e dowager, rather beside herself on the whole, had insisted on the
leeches. Any one, seeing her conduct now, might have thought the invalid
boy was really dear to her. Nothing of the sort. A hazy idea had been
looming through her mind for years that Val was not strong; she had been
mistaking mental disease for bodily illness; and a project to have full
control of her grandchild, should he come into the succession
prematurely, had coloured her dreams. This charming prospect would be
ignominiously cut short if the boy went first.

Sir Alexander saw his error. There must be something peculiar in Lord
Elster's constitution, he blandly said; it would not have happened in
another. Of course, anything that turns out a mistake always is in the
constitution--never in the treatment. Whether he lived or died now was
just the turn of a straw: the chances were that he would die. All that
could be done now was to endeavour to counteract the mischief by external
applications.

"I wish you would let me try a remedy," said Lady Hartledon, wistfully.
"A compress of cold water round the throat with oilsilk over it. I have
seen it do so much good in cases of inward inflammation."

Mr. Brook smiled: if anything would do good that might, he said, speaking
as if he had little faith in remedies now. Sir Alexander intimated that
her ladyship might try it; graciously observing that it would do no harm.

The application was used, and the evening went on. The child had fallen
into a sort of stupor, and Mr. Brook came in again before he had been
away an hour, and leaned anxiously over the patient. He lay with his eyes
half-closed, and breathed with difficulty.

"I think," he exclaimed softly, "there's the slightest shade of
improvement."

"In the fever, or the throat?" whispered Lady Hartledon, who had not
quitted the boy's bedside.

"In the throat. If so, it is due to your remedy, Lady Hartledon."

"Is he in danger?"

"In great danger. Still, I see a gleam of hope."

After the surgeon's departure, she went down to her husband, meeting
Hedges on the stairs, who was coming to inquire after the patient for his
master, for about the fiftieth time. Hartledon was in the library, pacing
about incessantly in the darkness, for the room was only lighted by the
fire. Anne closed the door and approached him.

"Percival, I do not bring you very good tidings," she said; "and yet they
might be worse. Mr. Brook tells me he is in great danger, but thin