t was not long before the Marquis’s meditations were interrupted by a gentle scratching on the door. He opened it, to admit Judbrook, who came in, bearing a tray, which he set down stealthily on the table, whispering that, besides the barley water, his sister had sent up a bowl of vinegar and water, in case the poor young gentleman should have the headache. He seemed to be very much concerned, and shook his own head sadly when he looked at Felix. “Eh, he’s bad!” he muttered.

“Not, I hope, as bad as he looks. Do you think your sister could send me up some cold meat, or something of that nature?”

“Indeed, my lord, she’ll do no such thing, nor wouldn’t think of it! She bid me tell you your dinner will be laid out for you in the parlour in half-an-hour, and begs you will excuse it not being what your lordship’s used to, her having had no time to dress a joint, or a chicken. We have our own dinner midday,” he explained apologetically, “but Polly knows fine how to manage for gentlemen, being as she was housekeeper to a gentleman in London for fifteen years. Which I sometimes wish she was still, because she don’t like living in the country, and never did, which is what makes her so maggoty! Still, she thought it was her duty, when my missis died, and she’s right enough at heart, my lord, for all her crotchets. It was me bringing the young gentleman in without a word to her which set her on end, her being one as likes to act contrary. Though how I was to ask her leave, when I was in my Three-acre field, which was where it happened, my lord, and all of a quarter-of-a-mile from here, I don’t know, nor she neither! But, there!” A slow smile crept over his face, and he said, with more truth than he knew: “Your lordship knows what females are!”

“None better,” agreed his lordship. “I trust I shall be able to come to terms with Miss Judbrook, however—which is a matter I wish to discuss with you. As for my dinner, pray tell her not to put herself to any trouble over it! Cold meat and cheese will do very well. But bring it to me here, if you please!”

“I was thinking that I could stay with the young gentleman while your lordship was in the parlour?”

Alverstoke shook his head. “No. Very obliging of you, but if the boy were to wake, and see only a strange face, it might alarm him,” he said tactfully.

“Just as you say, my lord. There’s just one other thing, which—Well, I’m fairly put about to know what to offer your lordship to drink!” Judbrook disclosed. “Barring the cowslip-wine Polly makes—and she says it ain’t fitting—we don’t have any wine in the house. I could send one of my lads down to the alehouse, but I doubt—”

“On no account! Unless you have no beer in the house either? That’s all I want—and I do want that!”

“Oh, if that’s so, my lord—!” said Judbrook, his mind relieved of care. “I’ll bring you up a mug straight!”

He also brought up a second tray, loaded with the mute witnesses to his sister’s mettle; and by the time the Marquis had disposed of a meal which began with a bowl of excellent soup, and included a dish of hasty mutton, and two pigeons roasted on a spit, the long summer’s day had begun to close in, and he had had the satisfaction of seeing his charge stir a little, slightly altering his position, and turning his head on the pillow. He then entered into lengthy negotiations with the farmer, whose reluctance to accept any payment for his hospitality would, under different circumstances, have bored him intolerably; and sent for Miss Judbrook, to compliment her on her culinary skill, in the hope that a little flattery now would, later, benefit Frederica. She gave him no reason to congratulate himself on this manoeuvre, for although she was civil, her countenance remained forbidding, and never more so than when he told her that she would shortly be relieved of all responsibility by the arrival of Miss Merriville at Monk’s Farm. Judbrook then showed him where his own bedchamber was situated, adjured him to rouse him at need, supplied him with a number of candles, and left him to while away the night-hours as best he might, only reappearing (in his bedgown, for which he blush-fully begged pardon) to give his lordship a bottle containing the saline draught brought by the doctor’s man.

The Marquis resigned himself to hours of tedium; but he had not many of them to endure. Long before even the earliest farm-worker was awake, he would readily have compounded with fate for a week of tedium in exchange for the anxiety which beset him as soon as the effects of laudanum began to wear off. At first only restless, muttering unintelligibly, but sinking back into a slumber, Felix grew steadily harder to quieten, passing from a state of semi-consciousness to a confused realization of his aches and pains, and of his strange surroundings. He uttered his sister’s name, from a parched throat, and struggled to free his arms from the blankets, hurting his sprained wrist, and giving a sharp cry; but when Alverstoke took his other hand in a firm clasp, and spoke to him, he seemed to recognize him. His ringers clung like claws; he stared up into Alverstoke’s face, and panted: “Don’t let me fall! don’t let me fall!”

“No, I won’t,” Alverstoke said, stretching out his hand for Dr Elcot’s saline draught, which he had poured out at the first sign of agitation. “You are perfectly safe now.” He disengaged himself, and raised Felix, setting the glass to his lips, and saying: “Here’s a drink for you! Open your mouth!”

“I want Frederica!” Felix said, fretfully turning his head away.

He responded, however, to the note of command in Alverstoke’s voice when he said again: “Open your mouth, Felix! Come! do as you’re bid!” and Alverstoke, whose small experience of medicines included none that were not extremely nasty, gave him no chance to recoil from the dose, but tilted it ruthlessly down his throat.

Felix choked over it, but after his first slightly tearful indignation, he seemed to grow more rational. Alverstoke lowered him on to his pillow, and withdrew his arm. “That’s better!” he said.

“I want Frederica!” reiterated Felix. “You shall have her directly,” promised Alverstoke. “I want her now!” stated Felix. “Tell her!” “Yes, I will.”

A short silence fell. Alverstoke hoped that Felix was sliding back into sleep, but just as he was about to move away from the bed he found that Felix was looking at him, as though trying to bring his face into focus. Apparently he succeeded, for he murmured, with a sigh of relief: “Oh, it’s you! Don’t leave me!” “No.”

“I’m so thirsty!”

Alverstoke raised him again, and he gulped down the barley-water thankfully; and, this time, when lowered on to his pillow, dropped asleep.

It was an uneasy sleep, however, and of short duration. He woke with a start, and a jumble of words on his lips. He was evidently in the grip of a nightmare, and it was not for several moments that Alverstoke’s voice penetrated it. He said then, vaguely: “Cousin Alverstoke,” but an instant later moaned that he was cold. The Marquis began to look a little grim, for the hand which clutched his was hot and dry. He spoke soothingly, and with good effect: Felix lay quiet for a while, but he did not shut his blurred eyes. Suddenly he said, in a troubled voice: “This isn’t my room! Why am I in this room? I don’t like it! I don’t know where I am!”

The Marquis answered matter-of-factly: “You are with me, Felix.”

He spoke instinctively, uttering the first words that came into his head, and thinking, an instant later, that they were singularly foolish. But, after blinking at him, Felix smiled, and said: “Oh, yes! I forgot! You won’t go away, will you?”

“Of course not. Shut your eyes! You are quite safe, I promise.”

“Yes, of course, as long as you’re here, because then I shan’t fall,” murmured Felix hazily. “I know that!”

Alverstoke said nothing, and presently had the satisfaction of knowing that Felix was asleep. Carefully withdrawing his hand from the slackened hold on it, he moved away, to alter the position of the candle, so that its flickering light should not fall on Felix’s face. It seemed to him that the boy had dropped into a more natural sleep; but his hope that this would endure was speedily dashed, and he did not again indulge it. For the rest of the night Felix, even to his inexperienced eyes, grew steadily worse, his face more flushed, and his pulse alarmingly rapid. There were intervals when he dozed, but they were never of long duration; and when he woke it was always in a state of feverish excitement bordering on delirium. He seemed to be suffering considerable pain; in one of his lucid moments he complained that he “ached all over,” but when Alverstoke bathed as much of his brow as was not covered by the bandage, he was relieved to have his hand struck away. “It’s not my head!” Felix said angrily.

A second dose of the saline mixture produced an alleviation, but Alverstoke hovered a dozen times on the brink of summoning Judbrook, and telling him to send for Dr Elcot. Only the doctor’s last words, which had been a warning that Felix might become feverish, and the knowledge that he could still recall the boy’s wandering wits, restrained him.

With the dawn, the fever abated a little, but not the pains. Felix wept softly, and moaned: “Frederica, Frederica!” At five o’clock, the Marquis heard the creak of a door being cautiously opened, and went swiftly out of the room to intercept Judbrook, who was tiptoeing along the passage, with his boots in his hand.

Judbrook was very much shocked to learn that Felix, far from going on prosperously, was extremely ill. He promised to send one of his lads to the doctor’s house in Hemel Hempstead immediately, saying that it was only a matter of four miles, and the lad could ride there on the cob. He took a look at Felix, and upon hearing that more barley-water was needed, ventured to suggest that a cup of tea might do good. The Marquis felt doubtful, but Felix, whom he had thought to be asleep, said, in the thread of a voice: “I should like that,” so he nodded to Judbrook.

“You shall have it in an ant’s foot, sir!” said Jud-brook, adding, under his breath: “At all events, it won’t do him any harm, my lord!”

The Marquis felt still more doubtful when the tray was brought to him. He was not, like his friend Lord Petersham, a connoisseur, but he profoundly mistrusted the mahogany brew which issued from the pot, and fully expected Felix to reject it. Felix did not, however, and it seemed to refresh him; and when, an hour later, Dr Elcot arrived, he merely said: “As long as you didn’t give him hot wine, I’ve no objection. Now, my lord, before I go in to him, what’s amiss? You’re looking a trifle out of frame yourself: had you a bad night with the boy?”

“A very bad night,” replied Alverstoke, somewhat acidly. “As for what’s amiss, I trust you will supply the answer! He has been extremely feverish, sometimes delirious, and he complains all the time of pain—he says it is all over him, but it doesn’t appear to be in his head, thank God!”

“Dutch comfort!” growled the doctor.

He stayed for some time in the sickroom; and, at the end of a long and careful examination, said cheerfully, as he drew the bedclothes over Felix again: “Well, young man, I don’t doubt you’re feeling pretty down pin, but you’ll hold for a long trig! Now I’m going to give you something to make you comfortable.”

Felix was not delirious, but he was not by any means himself. He had objected violently to the doctor’s examination, saying that it hurt him to be touched; and had only submitted when the Marquis had commanded him to do so. He now revolted against the evil-looking potion Dr Elcot had measured into a small glass, and the Marquis, prompted by a significant glance from the doctor, again intervened, taking the glass from Elcot, and administering the dose himself, saying, when Felix jerked his head away: “You are becoming a dead bore, Felix. I dislike bores; so, if you wish me to remain with you, you will do as I bid you—and at once!”

Cowed by this threat, Felix swallowed the potion. He said anxiously, as Alverstoke lowered him, and withdrew his supporting arm: “You won’t leave me, will you?”

“No.”

Felix seemed to be satisfied; and after a few minutes the lids sank over his eyes. Dr Elcot touched the Marquis on the shoulder, and led the way out of the room. “Children of your own, my lord?” he said, as he closed the door.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Oh! Thought you must have: seem to know how to handle ‘em. Well, it’s what I expected: rheumatic fever. No use asking me how serious it may be, for I can’t tell you yet. What I can tell you is that he needs to be carefully nursed. You told me his sister would be coming to do that: is she to be depended on? You’ll pardon me if I’m speaking too freely: it’s a matter of the first importance.”

“You may repose complete confidence in Miss Merriville,” replied Alverstoke. “She is a woman of excellent sense; and she has stood to Felix in the relationship of a mother ever since his childhood. Now, I know nothing of illness, so I must request you to enlighten me. I collect that this rheumatic fever is more serious than I had supposed?”

“It might have serious consequences,” replied Elcot. “However, the boy’s a fine little fellow, and I should rather think he has an excellent constitution, so we won’t alarm his sister. When does she arrive?”

“I can’t tell that, but from what I know of her I’m confident she will come as soon as may be possible. She will wish to see you, of course.”

“Ay, and I wish to see her! The boy will do well enough for a while: I’ve given him a paregoric draught, and I expect him to sleep for the better part of the morning. You’d be wise to do the same, my lord!”

“I had liefer shave!” said his lordship.

“Do both!” the doctor recommended.

The Marquis contented himself with the shave. He regarded with considerable misgiving the oldfashioned razor which Judbrook lent him, but although it felt clumsy in his hand its blade was well-honed, and he managed to shave himself without mishap. Miss Jud-brook, meanwhile, restored his creased muslin neckcloth to something approaching respectability; and although he would not entrust his coat to her for pressing he was able to meet Frederica in tolerably good order. But he avoided his valet’s eye.

She arrived shortly after ten o’clock, in his own well-sprung and lightly-built travelling-carriage, and she was unaccompanied. The Marquis lifted her down from it, and held her for a moment between his strong hands, saying: “Good girl! I knew you wouldn’t delay.”

“I didn’t leave London as early as I had wished, but your postilions brought me here like the wind.” She looked up at him, in the frank way he, had grown to love, and said, with a smile in her eyes: “I have been obliged to thank you so many times, cousin, that there seem to be no words left.”

“You can’t think how glad I am to know that!” he retorted.

“Oh, yes! You think it a dead bore to be thanked—but I hope you know what is in my heart!”

“No—but I wish I did!”

The smile touched her lips. “Now you are joking me! I forgive you only because I know you wouldn’t do so, if—if matters were desperate! Tell me! How is he?”

“Still sleeping. The doctor gave him some sort of a paregoric medicine, when I sent for him this morning. He means to visit him again at noon, or thereabouts. I told him that you would wish to see him, and he replied that he wished to see you! He had the impudence to ask me if you were to be depended on, too! Will you come in? A bedchamber has been prepared for you, and the parlour is set aside for your use.”

“If you will be pleased to come with me, ma’am, I will show you the parlour,” said Miss Judbrook, who was standing in the doorway.

She spoke in frigid accents, but thawed a little when Frederica said, holding out her hand: “Thank you! I am so very much obliged to you for all you have done. I am afraid it must have meant a shocking upset for you, too.”

“Oh, well, as to that, ma’am, I was never one to grudge trouble!” responded Miss Judbrook, taking the hand, and dropping a reluctant curtsy. “I’m sure, if Judbrook had asked me, I should have told him to bring the young gentleman in straight, but nursing him I cannot undertake!”

“No, indeed!” agreed Frederica. “You must have enough to do without that!” Following her forbidding hostess to the parlour, she paused on the threshold, cast a swift look round the room, and exclaimed: “Oh, what a handsome carpet!”

The Marquis, who thought the carpet quite hideous, blinked; but realized, an instant later, that his Frederica had said exactly the right thing. Miss Judbrook, bridling with pleasure, said that it had been laid down not a month ago; and almost cordially Invited Frederica to step upstairs with her.

The Marquis, prudently remaining below, went out to confer with his henchman. He found Curry, who had driven up to the farm behind the carriage in the phaeton, assisting one of Judbrook’s farmhands to remove from the carriage a quantity of baggage; and his valet, having survived a journey on the box-seat without loss of dignity, directing these operations. The Marquis instructed his postilions to take the carriage on to the Sun, at Hemel Hempstead, which hostelry had been recommended to him by Dr Elcot; told Knapp to procure accommodation there; and Curry to wait with the phaeton until he himself should be ready to leave the farm; and went back into the house.

It was not long before Frederica joined him in the parlour. She declined the armchair, and sat down at the table, laying her clasped hands upon it. “He is still sleeping, but not restfully. I think I should go back as soon as I may, but before I do so will you tell me, if you please, cousin, what the doctor has said? I can tell that Felix is very feverish, and can guess how anxious a night you must have passed.” She read hesitation in his face; and added quietly: “Don’t be afraid to open the budget! I’m not a fool, and I’m not easily overpowered.” She smiled faintly. “Nor is this the first time one of my brothers has been ill, or has done his best to kill himself. So tell me!”

“Elcot speaks of rheumatic fever,” he said bluntly.

She nodded. “I was afraid it might be that. My mother had it once. She was never quite well after it: it affected her heart. I was only a child at the time, but I recall how very ill she was—worse, I think, than Felix is. But our doctor wasn’t skilful, and she wasn’t carefully nursed. I can remember that she dragged herself out of bed, because she heard the baby crying—that was Felix, of course. Well! Felix won’t do so! He is more robust than my mother ever was, and medical science is more advanced. I don’t mean to fall into despair, I promise you, so you needn’t look at me as if you feared you might at any moment be obliged to recover me from a swoon!”

“I certainly don’t fear that: you have too much force of mind! If I look grave, it’s because I am afraid you have an anxious, as well as an exhausting, time ahead. I only hope you may not be quite worn down.”

“Thank you! I’m not such a poor creature! I shall have Jessamy to help me, too—perhaps as soon as tomorrow, if Harry returns to London this evening, as we believe he will. Dear Jessamy! he wanted so much to come with me today, but he never said so. He understood at once how improper it would be to leave poor Charis with only the servants to bear her company, and said he should stay in Upper Wimpole Street until Harry arrived to relieve him of that duty. He means to travel to Watford on the stage, and I own I shall be glad to have him with me. I can trust him to watch over Felix when he sleeps, so that I may lie down on my bed for a while. You see how rational I am, cousin!”

“I never doubted that. May I ask what part Miss Winsham plays in this?”

“A very small one,” she confessed. “My uncle died last night, you see.”

“Accept my condolences! I should have supposed that this must have released Miss Winsham from what she conceived to be her most pressing duty, but I collect that I’m mistaken.”

“Yes, because my Aunt Amelia is now prostrate, and falls into hysterics as soon as Aunt Seraphina leaves her side. She has spasms, vapours, and—Oh, dear, I ought not to talk so! I have so little sensibility myself that I find it very hard to sympathize with people like Aunt Seraphina. I should be much inclined to—No!”

“I know exactly what you would be much inclined to do,” he said, smiling. “I saw how you dealt with Charis, in a similar situation!”

“It was not at all similar!” she replied. “Poor Charis had suffered a severe shock! There was every excuse for her! My uncle’s death has been expected for weeks—and, in any event, I should not slap my aunt’s face!”

“However much you might wish to,” he agreed.

“Certainly not!” she said, with a severity belied by the laughter in her eyes. “You are quite—that is to say, if I were not so deeply indebted to you, I should say—”

“That I was quite the most detestable man alive?”

“Abominable was the word I had in mind!” she returned instantly. Then her eyes softened. “No, I shouldn’t! To us you have been all kindness, however abominable you may be! Now, do be serious, sir! The case is not as bad as you think! My aunt has promised to keep a watch over Charis, but she feels that her sister has the greater claim on her. Well—well, I expect I should feel that too, so I can scarcely blame her! She thinks that, since it would be most improper for Charis to attend any parties at this moment, and will have Harry to accompany her out walking, or driving, besides Mrs Hurley to take good care of her, her presence cannot be deemed necessary. I must tell you also that your sister—Cousin Elizabeth, I mean,—has been as kind as you are! She sent Charis a note this morning, inviting her to stay at your house, while I was away, and offering to escort her to Lady Castlereagh’s assembly tonight. Charis declined it, of course—indeed, nothing would prevail upon her to go junketing abroad under these circumstances!—and—and I know I can depend on Harry! He is very much attracted to Charis, you know, and won’t let her fall into dejection.” She rose. “I must go. Would you, when you reach London, tell Chan’s just how the matter stands here, and assure her that there is no need for undue misgiving? I should be so much obliged to you!”

“Willingly, but I am not returning to London yet awhile. Did you think that I meant to play nip-shot? I’m not as abominable as that, I hope! You goose! why did you suppose that I had sent for my valet?”

“I didn’t! I mean,—oh, was he your valet? I thought he must be some sort of a courier, and wondered that you should think it necessary to provide me with him!”

“As well you might! Foolish beyond permission, Frederica!”

“No! How should I know what freakish thing you might take it into your head to do?” she countered. “I never met anyone as extravagant as you are! But you must not stay here on my account! Indeed, there is no need!”

“You are quite mistaken. After the anxieties and exertions of the past twenty-four hours I am wholly exhausted, and must ruralize for a few days. I shall be putting up at the Sun, in Hemel Hempstead—and pray don’t argue with me! Few things are more boring than fruitless arguments!” He took her hand, and pressed it. “I’m off now, but I shall come back presently—to assure myself that you are taking good care of my ward!”