So she took up her pen to write to Sir Denton Hayle, but she did not begin, for it occurred to her that if she did write and ask him to recall the nurse, he would immediately communicate with Neil to ask for an explanation, and whether Nurse Elisia had neglected her duties.

“And that’s the worst of it,” said Aunt Anne to herself, “she never has, but has done wonders for poor Ralph.”

Then it occurred to her also that, though Neil was only her nephew, he was fast rising into the position of an eminent surgeon, and that in such a case as this she would not have dared to interfere if he had been someone else.

“Oh, dear me!” she said pettishly, “it’s very dreadful. Women always were at the bottom of all the mischief in the world. I’ve suspected it; Neil has been so changed, and so has Alison. It seems monstrous, but as sure as I’m a living woman she has managed to attract them both, and it must be stopped or do one knows what mischief will happen. Why, those two might quarrel dreadfully, and then-Oh, dear me, I’m very glad Saxa and Dana are coming. They will be the real cure for the trouble after all.”

She took up her pen again, but only to throw it back on to the silver tray.

“No; I mustn’t write. Stop, I know; I’ll go in and sit with Ralph this afternoon, and quietly work round to the point of the nurse leaving now. Isabel and I could do everything he requires.”

“No,” she cried, with her face full of perplexity, “he would only fly in a passion and abuse me for interfering, and insist upon keeping her twice as long, and if I told him what I thought about Neil and Alison it would enrage him so that he would have some terrible relapse. Oh, dear me! I don’t know what Nature could have been about to make a nurse with a face and a soft, cooing voice like that woman’s. Bless me!” she cried aloud. “Neil, you shouldn’t make me jump like that.”

“Didn’t you hear me come in, Aunt?”

“No, my dear, and I am so nervous. It came on when your father had his accident.”

“Oh, that will soon go off. I’ve just had a message from Sir Denton.”

“To say that we need not keep the nurse any longer, and that he wants her back at the hospital?”

“No, Aunt, dear, in response to a letter of mine written days ago,” said Neil, looking at her curiously.

“What about, then?”

“To say that he is on his way down here to see my father again, and give me his opinion about the progress made.”

“But, Neil, my dear, you should not ask people like that. The Lydon girls are coming, and I cannot ask one of them to give up her room, and I’m sure Sir Denton wouldn’t like mine, looking out toward the stables, though you can’t see them.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Aunt, dear. He will not stay. He will come down by one train, spend an hour here, and go back to town at once. I want his indorsement of my ideas respecting a change of treatment.”

“Oh, if that is the case, then I need not worry.”

“Not in the least, Aunt. Only see that the lunch is kept back.”

“Of course, my dear. I am relieved. For it would have been awkward with those girls here.”

“They are coming, then?” said Neil absently. “Why, you know they are coming, dear. Really, Neil, I shall be very glad when you are married – and Alison, too, if it comes to that.”

Neil looked at her searchingly, but his aunt’s face was perfectly calm – placid to a degree – though all the while she was congratulating herself upon the subtlety and depth of her nature in introducing the subject so cleverly.

“And why, pray?” he said coldly.

“Because you want something else to think about besides cutting off people’s arms and legs. I declare you are quite growing into a dreamy, thoughtful old man. If I were Saxa Lydon I should take you to task finely about your carelessness and neglect. I declare I’ve felt quite ashamed of you.”

He looked at her sadly.

“I’m afraid I am anything but a model young man, Auntie.”

“Indeed you are, sir, and it’s quite time you mended. I don’t know what your father will say to you when he gets better. It is one of his pet projects, you know. Fortunately, Saxa is not like most girls.”

“No,” he said aloud, unintentionally. “Saxa is not like most girls.”

“Then do, pray, make haste and get your father well and the nurse out of the house.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to get the nurse out of the house, Aunt?”

“My dear! What a question! I declare, Neil, you revel in sick rooms, and in having nurses near you. This is not a hospital. Of course I want to see the nurse gone, and your father about again.”

Neil frowned, and his aunt saw it. She added hastily:

“Not that I have a word to say against Nurse Elisia. I’m sure her attention to your poor father deserves all praise.”

“God bless her! yes,” said Neil, in a low, grave tone. “She has saved his life.”

“Oh, no, my dear; I am not going so far as that,” said Aunt Anne in alarm, so earnest was her nephew’s utterance. “Nurses are not doctors.”

“But they often do far more for the patients, Aunt.”

“Do they, my dear? Oh, well, I dare say you are right.”

“Yes, I am right,” he said dreamily, and he turned and left the room, unaware of the fact that Aunt Anne was watching him intently.

“Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me!” she said to herself, “what a tone of voice! He is thinking about her. There is no doubt about it, but he is sorry and repentant. I can read him like a book. Yes; he is sorry. My words brought him back to a sense of duty, and he will be as nice as can be to Saxa in future. I’m sure I could not have spoken better. It is a great advantage – experience, and a good knowledge of human nature. Now that boy – well, he always was the dearest and best of boys, and if he had been my own I couldn’t have thought more of him – that boy knows he has been doing wrong in letting himself be attracted by a pretty face, and my words have thoroughly brought him round. Maria was quite right, and I must talk to Alison too, and – yes, I will; I’ll manage to have a chat with Sir Denton and beg him as a great favour to let me finish nursing my brother. I will not say a word about the nurse. Dear me! what am I thinking about? I quite forgot to tell them we would lunch at half-past two.”

Aunt Anne got up and rang the bell.

Chapter Fourteen.
A Suspicious Patient

There is plenty of food for the student in the dispositions of the sick, and the way they bear their pains.

Ralph Elthorne’s was an exceptional case, and his moods were many. The principal feeling with him, in the intervals when he was free from pain, was one of irritation against fate for selecting him to bear all this trouble and discomfort. Illness had been so rare with him that at times he found it hard to realise the fact that he was lying there, utterly helpless and forced to depend upon those about him for everything, the result being that he was about as petulant and restless a patient as could be well imagined. In addition, he grew day by day more and more suspicious, lying and watching every look and act of those about him, ready to distort the most trifling things, and fancy that they were all part and parcel of some deeply laid scheme which was to interfere with his peace of mind and tend to his utter dethronement from the old position he had held so long.

On this particular morning he had been lying placidly enough, chatting with his son, while Nurse Elisia was in attendance, till Neil, feeling that the time had now come for his father to be prepared, let drop a few words about Sir Denton’s visit.

The change was almost startling. There was a wildly eager, excited look in his eyes, and suspicion in the tone of his voice, as he exclaimed:

“Coming down? Sir Denton? For what reason? Quick! Tell me why?”

He caught his son’s wrist, and his long thin fingers gripped it firmly as his troubled face, about which the grey hair was growing long since his illness, was turned searchingly to his son.

“Don’t take it like that, my dear father,” said Neil, smiling. “It is not the first time we have had him to see you.”

“No, no! I know all that; but why, why is he coming?”

“I asked him to come down, sir, that is all.”

“Ah! you asked him to come down. Why, why was I not told?”

“For the reason you are showing,” replied Neil quietly. “I was afraid that if you knew you might agitate yourself, and fill your brain with fancies about your state.”

“So would any sick man,” cried Elthorne sharply. “And that is not all. You are keeping a great deal from me in your false wisdom. But you cannot hide it from one who knows intuitively what changes take place in him. I can see and feel it all. I am worse.”

“My dear sir, no,” said Neil, smiling.

“Don’t contradict me, boy,” cried his father fiercely. “Surely I ought to know from my own sensations. I am far worse, and you have sent for Sir Denton because you have reached the end of your teachings, and feel helpless to do any more.”

“You do not give me much credit, father,” said Neil, smiling.

“Yes, yes, I do, boy, a great deal,” said the old man excitedly. “Then it has come to this at last.”

“My dear father, that is what I feared, or I should have spoken to you sooner. I assure you that you have no cause for alarm.”

“Words, words, words,” cried Mr Elthorne piteously. “The case is absolutely hopeless. You know it, and so you have sent for Sir Denton again.”

“My dear father,” began Neil, taking his hand. “Be silent sir,” cried the old man fiercely, “and let me speak.”

“Then, my dear patient,” said Neil, “I must insist upon your listening to me calmly and patiently;” but Mr Elthorne paid no heed and went on.

“I’m not going to blame you, boy, I suppose you have done your best, everything that you have been taught.”

Elisia glanced at Neil in spite of herself, and it was a commiserating look, but a feeling of elation ran through her as she saw his calm, patient, pitying look as she quitted the room.

“Indeed I have done everything possible, father,” he said quietly.

“Yes, yes; all you knew, boy; all you knew.”

“And I have been able to do more perhaps than a surgeon who visited you would have achieved, through always being on the spot.”

“But your knowledge is limited, of course, boy.”

“Yes, I am afraid so,” replied Neil sadly.

“I’m not blaming you. Very patient with me, my boy. So has she been. Nurse!” he called. “Nurse!”

He turned his head a little so as to look over the back of the couch, for he had not seen that they were alone; and then, as he strained his neck a little to fix his eyes upon the door which communicated with the dressing room, it was painful to see the state of utter helplessness to which the strong man had been reduced. He could move his hands and arms, but the complete want of power elsewhere was so apparent to himself now that he uttered a groan of despair, and looked back imploringly at his son.

“What had I done?” he muttered. “What had I done?”

“My dear father,” whispered Neil; but the old man turned from him again impatiently.

“Nurse,” he cried, “nurse!” and he beat, with a stick that was ready to his hand, impatiently upon the floor.

“I will go for her,” said Neil eagerly; but there was no need. Nurse Elisia had faithfully devoted herself to the service of her patient; his call had been heard, and she came in quickly and silently, to glide toward the couch, her eyes the while scanning the sufferer questioningly, as if asking what had occurred to cause the summons.

“There is nothing wrong, nurse,” Neil felt moved to say, as he saw the questioning look.

“What?” cried Mr Elthorne, turning his eyes fiercely upon his son. “There is, nurse, and that is why I summoned you. Look here, Neil; my body may be half dead, but my head is clear. I am not imbecile yet, and I will not be treated like a child. It is hard, very hard, that even one’s own son sinks his relationship in the professional man, and forgets that he is dealing with his father, who has become to him only a patient.”

“My dear father!” cried Neil, smiling, “are you not a little hard on me?”

“No, no!” cried the old man irritably. “You are deceiving me, for my good as you call it, and as you owned a little while back.”

“Indeed, no,” said Neil quietly. “I only owned to keeping back the fact that Sir Denton was coming down till the morning of his visit, so as to save you from brooding over it and getting anxious.”

“Well, what is that but deceiving me as I say, and treating me as a child?”

“Surely not, my dear father.”

“I say it is, and it is cruel. I want to trust you, but you all, even to Isabel, join in cheating me, for my good as you are pleased to call it.”

Neil glanced at the nurse, who met his eyes, but, quick as lightning the sick man raised his hand, half menacingly, at his son.

“Hah!” he cried, “don’t try to corrupt her, and induce her to join your conspiracy; I can read your looks – ‘Don’t contradict him.’ She is honest; I can trust her. You will tell me the simple truth, nurse, will you not?” he said, holding one hand over the back of the couch toward her.

She stepped nearer, and took the extended hand. “Indeed, I will, sir,” she said gently; and then, with a smile, “unless, sir, I were forbidden.”

“What?” he cried, withdrawing his hand.

“There might be a crisis in your illness when your medical adviser felt it was absolutely necessary, for your own sake, to keep back something of your state.”

“Hah!” he cried bitterly, “all alike – all alike. I thought I could trust you.”

“You can trust me, sir, to be your faithful servant, who is striving to help your recovery.”

He looked at her with the lines about the corners of his eyes very deep, but her frank, ingenuous look disarmed him, his face softened, and he said gently: “Yes, I can trust you, nurse. God bless you for a good, patient soul. And now, tell me – there cannot be such a crisis as that of which you speak – surely I should feel something of it if impending – ”

He did not finish his sentence but looked piteously up at the nurse, whose smile of encouragement chased his dark thoughts away again, and he once more raised his hand.

“Yes,” he said gently. “You will tell me the truth. Sir Denton is coming down – to see me – to-day. It means that, though I do not suffer more, I am much worse?”

“Indeed, no, sir; and you are agitating yourself without cause.”

“Agitating myself without cause,” he muttered softly as he glanced at his son, and then quickly back at the candid face bent over him, while Neil’s heart beat more heavily, and there was a dreamy sensation of intense joy at his heart as he saw how full of faith and trust his father seemed.

“You are steadily getting better, sir,” continued Elisia, and her soft, low voice was full of a tender sympathy for the broken man who clung to her hand.

“Is that the truth?” he said, very slowly and impressively. “Don’t you deceive me, it would be too cruel. You will tell me all?”

She bent down over him a little lower so that he could gaze full in her clear, frank eyes, and there was a curious sense of swelling in Neil’s breast, and a jealous pang of despair as he clutched the arm of the chair tightly and thought of Alison, while the silence in the room seemed to be prolonged.

It was Ralph Elthorne who broke that silence, and Neil started back to the present, for his imagination had been going rapidly astray.

“Yes,” he said quietly; “it is the truth.”

He paused again for a few moments.

“You need not tell me,” he continued, “but, answer this: and I shall quite recover – the use – of my limbs – and get about – again – as before?”

Nurse Elisia did not remove her eyes from those which gazed into hers with such fierce question; but her own grew cloudy and seemed to darken with sadness and pity for the suffering man.

“Answer me,” he said imperiously.

She turned quickly to Neil.

“No,” cried Mr Elthorne; “don’t ask him what you are to say. Speak out – the truth.”

She bent lower over him with her eyes brimming over now, a couple of drops falling upon the invalid’s breast as he clung spasmodically to her hand.

“You cannot lie,” he said hoarsely. “The truth – the truth?”

Again there was a painful silence, and Neil clasped his hands together as his arms rested upon his knees, and he closed his eyes and let his head sink down, listening intently for the sentence which Nurse Elisia had been called upon to deliver. And at last she spoke, her low, soft voice thrilling father and son: “God has spared your life,” she almost whispered, but every word was painfully audible, “and you retain the greatest gift to man – the full possession of your mental powers.”

“Yes, yes,” he whispered. “Go on – go on.”

“You will soon, now, be sufficiently strong to be out and about once more, but – ”

“Go on,” he panted – “go on.”

“Forgive me, dear Mr Elthorne, for saying it. You force it from me.”

“Yes, yes; go on,” he panted – “the truth – the truth. I shall be out and about, but – ”

“Never again as of old,” she continued; and low as her words were, they rang out to the ears of the listeners; “never again as of old.”

As she uttered this last word of what was almost as painful as a death sentence to such a man as Ralph Elthorne, a sob seemed to be torn from his breast, and Neil sprang up as if expectant of some fresh seizure. But his father made a sign which arrested him, and lay back gazing straight before him till many moments had elapsed. Then his lips parted, and they heard him say in a whisper:

“A helpless cripple – I? Yes, it is the truth – the truth.”

Chapter Fifteen.
A Tempting Offer

“Never again as of old.”

The words seemed to quiver in the silence of the sick chamber as Nurse Elisia uttered what, to the sufferer, sounded like a sentence, the more terrible as coming from one so grave, calm, and unimpassioned as the beautiful woman who stood before him; and as he lay, gazing wildly at the speaker, Neil saw his father’s eyelids tremble and then slowly drop over the dilated eyes, while his worn, thin, wrinkled face was contracted. But he opened his eyes again, and clung tightly to the nurse’s hand.

“Yes,” he said firmly, “that is the truth. Thank you, nurse, thank you. God bless you for what you have done for a poor helpless cripple.”

He drew her down toward him as he spoke till he could kiss her brow, and then, as she rose, he released her hand.

“Thank you,” he said quietly; “thank you. Yes, that is the truth. But I shall be out again, Neil, weak in body, but not imbecile. I shall still be the Squire, boy. I am the Squire. Now, tell me: why is Sir Denton coming down?”

“Simply for me to ask his opinion, father,” said Neil, seating himself again, and resisting the temptation to offer the nurse a chair. But before he could continue it seemed as if his thoughts had been communicated to the patient, who turned toward her.

“Sit down, nurse,” he said. “I am wearing you out with attending on me.”

“Indeed no, Mr Elthorne – ” she began.

“Sit down,” he cried imperiously, and she quietly obeyed.

“Now go on, Neil.”

“Of course I have studied your case very hard,” said the son, “and I have certain ideas that I should like to test. I believe they would strengthen you, but I will not do anything without getting my opinions endorsed by a man of greater experience.”

“Humph! That’s sensible; eh, nurse?”

She bowed gravely.

“So I wrote to Sir Denton at length, telling him what I had arrived at, and asking him to come down the first free day he had, or, I should say, the first time he had a few hours, to see you, and give me his advice.”

“Is that all?” said Mr Elthorne sharply.

“Everything, father.”

“Humph! Well, that’s right, my boy, quite right. Don’t experiment upon me,” he said, with a painful laugh. “After fighting through all this I can’t afford to go backward. Keep the experiment for some poor hospital patient.”

The words jarred on Neil, and he glanced quickly at the nurse, to see that there was a pained look in her eyes, but it passed off as she saw that she was observed.

“Well, when do you expect him?” said Mr Elthorne.

“Almost directly, sir.”

“And why was I not told?”

“For fear of agitating you, and setting you brooding over it. Besides, I was not sure when he would come down.”

“Humph! Well, don’t treat me as if I were a child, boy. I can think if I can’t walk. And I must be got out now. Has that chair come down?”

“Yes.”

“That’s right. I’ll be carried down on Friday when my girls come. If they call before then they are to be brought up. No, no; I know what you are going to say – that they will talk too much. It will do me good to hear Saxa’s chatter and Dana’s prattle. When did you see them last?”

In spite of himself Neil glanced at the nurse as he answered:

“I hardly know. On Sunday, I think.”

“You hardly know! On Sunday, you think! My dear boy, what a dreamer you have become! Lucky for you that Saxa is what she is.”

It was hard work for Neil to keep his eyes averted from the nurse. “What will she think?” he said to himself.

The sound of wheels on the drive put an end to the conversation, Neil hurrying out to welcome the great surgeon, who declined all refreshment until after he had heard full particulars of the progress of the case and seen the patient.

“I could not have done differently,” said Sir Denton at last. “You found Nurse Elisia invaluable, of course?”

“Invaluable.”

“Then now let us go up and see him.”

Neil led the way to where Ralph Elthorne lay helpless, but with his eyes gazing keenly at him as they entered.

“Ah, good-morning, Mr Elthorne,” cried Sir Denton cheerily. “Good-morning, nurse. Now, sir, you know why I have come?”

“Yes, my son has told me,” replied the injured man, watching his visitor’s expression. “Well? Am I worse?”

“No, sir; much better. There is no doubt of that. There is a vigour in your manner and speech that is most satisfactory.”

“But I am always to be a helpless cripple?” said Elthorne bitterly.

Sir Denton did not reply for a few moments, but sat gazing in the patient’s eyes.

“You wish me to answer that question?” he said at last.

“Of course.”

“Then I will. I can answer a man of your strength of intellect, Mr Elthorne. Yes, sir. No surgical skill could restore you.”

He stopped short and watched the patient intently. “That’s well,” he went on. “You bear the announcement manfully. Quite right, for your life has been saved, Mr Elthorne; and with the palliatives that mechanical skill can supply you with, you ought to and can enjoy many years of useful life. Your son has thoroughly explained to me his intentions regarding your future treatment, and I fully endorse his ideas. They will benefit you, but do not expect too much.”

“Condemned to a life of helplessness!” muttered Elthorne in a low voice.

“No, sir, you have your brain intact,” said Sir Denton. “Thank God for that.”

“Yes,” said Elthorne, gripping the surgeon’s hand, “thank God for that. I will not repine, Sir Denton, for I can think, and will, and be obeyed. Do you hear, Neil? and be obeyed. The head is right.”

“Yes, and the heart, Mr Elthorne. So no despair, sir. Meet your trouble like a man. You can be a successful general yet in the battle of life.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“My dear Mr Elthorne, I wish I could hold out hopes of an ultimate recovery of the use of your limbs, but, with a man like you, a frank, open statement is best. You know the worst, and you can get over the difficulties. I can say no more, unless I deliver a eulogy upon your son’s skill.”

“Don’t do that,” said the invalid grimly; “he is conceited enough already.”

“Then I will leave you now and ask for a little refreshment. I have had nothing but a cup of tea since my dinner last evening.”

He rose, shook hands, and then turned to Nurse Elisia.

“I miss you sadly, nurse, but I suppose you cannot be spared for the present.”

“Spared?” cried Elthorne quickly. “No, no; certainly not.”

“But I want her in my ward, Mr Elthorne,” said Sir Denton, smiling.

“Yes, after a time. But not yet. I am so helpless at present.”

“Well, well, we shall see,” said Sir Denton pleasantly. “It is mutually satisfactory. Nurse was suffering from our close London hospital air, and overworked. The change here has worked wonders. Good-bye, Mr Elthorne. I congratulate you upon the skill your son has shown.”

He shook hands, and left patient and nurse together, descending with Neil to the drawing room, where Isabel, Alison, and Aunt Anne were waiting to hear his report.

“Oh, I am glad,” cried Aunt Anne, wiping her eyes; and then: “You think he can do without the nurse now?”

Alison gave her a furious look, which did not escape Neil.

“Eh? Do without the nurse?” cried Sir Denton. “I did not say so. No, my dear madam, her attention is more necessary than ever, I am sorry to say.”

Aunt Anne’s plump countenance bespoke her disappointment.

“You are sorry to say?” she said.

“Yes, my dear madam, for I want her back in town.”

Lunch was at an end, and the carriage at the door. Sir Denton shook hands and went out into the hall with Neil, took up his hat, set it down again, looked at his watch, and replaced it.

“About half an hour to spare, eh, Elthorne?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Take me down the garden, then, where I can see flowers growing. God bless them! I wish I were a gardener. I want to speak to you.”

Neil led the way down a sunny walk, beneath an ancient red brick wall, the old surgeon looking sharply about him till they reached a sundial standing upon a moss-eaten stone. Here he paused and rested his elbow on the copper disk, like a modern figure of Time.

“Neil Elthorne,” he said, “I like you.”

Neil smiled.

“The feeling is mutual, Sir Denton.”

“I know it, my dear boy. You are my favourite pupil, and I want to see you rise. Now, do not be startled. I have been requested to select an able man who promises to be eminent to send out to Black Port.”

“On the west coast of Africa?”

“Yes. To establish a hospital there – a cosmopolitan hospital in which government is interested. It is a terrible place, but a medical man knows how to take care of himself. He would have to engage for five years; the pay is very high; and he would have to devote himself to his task, above all in trying to ameliorate – cure if he can, and I believe it possible – the local disease, which is increasing fast. I do not conceal from you that there will be risks; but the man who goes out there for a few years and works, will come back to be loaded with honours, and take a very high position in his profession. A knighthood will probably follow. If I were a young man I would go, but I must content myself at my age with my ward in London. Now, then, there is plenty of time for consideration, but I should like to go back with some idea. I have not spoken yet to a soul, and I need not tell you that it would be a wrench to part with you; but it is your opportunity, and, as I have your future success at heart, I want to see you rise. Will you go?”

“I, Sir Denton? It is the opening for a physician.”

“As much for a surgeon, my dear boy. He must be both. You are as good a surgeon as I am.”

“Oh, Sir Denton!”

“You need not exclaim. I am not blind. I have had vast experience, but I am getting old and weaker. You have all that my experience has taught you, and, in addition, youth and a thoughtful, originating brain. I tell you frankly, because you are not a weak fool who would be puffed up: long before you are my age you will stand far higher than I do. I don’t want to send you out there because I am jealous of you,” he added laughingly.

“But I should not be equal to the task from the medical point of view.”

“Nonsense, my lad! If I wanted medical help, I would far rather come to you for it than to any man in our hospital. Now, don’t decide rashly; take time to think it over. You would not have to go for two or three months. There, I need say no more save repeating this: it is a terrible place from a health point of view, but the man who goes will be able to do something to lessen the risks, and government will help him in his movements for sanitation. Now, I must be off. Pick me a few flowers. Aha! That is charming,” he cried, as he saw Isabel waiting with a bunch she had hastily cut in one of the houses. “Thank you, my dear child. Those shall stand in water in my room in memory of a delightful visit. I envy you your life in this charming old place. Good-bye.”

He shook hands with Isabel again, and walked back to the carriage with Neil, who looked very thoughtful.

“You can write and ask any questions,” said Sir Denton, “and in a week you will give me your decision.”

“I will give it you now, Sir Denton,” said Neil gravely. “It is no.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

“You will not alter your mind?”

“No; I shall stay in England – with you.”

“I am very sorry, Neil Elthorne, for some things – very glad for others. The first is for you – the latter for myself. Good-bye. Tell him to go fast.” The horses sprang off, and Neil stood thinking in the carriage drive.

“A lady in the case,” said Sir Denton. “Well! it is human nature, and I am not sorry – for both their sakes. He loves her, and some day he will come and tell me.”

At that moment Neil turned to re-enter the house, and his eyes lighted upon Nurse Elisia at the first-floor window watching the departing carriage. Their eyes met, and she drew back.

Neil sighed, and then felt a spasm of pain shoot through him, for he saw that his brother was close at hand, and that he must have seen the direction of his eyes, for there was a frown upon his brow which was there still as he said roughly:

“The old man’s gone, then. I suppose he’ll charge a pretty penny for coming down all this way?”

Neil looked at him in surprise for the moment, but directly after he felt that his brother had merely spoken to conceal his thoughts, and he was thinking this as he replied:

“Charge? No. I shall give him a check for the railway fare. He would look upon it as an insult if I offered him a fee.”