biomedical examples are used to illustrate
the concepts being presented. We also include Activities in the chapter bodies,
which enable the reader to test how well they have met each of the learning ob-
jectives. Solutions to all activities are available from the book’s web site. We use
MATLAB to illustrate the practical application of the statistical techniques we
describe.1 However, the MATLAB content is included at the end of each chapter
in a separate section, which can then be used by the reader to solve the practi-
cal Exercises that follow (which are also linked to the learning objectives at the
beginning of the chapter). Therefore it is possible to read this book purely as a
book about statistics and not engage with the MATLAB content at all. Having
said this, using an automated tool such as MATLAB makes visualizing and an-
alyzing data a lot easier, so we strongly recommend using one, even if it is not
MATLAB. We have done our best to ensure the realism of the data that we use
in our examples, activities, and exercises, and which are freely accessible to the
reader on the book’s web site. However, all data are completely synthetic, and
we take full responsibility for any lack of realism.
At the end of each chapter, we include a brief pen portrait of a famous figure
from the history of the field of statistics. Statistics is sometimes viewed as a dry
and lifeless subject. We hope that by bringing to life some of these significant
figures and linking their work to the concepts that we present, we can help to
overcome this myth.

Learning Objectives

On completion of the book the reader should be able to:

■ Demonstrate an understanding of the fundamental concepts of descrip-

tive and inferential statistics.
■ Analyze data and choose an appropriate hypothesis test to answer a
given question.
■ Compute numerical statistical measures and perform hypothesis tests
“by hand”.
■ Visualize data and perform statistical analysis using MATLAB.
■ Analyze a problem and design an experiment to gather the required data
to answer questions about it.

1 All MATLAB codes are compatible with version 2018a.

Visit https://testbankfan.com
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 Preface xix

HOW TO USE THIS BOOK

Instructors
It is our intention that the book can be easily used as a companion to a taught
undergraduate or postgraduate module on statistics. We provide a full set of
teaching materials to instructors, which they are free to make use of and mod-
ify as they see fit. The book consists of eleven chapters, each of which could
reasonably be covered in a week of teaching. Depending on how many weeks
are available, instructors can use all or a selection of the chapters.
In our module at King’s College London we perform all teaching in a computer
laboratory. This allows us to quickly link theoretical concepts to practical appli-
cation and encourages hands-on skill acquisition. The teaching materials are
based upon this approach. However, if instructors prefer to separate the the-
ory and applications, for example, by having dedicated lectures and practical
laboratory sessions, then the materials can be adapted accordingly.
We recommend that the learning objectives included at the beginning of each
chapter should be used as the basis for any assessments. For example, a written
exam could test knowledge of the non-MATLAB learning objectives, and/or
practical courseworks could be used to test the MATLAB learning objectives.

Students and Researchers

The book can also be used as a stand-alone teaching resource for the interested
reader. Our recommended approach in this case is to work through the book
chapter-by-chapter and attempt all activities to check your progress against the
provided learning objectives. If you find any activity difficult, then revisit the
corresponding content and review the activity. Once you are confident in your
knowledge of the statistical concepts in each chapter, then read the MATLAB
implementation section at the end and practice using the provided code and
functions on some simple data of your own. Then you can attempt the ex-
ercises at the end of each chapter and again assess your progress against the
learning objectives. Only when you are sure that you have met all learning ob-
jectives, should you move on to the next chapter. Through this approach we
believe that you will gain a thorough understanding of the fundamentals of
statistical data visualization and analysis and be able to apply it to real-world
problems and data of your own.

Web Site Resources

The book comes with companion web-based materials. There are two sets of
resources: one for students using the book as a learning aid and one for in-
structors who wish to base a taught module upon it. The URLs of the sites
are:
xx Preface

■ Student site: https://www.elsevier.com/books-and-journals/book-companion/

9780081029398. This site is freely available to all and contains many
code examples and all data required to attempt the MATLAB exercises at
the end of each chapter. Solutions to all activities and exercises are also
provided.
■ Instructor site: https://textbooks.elsevier.com/web/Manuals.aspx?isbn=978008
1029398. This site is restricted to registered instructors and contains a set
of teaching materials that can be used and modified as instructors see fit.

CONTENTS AND ORGANIZATION

The book consists of 11 chapters:

■ Chapter 1 – Descriptive Statistics I: Univariate Statistics. This chapter pro-

vides a general introduction to the field of statistics. The difference
between descriptive and inferential statistics is outlined, and some funda-
mental concepts and notation regarding the type of data being analyzed
are presented. After these introductory concepts the chapter focuses on
descriptive statistics of univariate data or data in which a single value or
variable is measured from each ‘individual’.
■ Chapter 2 – Descriptive Statistics II: Bivariate and Multivariate Statistics. This
chapter extends the concepts of the previous chapter to cover descriptive
statistics of bivariate data or data in which two variables are measured per
individual. As well as bivariate data visualization techniques, we look at
numerical measures of the correlation between two variables, the covari-
ance between multiple variables, and the use of Bland–Altman analysis.
■ Chapter 3 – Descriptive Statistics III: ROC Analysis. This chapter contin-
ues the discussion of descriptive statistical techniques by introducing the
concept of ROC analysis. ROC analysis is a way of visualizing the perfor-
mance of a test by comparing its decisions with a known gold standard.
It builds upon the concepts of sensitivity and specificity and enables the
production of a plot that illustrates how the test performs for a range of
different thresholds.
■ Chapter 4 – Inferential Statistics I: Basic Concepts. After covering descriptive
statistics for the first three chapters, this chapter and the next four cover
inferential statistics. The chapter starts by reviewing the fundamental con-
cepts of probability, which underpin the field of inferential statistics. The
key piece of theory presented in this chapter is the central limit theorem.
The implications of this theorem for inferential statistics are discussed,
and based upon this two measures of reliability for estimates of central
tendency are introduced, the standard error of the mean and confidence
intervals of the mean.
■ Chapter 5 – Inferential Statistics II: Parametric Hypothesis Testing. This chap-
ter builds on the basic concepts introduced in Chapter 4 to explain how
 Preface xxi

hypotheses about data can be formally tested. In particular, the chapter

deals with parametric hypothesis tests, which typically assume that the
data being tested are normally distributed. The Student’s t-test is intro-
duced as the most common parametric hypothesis test.
■ Chapter 6 – Inferential Statistics III: Nonparametric Hypothesis Testing. Fol-
lowing on from the treatment of parametric hypothesis testing, this
chapter discusses the corresponding nonparametric hypothesis tests that
can be used when we cannot assume a normal distribution in our data.
■ Chapter 7 – Inferential Statistics IV: Choosing a Hypothesis Test. To choose
an appropriate hypothesis test (i.e. parametric or nonparametric), we
must be able to decide whether data fit sufficiently well to a normal
distribution. This chapter introduces a range of visual and numerical
techniques that can be used to help to make this decision.
■ Chapter 8 – Inferential Statistics V: Multiple and Multivariate Hypothesis Test-
ing. The preceding chapters on inferential statistics all assume that the
data are univariate (i.e. one value per ‘individual’) and that we are only
testing a single hypothesis about the data. This chapter introduces some
parametric hypothesis tests that can be used when we have data that are
multivariate (more than one value per ‘individual’) and/or we want to
ask multiple questions about our data.
■ Chapter 9 – Experimental Design and Sample Size Calculations. Until this
point in the book, we have assumed that the data to be visualized and
analyzed have already been gathered. This chapter deals with the im-
portant topic of how best to design an experiment to gather the right
data and to be able to ask and answer questions about it. We discuss
the types of errors that can be present in measured data and introduce
ways in which experiments can be designed to minimize the effects of
these errors. We also explain the principles behind power and sample
size calculations.
■ Chapter 10 – Statistical Shape Models. This chapter introduces the concept
of a statistical shape model (SSM). SSMs have been hugely influential in
the biomedical sciences and have found application in a wide range of
areas. They can be viewed as extending the concept of inferential statis-
tics to shapes rather than just variables. We cover the theory behind SSMs
and how they are closely linked to the concept of dimensionality reduction.
■ Chapter 11 – MATLAB Case Study on Descriptive and Inferential Statistics.
The book closes with a realistic biomedical case study to illustrate the
use of some of the techniques that have been presented in the preceding
chapters. This is the only chapter that involves use of MATLAB through-
out, so if you are reading the book purely as a book about statistics and
do not care about the use of MATLAB, you can skip this chapter.
Acknowledgments

Above all, we would like to express our gratitude to Graeme Penney. Graeme
codeveloped the materials for the original module from which this book was
developed. Much of the material in the book is based on Graeme’s original
notes, and he also wrote early versions of some of the text. We are grateful for
Graeme’s permission to build on this material to produce this book.
We would like to thank Esther Puyol Antón for providing the MR data that was
used in Chapters 10 and 11, and Kawal Rhode for permission to use the im-
age in Fig. 10.3. We also thank all previous King’s College London Biomedical
Engineering students and teaching assistants on the Computational Statistics
module for providing useful and constructive feedback, which has helped to
shape the book.
Finally, from the publishers Elsevier we thank Tim Pitts for his encouragement
and honest feedback on our original proposal and Joshua Mearns for his assis-
tance during the development of the book.

xxiii
 CHAPTER 1

Descriptive Statistics I: Univariate Statistics

LEARNING OBJECTIVES
At the end of this chapter you should be able to:

O1.A Explain the reasons for using statistics

O1.B Identify different data types
O1.C Display univariate statistics in MATLAB
O1.D Calculate measures of central tendency (mean, median, mode) by hand
and using MATLAB
O1.E Calculate measures of variation (standard deviation, interquartile
range) by hand and using MATLAB
O1.F Decide which statistic and display method is most appropriate for your
data

1.1 INTRODUCTION
We are living in a world in which more and more data are being recorded.
As digital and computing advances are made, more data are generated, and
more sophisticated machines are developed to allow us to record, track and
measure data. Data are recorded in almost every discipline (e.g. economics,
health, business, politics, science and engineering), and extremely important
decisions are taken based upon analyzing these data. Statistics is the study
of how to correctly manipulate data to best inform such decisions. In par-
ticular, it helps us to deal with uncertainty in measurements. Outside of the
world of pure mathematics, data will always contain errors and variation.
Statistics enables us to decide when conclusions can be formed, despite our
data containing variation. It can be thought of as “mathematics meets the real
world.”

Statistics can be defined as the science of collecting and analyzing data. It can be
split into two main categories: 1

Statistics for Biomedical Engineers and Scientists. https://doi.org/10.1016/B978-0-08-102939-8.00010-4

Copyright © 2019 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
but circumstances have arisen which render it necessary for me to
part with her—for a time at any rate.”
The Mother Superior bowed and waited. Although shut up in
seclusion she knew the world, and was a shrewd judge of its people.
“Her father is dead,” said the other, in a careless voice and crossed
herself. “And I am about to marry a very dear friend, Count —, but
perhaps I had better leave the name unsaid.
“He has known me for many years, and at last I have agreed to
yield to his appeal.” She shook out a fold of her cloak, and looked at
the other.
A grim look came to the eyes of the Mother Superior, seldom seen
there, as she said. “And so the little one is to be left in our care? And
is she to remain in our charge during the holidays? It is far to go to
Italy.”
“Yes, it would be better. You see Marco does not care for her to be
at home, when we are first married, and I—well, it reminds me of
advancing years,” and she gave a hard laugh.
“I understand,” said the Mother Superior, then “poor child. She has
been confirmed?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. I have the certificate here,” and she opened her bag.
“And her birth certificate? That may be necessary for
examinations.”
“No, I am afraid I have not got that. I lost it—I did not think it
would be necessary.” She hesitated.
“I think I understand,” said the other looking straight at her.
“Our fold is open to all, especially to those children—without birth
certificates.”
“The fees shall be paid regularly,” the Italian went on hastily.
“Marco is very rich, and will grudge nothing, you need have no
anxiety.”
The conversation had gone on in English of which Carlotta
understood no word, but looked questioningly at each in turn,
clinging shyly to her mother.
When the time for parting came, she cried bitterly, silently.
Her mother gave her a formal kiss, and told her to behave well in
her new school. She would write to her, she said, and perhaps come
and see her next year. Meanwhile the Sisters would look after her.
And so she took her departure, impatient to be gone, and would
not even stay for food which was offered her.
“Poor lamb,” said the Mother Superior, and brought her to the
Sisters. She handed her over to Sister Ursula, who was versed in
these cases, who soon had Carlotta smiling, and in a few days her
troubles were almost forgotten. Life was fair, and the English June
beautiful as a picture. Roses were out in the gardens, the trees were
in fresh green, and the flowers along the old wall were such as she
had never seen. The Sisters were particularly kind to Carlotta; she
was so fragile, with an exotic prettiness, given to sudden crying at
times. And there was a wistful look in her eyes, as though gazing out
over the sea to her southern home. She had beautiful dark eyes,
with long lashes, was grave and composed at her lessons, and
attentive in the dim chapel, where she would kneel with a devotion
beyond her years, at the wonderful services, her eyes fixed as
though in ecstasy.
But she was happiest in the Chapel of Our Lady, where she would
adore with clasped hands. The Mother Superior was disturbed, she
did not like to see too much fervour in one so young. She knew the
reactions which so often come later.
“It is all so beautiful,” Carlotta said to Sister Ursula. “When I grow
up I shall be a sister. Do you think they will let me or am I too
wicked?”
The Sister smiled and stroked her black hair. “My dear, we must do
as Our Blessed Lady directs,” she said, “we can seldom choose for
ourselves. To some is given the quiet and holiness of a religious life,
but others are called to go out into the world, and to face the evil
there—perhaps to marry.”
A far away look came into her eyes, and a sigh escaped her.
Carlotta did not see it; she rose and stamped her little foot. “I
shall never marry,” she cried with passion “Never! Never!”
“Hush, my child, you must not speak like that,” but she folded her
in her arms.
Of her mother Carlotta never spoke, and the promised letters
never came. The fees were paid regularly for a year, but there was
no mention of a visit from her mother, and then came silence, and
when a letter was sent to her address, it was returned, undelivered.
The Mother Superior sent for Ursula, and showed it to her without
comment.
“But you will not send her away?” she cried in alarm.
The other was grave, but she smiled as she said. “I expected this,
the so-called Count has got tired of her. We shall hear no more of
them, but this sweet child, no, she shall remain with us. She must
not be told. Mother Church does not cast out her children.”
And so another year passed, and the promise of the bud was
revealed in the flower. Carlotta ripened early as southerners do, and
at sixteen would have lured St. Anthony from his devotions. Black
curls fell round her sweet face, and the great, dark, innocent eyes,
wondrous as the mirror of the sea, in their changeful emotions,
looked out on the world fearless yet timid, dreaming of what lay in
the glory of the future.
Her figure was straight and supple, like one of the flowers in the
garden she loved so passionately.
Ursula was anxious. The child had fits of silence, when she would
get away from the others, and sit motionless in the garden.
With the other girls she was a favourite, for though she did not
excel either at work or games, she was always kind and gentle, and
took keen delight in the success of others.
The early summer had come which was Carlotta’s happiest time,
for she pined in the winter.
The girls were allowed in the woods with the Sisters, and Carlotta
loved the green and fragrant hollows where the bluebells made a
carpet, and the birds sang for joy.
One day she had wandered off by herself, for she was allowed a
certain freedom, on account of her queer moods, and the others
were not far off.
She was aroused from her dreaming by the sound of a voice.
“What a face to paint! Ye gods! I’ve never seen so perfect a
picture.”
She looked up in alarm and saw a young man standing before her.
In her secluded life she had spoken to no men save the old priest
who heard her blameless confessions. This one was tall and clean,
and the face was moulded like one of the old Greek gods.
Had she known more of the world she would have seen a restless
hungry look in the eyes, but at present they were filled with the light
of admiration.
“Who are you, little goddess?” he asked in a musical voice. “And
what do you among these woods? Perchance you are an Oread
strayed from your home.”
Carlotta was unafraid, and replied innocently.
“I am at the convent school, The Convent of the Sacred Heart,
and the others are near here, but I came to hear the birds, they sing
so sweetly.”
“And what do they tell you, little Daphne?”
“They sing of something I cannot understand,” she said with a
smile, “but it is very beautiful.”
The man laughed outright. “What a quaint little girl you are. Shall
I tell you what they sing about? It is Love. They are telling each
other how much they love, and that all should love on such days as
this.” He stretched his hands out to the sky.
Carlotta suddenly remembered herself.
“I must not talk to you,” she said “it is forbidden. I must go and
find the others. Sister Ursula would be very angry if she knew I had
been talking to a man.”
The man smiled. “And is a man so very dreadful?” he asked.
“I suppose you are taught that they are terrible creatures, ogres
who are waiting to eat little girls.”
“I don’t know,” she said “I have never spoken to one before,” and
she opened wide her great eyes.
“I must not keep you,” said the man. “I am a painter, I won’t say
artist, and when I saw you, I thought what a beautiful picture I
could make of you, for a Madonna.”
“Oh, hush!” said Carlotta shocked. “I, as a picture of Our Blessed
Lady, I must not listen,” and she rose in haste.
“What a funny little girl you are,” he said, laying a hand on her
arm. “We always have to use models; all artists have, even for the
Christ or the Blessed Virgin; there is nothing wicked in that.”
 She looked at him doubtfully.
“Well if you must go, tell me when I can see you again,” he said.
“You’ve haven’t told me your name yet?”
“My name is Carlotta, but they call me Carlot,” she said.
“Carlot! That’s the name of my dog,” and he laughed boisterously.
Carlotta was hurt. “That is not kind of you,” she said and turned to
go.
“One moment. I am sorry, but so sweet a face deserves a better
name. I shall call you Daphne. When can we meet?”
For the first time she was alarmed. Sitting on the ground was one
thing, but standing beside him and seeing how tall and strong he
was, she felt a vague fear.
“Carlot … Carlot … where are you?” came a call.
A sudden realisation of her wickedness in talking to a man came
to her, and she turned and fled away.
He did not try to detain her.
“What a sweet face. What lovely eyes,” he said, and the sight of
her little breast rising and falling with emotion as she spoke,
appealed to more than the artist in him.
“Now which is it?” he said aloud. “You blackguard, is this going to
be a dream to think of and something on the credit side, or a mere
seduction? You devil, I never know which way the balance will turn.”
He went slowly into the town, the vision with him all the way.
“Mr. Desmond, there is a Mrs. Wheatland to see you,” said the
head waiter deferentially.
“Oh! Damn!” said he, “that spoils the vision beautiful. All right,
show her to my sitting room.”
A young woman was ushered in, with a fascinating rather than
pretty face, one who, a keen judge would have said, would not
stand the wear and tear of life for long. The hands and feet were
large, and though at present she was in the glory of early
womanhood, there were unmistakable signs of latent vulgarity.
She came forward at once, and flung her arms round the man’s
neck, and almost smothered him.
“Oh, Hugh! I have found you at last. Where have you been all this
time? I have been longing for you. And my husband is getting worse
than ever. I could just bear with him until I met you, but since then
everything has been so different, and he is so common, so plebeian.
But what is the matter, dear? You don’t seem glad to see me?”
“Of course I am, Winnie, but you have taken me by surprise,” he
said disengaging himself. “I am delighted to see you, but you know
it is dangerous coming here.”
“You need not be afraid,” she answered in a tone almost of
contempt. “My husband is in Germany buying goods, or something
of that sort—I don’t understand trade—and he will be away a
fortnight.”
“Oh, well, that’s all right, let’s have something to eat.”
“What’s the matter with you, you don’t seem a bit pleased to see
me?” she said petulantly. Desmond roused himself; the vision was
still with him, but here was something more tangible.
“I am sorry, dear, I have been having a long walk in the woods,
and I got tired. When we have had a decent dinner and a bottle of
the best we can talk over things.”
She looked at him doubtfully for a moment, and then said:
“Perhaps you would rather I went?”
He laughed. “Of course not. It is delightful seeing you. Come on,
go and get dressed, I suppose you have brought your things?”
“I left my bag at the station, as I was not certain you were here.
Shall I send for it?”
For the moment he hesitated. “Yes, of course. I will tell the waiter.
But you gave your name as Mrs. Wheatland?”
“Never mind.”
Desmond rang the bell.
“Have Mrs. Wheatland’s bag fetched. Here is the ticket, and
reserve a room for her,” he said in a tone used to command.
When he saw her enter the dining room he was thrilled.
She was certainly a very beautiful woman, he thought, and after
all one must have some fun out of life.
Her evening gown was not lacking in scantiness, and displayed as
much of her body as could reasonably be expected in those austere
times.
 Soon they were deep in the enjoyment of the other’s company,
and oblivious of the other guests.
They had much to talk over, for a jealous husband had kept them
apart in a most unfeeling fashion. Perhaps that was what had
whetted appetite. Two bottles of champagne—for she was fond of a
glass of good wine helped to cheer the evening.
By the time bedtime came, he took both her hands in his, and
whispered. “And what did you say was the number of your room?”
“I did not say any number, you silly boy,” she answered, showing
her fine teeth, “but as a matter of fact it is No. 13.”
“An easy one to remember,” he said lightly, “Good-night,” and he
turned to the smoking room for a night-cap.
 Chapter II.
Flight
Hugh Desmond was more of a hunter than a libertine. What he
desired, he pursued, but after the capture he was sated, and would
turn to a fresh venture. If he could stop short before the “kill” he
would have been content. A devil drove him on to the very edge,
and then some instinct less ignoble urged him to restraint.
For, though he went as Hugh Desmond, which was his family
name, he was in reality the seventh Lord Reckavile, with a
reputation so sinister that every decent woman shrunk from him till
she knew him, and then fell in love with him.
A soldier of fortune, who had not the patience to remain in the
Army, he had sought death deliberately instead of glory, in each of
the foreign campaigns in which he had fought, always driven from
country to country by the Curse, and too poor to take a position in
which he might have earned distinction. He was hounded by a desire
which knew no satisfaction, and a pride which claimed a high regard
for honour.
Such had been the contradiction and the Curse of his race. It was
with a sigh of relief that he stood on the platform and saw the train
bearing Winnie back to London, and to her husband, slowly steam
away. She had been lacrimose and vowed that she would never have
a day’s happiness till he saw her again.
He had agreed to her acclamations, but wished to be quit of her,
feeling angry with himself for a lack of ardour he could not induce.
On the way back to the hotel he made up his mind for another of
those wild expeditions abroad which had filled most of his life.
Some evil fate led him to pass the Cathedral Church, where the
organ was playing. The artist in him made him pause in rapture, and
he entered softly. The sensuous odour of incense and the gorgeous
music of the benediction service greeted him, and the dim lights, the
towering pillars, and the blaze of the high altar, appealed to his
aesthetic fancy, after the gross life of the last few days. How happily
he could have become a monk, mortifying the flesh and flogging
himself when unholy desires came to taunt him.
To devote his life to the Holy Virgin, and crush down the base part
would be a fight worthy of his pride.
The organ ceased and the dreams with it. He looked round, and in
the seats opposite to him, were the girls from the convent school,
for this was a saint’s day.
With a sudden quickening of the pulse he saw his little wood
nymph, her hands clasped and her face alight with devotion, but
now a saint, transfigured, adorable.
He watched entranced; he could have bent before her, offering
fealty, pleading only for some token so that he might remain her
true knight, serving only in her cause.
The baser part of him was gone at that moment, and then she
looked round for a brief moment, and their eyes met.
She turned quickly away, but he could see a dark flush spread
over her lovely face; she had seen him, and the sight had not
affected her as that of a mere stranger. The blood rushed to his
head. He hastily scribbled a note on a leaf from his pocket book, and
wrapped it in his hand.
The mood of piety had gone, and the hunting instinct was
dominant. As the worshippers left the building he passed to her side,
and as she turned to bow to Christ on His altar, he slipped the note
into her hand.
The awful impiety of the act almost made her drop it, but she
clutched it to her with a look of pain, and went out of the sacred
building. In the privacy of her room, she furtively opened the
crumpled piece of paper and read:

Dear little Angel. When I saw you tonight I adored you. You
are far removed from all other beings. If you wish to save a
suffering mortal, meet me in the woods where we last saw each
 other. Otherwise my death may be on your hands. Fear nothing,
I will guard you as my own sister. At three tomorrow, but I will
wait till you come.
Your devoted servant and knight,
Hugh Desmond.

In her maiden breast strange feelings were stirring. She knew it

was wrong, that she ought to take the note to Sister Ursula at once
and tell her the story which she had even withheld from the father
at confession, but that was not possible. He had been so kind, he
had not tried to stay her, or to say anything at which she could take
offence. And now he said his life was at stake; perhaps he had some
terrible trouble in which she could help him. If so surely she was
doing right to give him aid.
So she hid the note under her pillow and dreamt of the morrow.
Desmond waited in the woods, picturing her as she had sat there
in her girlish sweetness, when he had seen her, till the dusk of
evening was coming on and the birds had ceased to sing. He rose
stiff and cramped. Well, the gods had decided against him, so there
was no use complaining. She had probably torn up the note or
perhaps even handed it over to the Mother Superior.
Suddenly she stood before him, panting, and like a fairy in the
twilight. He had not heard her approach, and stood enraptured with
the sight.
“Oh, I know I ought not to have come,” she said “but we did not
go out this afternoon, and then I thought that you would be waiting,
and after what you said about being in trouble, I felt I must come,
but I cannot stop or they will miss me.”
“Little Daphne, you have been very kind. I have ached to see you.
I have been here all the afternoon, and would have stayed all night
if there had been a chance of meeting you.” He approached her, and
she did not shrink from him, only crossed her hands over her breast,
and stood expectant.
“What did you want to tell me?” she asked.
“Only that you are the loveliest maid in the world, and I have
longed for you since we met. You have been with me night and day.
Oh Daphne, I love you dearly, and without you I shall certainly die.”
She drew back then with a quick movement.
“But you said your death would be on my hands if I did not
come?”
“If you will not love me I shall die,” he said, but the phrase
sounded hollow to him.
The setting sun was on her, and an expression of bewilderment
showed on her face. She could not understand deliberate deceit, and
thought she must have misunderstood him. They remained for a
moment in silence, and in that pause a fight was taking place in
Desmond’s mind, but the sight of her proved too much, and with
one swift tiger-like movement he took her in his arms.
Had she resisted, or struggled, his hunting instinct would have
overmastered him, but she remained, neither consenting nor
resisting, just as a child might lie in the arms of its father.
His hot breath was on her cheek, and in a whisper he said, “I love
you, little Daphne, the night is round us, come, we will love while we
may.” His lips were close to hers, but some invisible force restrained
him. What had he written; he would treat her as a sister. The word
of a Reckavile was inviolate, whether for good or evil, and slowly he
released her from his close embrace.
“I will take you back,” he whispered. “It is too late for you to be
out.”
“Thank you, I ought to go, but it is so lovely here, and you are so
good to me.”
“Come with me,” he said unable to trust himself further.
He took her to the garden wall where she had jumped down, and
lifted her young warm body like a feather.
She was again adorable, and his mood was exalted. She reached
down, and he took her hand to kiss, but she put two soft arms
round his neck and kissed him frankly as a child might kiss.
“I shall be here every night till you come again,” he said, disarmed
completely.
There was a movement above, and she was gone.
This meeting was the first of many. Desmond stayed on at the
hotel, and the foreign expedition was postponed.
 Each night he would wait beneath the wall, which bordered the
woods, till all hope of seeing her had gone. Then he would go to the
hotel not angry but hoping for a happier chance on the morrow.
She would slip out when she could, fearfully at first, but as
discovery seemed remote, with growing confidence.
A change came over her. She found herself thinking more of Hugh
as he had taught her to call him, and less of her devotions. Even at
mass his image was before her, and she felt wicked, but could not
alter her feelings. Longing seized her for something she only dimly
comprehended; she became moody and irritable, and neglected her
work. Sister Ursula was distressed, she had grown to love the girl.
She misread the symptoms and thought Carlotta was pining to be
free, like a caged bird. When they met the talk was all of the strange
places he had seen, and she would listen all eyes and ears, drinking
in every word. And so Desmond stayed on, cursing himself for the
vile thing he was planning, yet persisting in his scheme. At last he
came to the same spot now sacred to both, and lifted her down.
Both were disturbed. The autumn was coming on, the time Carlotta
dreaded, for she hated the cold and damp, and the death of the
flowers.
“Daphne, my darling,” he said holding her in his arms, “I have to
go away tomorrow to my own home to see to matters there. I shall
be away for a week at least. When I come back I will see you again.”
He spoke almost coldly, and she gave a little cry of pain, and realised
perhaps for the first time what his absence would mean. She held
fast to him.
“Oh, must you go?” she asked with a moan.
“I must, I have been here too long as it is, but I will come back.”
“Don’t be long, I shall miss you. It is so lonely without you.”
“Would you come with me to Italy for the winter?” he whispered,
“away from all this cold and wet, into the sunlight. We can see
Venice, you have never been there, and find your mother,” he added
falsely.
Her body quivered in his embrace, but she stood silent. When it
came to leaving the Convent and its quiet shelter, and the good
Sisters, a gulf seemed to open beneath her feet.
 “I could not,” she said, but the vision of all the beauties he had
pictured, actually possible to her was dazzling her very soul.
“I will come for you,” he said “and you must decide for yourself.
Only if you don’t come with me, I must go away altogether.”
“Don’t,” she answered, “it would be too cruel. If you leave me I
shall die. I cannot live without you.” Her fierce passion was
something he had not seen before. He took her in his arms then,
and kissed her on the mouth, the eyes and hair, holding her close,
and she returned his kisses with utter abandon, her soft arms round
his neck. He was the first to recover, and gently disengaged himself.
He was trembling; he had never felt like this in any of his affairs.
“You must go, my darling,” he said very gently, and lifted her to
the wall, not daring to say more.
She was crying now, softly as she always did, and the tears fell on
him like rain.
“Good-bye,” he said hoarsely, and turned away through the dark
woods.
“You scoundrel,” he said to himself. “Now what are you going to
do? She is not like the others, she will never forget.
“Are you going to leave her, and break her very soul. She has no
mother and no friends outside the convent. Or are you going to take
her, she is yours for the asking, and ruin her?”
There was another possibility, but he would not allow his thoughts
in that direction—marriage, but that was horrible. To settle down as
a married man; no that could never be for him.
And so he went irresolute, torn by conflicting feelings, the
sweetness of her kisses an abiding and tormenting memory.
And Carlotta, for her the old life was done. It was all biting pain
now. She had been instructed by the Sisters, and she knew right
from wrong. She had been playing with fire, and now she was burnt.
The days passed in weariness; she tried to forget in her devotions,
but the old fervour would not come. Perhaps she might have
recovered in time, might even have forgotten, but fate was playing a
part.
He had been gone a week when the Mother Superior sent for
Carlotta.
 “Come here, my child,” she said, “I want to talk to you about your
future. We must discuss what you are to do.”
“I do not understand,” said Carlotta.
“My poor child, it is time you were told the truth,” and she
recounted the story of her mother, and of her treatment. Carlotta
could have died with shame; her sensitive soul was deeply wounded.
That she had been kept on out of charity, a foundling; it was awful.
“And so you see, my dear,” the Mother continued, “we must look
out for something for you. We have places where we train girls, and
I think we can get you into one of those.”
“And I am to leave here?” Carlotta gasped.
“I am afraid so, my dear child, the rules will not allow you to stay
after you are seventeen, and that will be in a few months.”
She went on talking quietly, but Carlotta heard nothing. It was as
though she were sinking in deep waters, and a faint sound of a voice
far away was speaking.
She did not cry, but her face was white and pinched.
“You understand?” asked the Mother and kissed her.
“Yes, Mother, I will do what you want.”
“That’s a good child, run along now. I will have another talk when
I have heard from the training college.”
For once her judgment was at fault; she thought Carlotta had
taken it very well, and would be reconciled to her new life.
No sleep came to Carlotta that night. She tossed on her bed, and
a dry fever tormented her.
“Oh, Holy Mother!” she prayed “take this shame from me, what
can I do?”
When dawn came she was calm; she had made up her mind once
and for all. She was Italian, and had not the calculating mind of the
northerner; she would go to him, yes, this very evening, and her
courage rose high at the thought.
Desmond was waiting by the wall; the Curse had driven him back.
He must see her, if only to say good-bye. How often has the Devil
tried this game with success.
She came to the wall, which on the garden side was low, and
leant on the parapet. He noticed with a start that she was holding a
little hand-bag, so small and dainty that even at the moment he
wondered what on earth she could get into it.
“I am coming with you, if you will take me,” she said quite calmly.
“My God!” he said, staggering back, “do you mean it?”
“Of course. You asked me last week, and said you would come for
me.”
He was at a loss. This dainty little girl was talking like some
practiced woman of the world, or was it sheer innocence?
Then he was swept away, and all moderation left him. He
gathered her from the wall and seized her roughly in his arms.
“Daphne, my darling, come. We will fly together, over the blue
seas, and love each other dearly, and no one shall come between us.
It will be all Heaven, and you shall be my angel, my Love! My
Queen!”
The hours sped by in the soft velvet night, and he took her by the
hand, and led her to the town. His senses came to him, and his
quick mind saw the danger. She would be missed, and a search
made. He went to his hotel, but not to the front door. He had
brought a young fellow from his estate to look after him, Southgate,
son of a publican, who had some training as a valet. He had taken
him with him before and knew his loyalty and discretion.
He roused him up from the servants’ quarters.
“Go to the King’s Head down the street, and hire a trap. Mention
no name except a false one, and say it is an urgent case—an
accident. Here is money. You can return the trap tomorrow evening.
Bring it to the Cross by the London Road. Hurry, mind, and don’t
arouse any suspicion.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the valet, who was used to his master’s
vagaries.
Desmond led Carlotta down the silent street, and waited at the
Cross. She was quiet, and filled with pure happiness and trust. She
had yielded herself to this man absolutely, and for ever. The die was
cast, and she was content.
They drove off into the night, and he held her in his arms where
she slept like a tired child.
 Mile after mile was covered, and dawn was breaking when she
woke to find herself at the door of an old inn. Southgate jumped
down, and held the steaming horses, while Desmond lifted her
down, and carried her to the house. The door was opened by an old
woman, who curtseyed to Desmond.
He said something to her in a low voice, and passed on up the
stairs to a door, which the woman opened, holding a candle for
them.
Very gently Desmond laid her on the bed, and kissed her.
“This good woman will see to you,” he said. “You will be quite safe
here.”
She was so weary that she could scarcely touch the hot soup
which the woman brought her, and soon was lost in happy dreams.
 Chapter III.
The Marriage
“When are we going to Italy?” asked Carlotta. She was sitting
happily on Hugh’s knee, and the sunlight came through the window
of the old Inn.
“I have got the tickets, and booked our passages. The boat sails
on Saturday from Dover, and we go through France by train.”
She clapped her hands with pleasure.
He looked at her with delight, what a perfect little girl she was!
“And I’ve got lots of clothes for you. You must come and see
them. Mrs. Southgate has laid them all out in your bedroom.”
“You are a dear,” she said, and kissed him.
His method had been simple. He had written to London,
explaining that he required a complete outfit, and giving a
description of the lady. It was not the first time, and the articles had
arrived by return. He had a wealth of faults, but always paid his
debts; it was a peculiarity of the family.
Carlotta was delighted; what a child she was. She had worn the
school costume, sombre and uninteresting, so long that the sight of
all these lovely things made her joyous.
Desmond sat and watched her with a glow of pleasure.
Nothing would satisfy her but to try them on, and she came to
him to do up fastenings or hooks.
It was all joy and happiness, then quite suddenly she came and
put her arms round his neck, and said:
“Where are we going to get married, here or in Italy?”
The question staggered him. There was nothing coaxing or
challenging in the voice, and the question was asked so simply, as
though she was asking where they were going to dine.
 Her great dark innocent eyes looked at him, and a wave of pity,
and something as near remorse as he was capable of, touched him.
“Why, damme,” he said with a laugh, and with one of those
strange resolutions which madness dictated. “I had not thought of
that, little Daphne, so you would really like to marry me?” He
watched her narrowly. If there had been tears or reproach he would
have stiffened, but she merely said “Yes please, if you would like to,”
and he was disarmed. He gave a great laugh and held her to him.
“Caught! By Jove. Very well, sweetheart, we will get married. Why
not, after all? Married women have a pretty good time, so why not
men?” She looked at him with grave eyes.
“Fancy being your wife. It will be lovely.”
They had no time to spare, as although the Southgates were loyal
and true, the search for the girl might find them at any moment. He
obtained a special license, and they set out by road for Dover with
gaiety in their hearts, and in his case an unusual sense of virtue. If
she wondered that she had not met his family or friends, she put it
down to the fact that they must escape pursuit. He told her they
would come back when all the bother was over and he would show
her London.
At a little village church, where a friend of Desmond’s was parish
priest, and keener on hunting than his work, they were made man
and wife. She was a Catholic, and did not understand the ceremony,
which was witnessed by young Southgate and the verger, but when
he placed the ring on her finger, whispering “It was my Mother’s,”
she thought it all very beautiful.
The parson entertained them to a gargantuan meal, and both the
men were soon happily and noisily drunk, but Carlotta noticed
nothing.
“Reckavile, you ruffian, this is the last straw,” said the parson.
Carlotta had never heard the name before, but in after years she
remembered.
“You married! Oh Lord! I thought your line would at last end with
you—at any rate on the right side. You dog!”
Drunk as he was Reckavile turned grey. “I had sworn the Curse
should die with me. The Devil has a hand in most things. Pass the
bottle.”
Southgate and the parson’s man helped him into the chaise, and
the parson kissed the bride.
“God bless you, my dear,” he said unsteadily. “Come and see me
again.”
But it was not to be. A stroke took the worthy man off the next
night with consequences which none of them could have foreseen.
The weeks that followed were one dream of delight to Carlotta.
They journeyed from town to town, discovering fresh beauties
everywhere. He was charmed with his young bride, and for a
moment the horrible craving for something new was stayed.
She thought he was showing her Italy, but the restless craze drove
him on, only now he was happy at last, and satisfied with her
sweetness.
At Ancona, where they stayed for several days, he got his letters.
He was utterly careless in these matters, but his butler sent him a
batch now and then.
They had been watching the Bay from the battlements, with the
sun flashing on the Adriatic waters, when he took a bulky packet
from his pocket, and opened it carelessly.
There were some bills, some letters from his Club, and statement
from his butler. Nothing to worry about. Then his eye caught a
familiar writing, and with a quick catch in his breath, and a dull
presentiment of evil he broke the seal.
It was from Winnie, as he had known by the writing, and he read
it through twice. The large scrawly handwriting was clear enough,
but the news was startling.

My Darling Hugh,
Where have you hidden yourself all this time? I have enquired
everywhere, but no one knows anything about you. I am in
such dreadful trouble, I must see you at once. It is too awful.
My husband knows all about us. When he came back from
Germany the servants told him I had been away, and he found
that we had been stopping at that hotel. He put a lawyer on the
track, and discovered everything. Oh! What are we to do! You
 must come and advise me, and you will stand by me won’t you?
You know how much I love you, and you know you made me
unfaithful to my husband. You will not leave me now? He is
getting a divorce and what am I to do? I am staying with my
mother, as he will not have me. Do come to me.
Your broken-hearted
Winnie

There were tear stains, and corrections, and crosses at the end.
The letter was unfair and gross, and as Hugh looked up from reading
it, he contrasted in his mind the fair young girl, now throwing little
stones over the hedge to see them drop far below, and the
flamboyant beauty of the other, to whom now he must go, for so the
twisted honour of his race would have it.
“Come, Daphne, let us go back. It is getting late,” he said, but
there was a solemn note in his voice, which made her ask. “Have
you had bad news?”
“Oh no, just the ordinary worries, but it will probably mean I shall
have to go to England. Business affairs you know, but don’t trouble,
little girl, I shall not be away from you for long.”
A shadow crossed her lovely face. It was the first separation.
“Can’t I come too? I would love to see England properly, London
and the big cities.”
“I am afraid not this time, and besides you would hate the winter.
I must get a villa for you, and you can make everything ready for me
when I come back. It will be quite exciting for you, furnishing.”
And so it was arranged. Everything had to be done in a hurry, but
then he was used to that. He bought a charming little Villa at
Murano, and obtained servants for her, while she was to stay in
Venice till she had furnished it. On the last night she was sad.
“Come back soon,” she said “I shall be so lonely without you, and
…” she stopped.
He was tender with her, but there was a hunted look in his eyes.
He could see only one way out of the mess, and that he could not
tell her.
 She faced the parting bravely, and he was proud of her. There was
no scene such as he had been accustomed to with others; she
smiled at him, and waved as the train moved out. Only when she got
home to the hotel, she went to her room and burst into a passionate
flood of tears.
Reckavile found all London talking about the case. The worthy
draper had filed his petition, and only awaited his turn to come to
the courts. Winnie he would not see, and rumour gathered round
the action Reckavile would take. Betting was about even on his
marrying the woman or killing the draper.
Those who knew him were certain he would face the music.
He paid two visits, one to his family lawyer to enter a defence,
and one to an intimate friend, Captain Wynter. He found the latter at
the Club, and with his usual abruptness opened at once.
“You’ve heard of this silly business about the man Wheatland,
eh?” Wynter nodded.
“Well, I want you to take a challenge to him. Tell him I’ll fight him
for the lady.”
“My dear fellow,” said the other, dropping his eyeglass in his
astonishment, “are you joking? That sort of thing is quite out of
date, unfortunately, otherwise one would not have to put up with
the insults one meets with nowadays.”
“I mean it quite seriously, I am in a devil of a mess, and if he can
plug me, all the better. It will end the line, and everyone will be
satisfied.”
Wynter looked at him, and realised he was serious, and in a
dangerous mood. It would be best to pacify him, and rather a joke
to frighten the draper; perhaps even it might stay proceedings.
He drew up the challenge with all the formality of a century ago,
and showed it to Reckavile, who gravely agreed, without apparently
seeing any humour in the situation.
Wynter dressed himself in his best, and hailing a hansom cab,
drove to Wheatland Emporium in Highbury.
He found him, an anxious worried little man, pompous and vain,
with horrible mutton chop whiskers.
 He had risen by energy and hard work through the stages of
assistant to shop-walker and manager, until he had obtained a shop
of his own, and his middle aged affection had been lavished on his
cashier Winnie, then a beautiful young girl, and ambitious.
She had married him for his money, hoping to twist him round her
fingers, and found him vain and jealous, and exacting in his ideas
both of marital duty and spending limits.
Wynter he greeted with the artificial smile of the business man
expecting custom, and the latter bowed politely; he was enjoying his
part. “Mr. Wheatland, I believe?” he said.
“The same, sir, at your service,” answered the other.
“May I have a word with you, sir?” said the soldier.
“Certainly, come to my office.”
Seated in Wheatland’s private room, Wynter felt a sudden distaste
at his mission. After all, this poor man had been treated badly, and
he had his rights like anyone else.
“I am afraid I have come on an unpleasant errand,” he said “I
represent Lord Reckavile.”
The draper stiffened. “I do not wish to hear anything from that
man, my lawyer has the matter in hand.”
Wynter waved his hand. “This is not a lawyer’s business, but a
personal one—my friend Reckavile feels that you have a distinct
grievance, in fact that you have the right to demand satisfaction. He
is willing to waive his rank, and will meet you, if you will nominate a
second with whom I may arrange details.”
“A second, I don’t understand,” said the bewildered Wheatland.
“Exactly, a friend who will act for you. You can then fight for the
lady. He feels that as the aggrieved party you have the right to
challenge, but you might feel diffident on account of the disparity in
rank.” He produced his Cartel and spread it out.
The little man’s eyes fairly bulged in his head.
“Either you are playing a very discreditable practical joke, or your
friend is mad. Fight, sir, I never heard such rubbish. Are we back in
the Middle Ages? The Law, sir, will give me protection, and I shall
immediately communicate with my solicitor to stop this murderous
ruffian.”
 Then his manner changed, and in a whining tone he said, “Is it
not enough that he has seduced my wife, whom I loved with all my
heart, but he must seek my life as well.”
Wynter felt uncomfortable, and cursed himself for coming.
He rose to his feet, and buttoned up his coat, thrusting his famous
challenge into his pocket.
“Then I may take it, Mr. Wheatland, that you will not fight,” he
said.
“Certainly not, sir, I never heard anything so preposterous in my
life,” said the other.
“Very good, but on one point you are wrong. Reckavile is a
strange creature, and he does not wish to kill you; in fact he was
hoping you would kill him.”
Wheatland gazed at him open-mouthed.
“Kill him, sir, and how much better off should I be if I were
hanged for murder, than if I were murdered myself. And what would
become of my business; I should look ridiculous.”
Wynter felt he had better terminate the interview.
“Good-day, Mr. Wheatland,” he said bowing slightly.
Wheatland laid a hand on his arm.
“He will marry her, won’t he sir, when I have my divorce; I should
not like to think he would desert her.”
There was something in the tone which went to Wynter’s heart.
This stubborn man, who would not forgive, and who was willing to
face publicity for the sake of his personal honour, yet hoped that the
woman would find happiness or at any rate safety by marrying the
man.
“I’ll tell him,” said Wynter hurriedly, and went out.
Reckavile was waiting for him in the Club. He had occupied his
time in tossing a friend for sovereigns, and had liberally attended to
his needs for liquid refreshment.
He listened in scornful silence to Wynter’s recital.
“And so the merchant won’t fight,” he said.
“Not likely,” said Wynter with a loud laugh “and the best of the
joke is he wants you to marry the woman.”
Reckavile sat up straight and Wynter eyed him narrowly.
 “Of course, that’s your affair, old man, but it certainly looks as
though you are caught at last,” and he slapped the other on the
back. “We all know about the Reckavile honour. You are all
blackguards of the worst type, but men of honour of a sort—a
curious sort.”
There were several in the group, and they laughed boisterously.
“Damn you, you need not remind me of that,” said Reckavile, his
thoughts were with a little lady with great eyes in Italy, watching for
his coming with a lovelit face, whom this same sense of honour has
compelled him to marry. He shook himself.
“You’ll all dine with me,” he said “and we’ll have a flutter
afterwards, but I’m sorry the merchant would not fight.”
 Chapter IV.
The Divorce and After
Wheatland got his divorce. There was no defence, for when
Reckavile considered the matter with his family lawyer, he decided
not to have certain letters read in court, and all the details published
in the papers.
He wandered restlessly between London and his castle at
Portham, not able to leave for Italy till the case was over. He wrote
Carlotta, passionate love letters, but gave no address, for to her he
was Hugh Desmond, and no other.
In spite of all the appeals made to him by Winnie in tearful and
illiterate letters, he made no answer, nor would he see her. He told
his lawyer to look to it that she wanted for nothing, and there the
matter rested.
It was the day after the decree nisi had been pronounced when
Reckavile went to his lawyer, Mr. Curtis, head of Curtis, Figgis and
Brice, for a final interview as he was leaving for Italy the next day.
The thought thrilled him, as he pictured her whose whole longing
was bound up in him, with no aspiration after title, or social position,
and trust—absolute trust—that was the very devil.
Curtis was speaking.
“Of course, I don’t know what you propose to do, Lord Reckavile,
when the decree is made absolute—it is hardly my affair, except—
ahem—as the old family lawyer who knew your father, perhaps …”
he stopped confused.
“Well?”
“What I meant to convey was, that if you made the lady an
allowance as you are doing, it would appear sufficient. In your
position I do not think an alliance would be desirable or even
necessary.”
Reckavile’s face hardened.
“You mean as I have compromised the lady, I should now desert
her—of course, with an allowance,” he added bitingly.
Curtis was uneasy, for he knew the Reckaviles; but the marriage
must be stopped. He tried once more.
“It would never do. You know that the estate is heavily
mortgaged, and you are well—rather careless in money matters. I
had hoped that you would marry some desirable lady of your class,
with sufficient funds to put the family in a satisfactory position. I
think that is very necessary.”
He paused at the look on Reckavile’s face. His eyes were dull
black, like a snake’s, and his mouth was twisted in a fiendish smile.
Curtis knew that look only too well.
“Thank you, Curtis,” he said “I was undecided, and thought of
tossing for it, but you have made up my mind for me. I shall
certainly marry the woman—or at least give her my name for what it
is worth, and that should be sufficient punishment for anyone.”
“But, my Lord …”
Reckavile held up his hand. “There is no need for further
discussion.”
A knock sounded at the door, and the clerk came in.
“A lady wishes to see Lord Reckavile,” he said to Curtis “she would
not wait, sir, and seemed very impatient.”
He was brushed aside, and Winnie swept into the office. Her
colour was high, and she certainly looked a beauty at that moment.
The worry of the last few months instead of marring her looks,
had softened the lines of her face, and her fine eyes were appealing.
She came straight to Reckavile, ignoring the lawyer altogether, but
something in the sternness of his face made her pause.
“Oh Hugh!” she said, not venturing to go to him, “why have you
treated me like this? You have taken no notice of my letters, and
refused to see me. Are you going to desert me after you have ruined
me?” Her voice broke, and there were signs of coming tears.
 “You need have no apprehension on that score,” he answered
coldly. “I have already discussed the matter with Mr. Curtis here.
When the time comes, you shall become Lady Reckavile, and have
my honoured name. You have a witness here,” and he smiled like
Satan at Curtis.
“But Hugh, you are so hard, so cold. It is your love I want as well
as to be your wife,” she added hastily.
He was unmoved.
“I have said, Winnie, that you shall become my wife. Anything else
I do not care to discuss, especially before another.” Curtis had
remained in the hope that he could dissuade Reckavile from his
purpose, but he now hastily made to go, when the other stopped
him.
“No, Curtis, don’t go. There is nothing to add. I am leaving
England, and you know where to find me. This lady can
communicate with you, and you will continue her allowance. When
my presence is necessary I will come. You can arrange the details at
a registry office, as quietly as possible. No fuss, please, and above
all keep it out of the papers.”
Winnie turned red with anger and shame. How brutal he was and
callous, it was worse than anything that had gone before. Before she
could collect her thoughts Reckavile had turned on his heel, and
strode from the room.
She would have tried tears, or a passionate appeal, but what was
the good of that with a dry old lawyer, whose face was impassive.
“What a way to treat me after all I have been through for him,”
she blazed out, but Curtis remained silent.
“He said he loved me, and that he would remain true to me,” she
went on.
“I am afraid Lord Reckavile has said that to many,” said Curtis
dryly, drawing a paper towards him, “and as for standing by you,
you are the first who has had the honour of becoming Lady
Reckavile.”
His tone was final, and she felt the futility of talking to a
parchment faced lawyer, whose sympathies were obviously with Lord
Reckavile, and who considered she was getting out of it very well.
With a toss of her head she went, vowing she would never enter the
place again.
And Reckavile paced the deck of the Channel boat, deep in
thought. His mind ran on suicide, which was the common weakness
in his family, and generally the solution of impossible positions.
Then another thought came to him, and the more he turned it
over, the better he liked it. Why not end the Line without violent
means. He would give Winnie his name and the Estate for what it
was worth. As Lord Reckavile he would cease to exist, but in sunny
Italy, Hugh Desmond would bury himself with his little wife, and he
would earn a living by his painting, for he was no mean artist.
The idea pleased him. Flowers and kisses, and lying in the sun,
with not too much work, and perhaps a minor war or so to chase
away boredom. By the time he had reached Italy he had made up
his mind. There was only one more hurdle, the ceremony in London,
and then happiness awaited him. The bigamy did not worry him in
the least, such trifles were nothing to a Reckavile.
At Venice he waited all day, and a strange feeling of apprehension
came to him. Suppose something had happened to Carlotta in his
absence; he had left her, a mere girl—alone, with only servants of
whom he knew nothing. Suppose she were ill, or even dead. A
nervousness never felt before beset him. Impatiently he drove out to
Murano, and came to the Villa San Rocco. Night was falling as he
passed through the lovely garden, and approached the windows
from which a soft light shone. She was sitting inside, a piece of work
had dropped from her hands to the floor, and her great eyes were
gazing at nothing. How sweet she looked and how dainty, but so
sad. He had never seen her thus, and pity filled his heart, and
reproach.
He entered through the open window, and with a great cry she
came to him, holding out both arms. He took her to himself in a
passionate embrace, and with a feeling deeper than the old stirring
of desire. She raised her radiant face to his in perfect happiness.
“Oh, Hugh, I am so happy. You’ve come back to me.”
There was no word of reproach, no shadow of fretfulness at his
long absence.
 The past and future were gone, and for the moment the pure bliss
of being together absorbed their beings.
She roused herself with a happy laugh, and kissed him, her face
rosy with delight.
“I must tell the servants about dinner, and you will want to dress
won’t you?”
She looked older, more self assured, but more beautiful than ever,
he thought.
He had left his bag in the carriage, and went for it, and to pay the
driver.
When he returned, she was waiting for him, and led him shyly to
their room, fragrant with flowers, and the odours of the night.
She showed him everything with childish pleasure, all arranged for
his return, and his dressing room on which she had lavished such
care, overlooking the rose garden.
Dinner was laid in the loggia, and he seated himself with a sigh of
contentment. The spotless linen and sparkling glass and silver added
to his sense of happiness. She rose and filled his glass, and he made
her sip from it first, the scent of her hair and the nearness of her
warm body intoxicating him. He would have taken her into his arms,
but that the servants were hovering near.
She was dressed in a soft evening gown, which showed the
perfect lines of her young body, and he wondered at her beauty.
Never once did she ask him where he had been, or what he had
been doing, but listened as he told her of England, and then
recounted the little trifles of her life, so pathetically filled with the
sorrow at his absence though she did not speak of it.
They sat over their coffee while he smoked a cigar from his Club,
which had never seemed so fragrant before.
At last he rose.
“It is getting chilly, darling,” he said in a voice he tried to steady.
“Let’s go to bed.”
A deep blush dyed her neck and face, as she rose and took his
hand.
 Chapter V.
The Second Marriage
The summons had come, and Hugh braced himself to meet the
call. Would to God he could have refused to go; to pretend that he
was dead, anything to get out of it. But the perverted honour of the
Curse drove him to play the last scene to the end.
“I shall only be away for a week, Darling,” he told her. “There is a
certain property of mine I must look after.” That was true.
“When I come back this time, I shall not leave you again.”
She smiled at him; the wrench was not so bad this time, and she
had other things to think of. When he came back she would tell him,
and she hid her secret close, nursing the thought in her breast.
She came with him to Venice, careful that he had everything for
the journey, papers and cigars. He watched her with a dull sense of
pain; the deception hurt him as nothing had done before.
He had converted a shed into a studio, and she had posed for
him, as he had said at their first meeting. Already one picture was
finished, and he would have sold it, but could not bear to part with
it. Another was half done, which he would finish when he came
back, he told himself.
In London, summer was at its height, but he had no pleasure in it.
The Club nauseated him, and the old companions found him
changed, dull and uninteresting. He was out of touch with things.
Only Wynter and a few intimates who knew, surmised that the
prospect of marriage had caused the change, and behind his back
betted how long he would retain faithful to his marriage vows.
Winnie he met only at the lawyer’s the day before the wedding.
She found him cold and reserved, but he was startled with the
change in her. She was sweetness itself, her voice subdued and a