urprise, and his cheeks became hectic, when Lord
Hartledon entered.

"Bob, my dear fellow, I am glad to see you."

He took his hands and sat down, his face full of the concern he did not
care to speak. Lady Hartledon had said he was going into a way; it was
evidently the way of the grave.

He pushed the balls and the board from him, half ashamed of his
employment. "To think you should catch me at this!" he exclaimed. "Maude
brought it to me yesterday, thinking I was dull up here."

"As good that as anything else. I often think what a miserably restless
invalid _I_ should make. But now, what's wrong with you?"

"Well, I suppose it's the heart."

"The heart?"

"The doctors say so. No doubt they are right; those complaints are
hereditary, and my father had it. I got quite unfit for duty, and they
told me I must go away for change; so I wrote to Maude, and she took me
in."

"Yes, yes; we are glad to have you, and must try and get you well, Bob."

"Ah, I can't tell about that. He died of it, you know."

"Who?"

"My father. He was ill for some time, and it wore him to a skeleton, so
that people thought he was in a decline. If I could only get sufficiently
well to go back to duty, I should not mind; it is so sad to give trouble
in a strange house."

"In a strange house it might be, but it would be ungrateful to call this
one strange," returned Lord Hartledon, smiling on him from his pleasant
blue eyes. "We must get you to town and have good advice for you. I
suppose Hillary comes up?"

"Every-day."

"Does _he_ say it's heart-disease?"

"I believe he thinks it. It might be as much as his reputation is worth
to say it in this house."

"How do you mean?"

"My mother won't have it said. She ignores the disease altogether, and
will not allow it to be mentioned, or hinted at. It's bronchitis, she
tells everyone; and of course bronchitis it must be. I did have a cough
when I came here: my chest is not strong."

"But why should she ignore heart-disease?"

"There was a fear that Maude would be subject to it when she was a child.
Should it be disclosed to her that it is my complaint, and were I to die
of it, she might grow so alarmed for herself as to bring it on; and
agitation, as we know, is often fatal in such cases."

Lord Hartledon sat in a sort of horror. Maude subject to heart-disease!
when at any moment a certain fearful tale, of which he was the guilty
centre, might be disclosed to her! Day by day, ho