ggested 'Mr. James.'

Mr. James it was, but the expected rebuke for keeping him waiting was
not spoken. As he saw her sorrowful looks, he only said, low and
softly, 'Is it so, Charlotte?' In his eyes, there could be but one
cause for grief, and Charlotte's heart smote her for hypocrisy, when
she could barely command her voice to reply, 'No, sir; my Lord has had
a little better night.'

He spoke with unusual gentleness, as he made more inquiries than she
could answer; and when, after a few minutes, he turned to walk on to
Ormersfield, he said, kindly, 'Good-bye, Charlotte; I'll send you word
if I find him better:' and the tears rose in his eyes at the thought
how every one loved the patient.

He was not wrong. There was everywhere great affection and sympathy
for the bright, fantastic being whom all laughed at and liked, and
Northwold and the neighbourhood felt that they could have better spared
something more valuable.

The danger was hardly exaggerated even by Charlotte. The chill of the
long exposure had brought on high fever; and besides the crushed ankle,
there had been severe contusions, which had resulted in an acute pain
in the side, hitherto untouched by remedies, and beyond the
comprehension of the old Northwold surgeon, Mr. Walby. As yet,
however, the idea of peril had not presented itself to Louis, though he
was perfectly sensible. Severe pain and illness were new to him; and
though not fretful nor impatient, he had not the stoicism either of
pride or of physical indifference, put little restraint on the
expression of suffering, and was to an almost childish degree absorbed
in the present. He was always considerate and grateful; and his fond
affection for his Aunt Catharine, and for good old Jane, never failed
to show itself whenever they did anything for his relief; and they were
the best of nurses.

Poor Lord Ormersfield longed to be equally effective; but he was
neither handy nor ready, and could only sit hour after hour beside his
son, never moving except to help the nurses, or to try to catch the
slightest accent of the sufferer. Look up when Louis would, he always
saw the same bowed head, and earnest eyes, which, as Mrs. Ponsonby told
her daughter, looked as they did when Louisa was dying.

The coming of the London surgeon was an era to which Louis evidently
looked anxiously, with the iteration of sickness, often reckoning the
hours till he could arrive; and when at last he came, there wa