oke
with the nurse, who had no very comforting report to make; Mrs.
Hannaford could not sleep, had not closed her eyes for some
four-and-twenty hours; Dr. Derwent had looked in this morning, and was
to return later with another medical man. The patient longed for her
niece's visit; it might do good.

She stayed about an hour, and it was the most painful hour her life had
yet known. The first sight of Mrs. Hannaford's face told her how
serious this illness was becoming; eyes unnaturally wide, lips which
had gone so thin, head constantly moving from side to side as it lay
back on the cushion of the sofa, were indications of suffering which
made Irene's heart ache. In a faint, unsteady, lamenting voice, the
poor woman talked ceaselessly; now of the wrong that was being done
her, now of her miseries in married life, now again of her present
pain. Once or twice Irene fancied her delirious, for she seemed to
speak without consciousness of a hearer. To the inquiry whether it was
in her niece's power to be of any service, she answered at first with
sorrowful negatives, but said presently that she would like to see
Piers Otway; could Irene write to him, and ask him to come?

"He shall come," was the reply.

On going down, Irene met her cousin, just returned. To her she spoke of
Mrs. Hannaford's wish.

"I promised he should be sent for. Will you do it, Olga?"

"It is already done," Olga answered. "Did she forget? One of the things
I went out for was to telegraph to him."

They gazed at each other with distressful eyes.

"Oh, what does the man deserve who has caused this?" exclaimed Olga,
who herself began to look ill. "It's dreadful! I am afraid to go into
the room. If I had someone here to live with me!"

Irene's instinct was to offer to come, but she remembered the
difficulties. Her duties at home were obstacles sufficient. She had to
content herself with promising to call as often as possible.

Returning to Bryanston Square, she thought with annoyance of the
possibility that her father and Piers Otway might come face to face in
that house. Never till now had she taxed her father with injustice. It
seemed to her an intolerable thing that the blameless man should be
made to share in obloquy merited by his brother. And what memory was
this which awoke in her? Did not she herself once visit upon him a
fault in which he had little if any part? She recalled that evening,
long ago, at Queen's Gate, when she was offended by