ery narrow one, but that her poor Austin
would not be long before he crossed it altogether.

For there was no doubt that he was beginning to fade. He got paler
and thinner by degrees, and one day she found him in a dead faint upon
the floor. The slight uneasiness in his hip had increased to actual
pain, and the pain had spread to his back. In an agony of apprehension
she summoned the doctor, and the doctor with hollow professional
cheerfulness said that that sort of thing wouldn't do at all, and that
Master Austin must make up his mind to lie up a bit. And so he was put
to bed, and people smiled ghastly smiles which were far more
heartrending than sobs, and talked about taking him away to some
beautiful warm southern climate where he would soon grow strong and
well again. Austin only said that he was very comfortable where he
was, and that he wouldn't think of being taken away, because he knew
how dreadfully poor Aunt Charlotte suffered at sea, and travelling was
a sad nuisance after all. And indeed it would have been impossible to
move him, for his sufferings were occasionally very great. Sometimes
he would writhe in strange agonies all night long, till they used to
wonder how he would live through it; but when morning came he scarcely
ever remembered anything at all, and in answer to enquiries always
said that he had had a very good night indeed, thank you. Once or
twice he seemed to have a dim recollection of something--some "bustle
and fluff," as he expressed it--during his troubled sleep; and then he
would ask anxiously whether he really had been giving them any bother,
and assure them that he was so very sorry, and hoped they would
forgive him for having been so stupid. At which Aunt Charlotte had to
smile and joke as heroically as she knew how.

There were some days, however, when he was quite free from pain, and
then he was as bright and cheerful as ever. He lay in his white bed
surrounded by the books he loved, which he read intermittently; and
every now and then, when Aunt Charlotte thought he was strong enough,
a visitor would be admitted. Roger St Aubyn, now back from Italy,
often dropped in to sit with him, and these were golden hours to
Austin, who listened delightedly to his friend's absorbing
descriptions of the beautiful places he had been to and the wonderful
old legends that were attached to them. Then nothing would content him
but that Lubin must come up occasionally and tell him how the garden
was