Father Rooney hastily crossed himself. “For the time being, Ned, there is nothing for you to do but to keep away from Margaret. Whatever this unknown entity is, its interest seems to be in keeping you two apart. Until you feel yourself complete master of the situation, it will be best for you to leave Margaret alone.”

“I feel that strongly, but—it will be very hard, Father.”

“Would you bring worse upon the woman you love?” said the priest gravely. “Believe me, my son, this matter will have to be solved by other power than yours or mine. I am persuaded, however, that your wisest course now will be to leave Margaret.”

The young man bent, pressed a tender kiss upon the forehead of the girl who was to have been his wife, and went sadly from the room. Dr. Sloane and Clare were waiting for him in the hall; their anxious eyes questioned him.

“The marriage must be postponed. And Father Rooney feels that it will be wiser for me not to be here when Margaret comes out of her faint. I’ll telephone later to learn how our dear girl is getting along.”

Dr. Sloane patted his shoulder. “Cheer up, Ned. I think it’s nothing more than the result of nervous strain. Wedding preparations have been too much for Margie. But I certainly never would have thought she’d keel over like that; she’s so athletic and in such fine condition. Well, she’ll be all right in a couple of days, and then we’ll have you two tied up in a jiffy and off on your honeymoon.”

Clare, who knew only too well what must be the root of the trouble, although she could not know the exact circumstances, dared not meet Ned’s eyes, so disturbed was she. “I shall be praying for you, Ned,” she whispered timidly, as she slipped away to assist the good priest in his ministrations.

Margaret revived presently and sat up, controlling herself with a strong effort. “I want to be alone, please,” she said. “Clare, I don’t mind you, of course.” Her eyes dropped down upon her traveling gown. “I must take off these things,” she said sadly.

As she rose to leave the room, her self-control gave way; tears gushed from her eyes, blinding her until she had to lean against the lame girl for guidance.

“Oh, it is cruel!” she sobbed. “What have we done to deserve this persecution? Tell Ned, Dad, that it isn’t his fault, but I can’t explain just now. I hope—I hope he will forgive me.”

The girls went to their room, their tears mingling.

The day wore away. Ned telephoned in and received Margaret’s message, to which she had added that it was her conviction their marriage could never take place, but that she would always love him—a message that half maddened the unhappy young man.