lived, which they have well nigh forgotten.

Michael's body, which had so far profited by the inertness of his
faculties, resented the change, and gave unmistakable signs of
relinquishing the slight degree of strength it had regained.

Wentworth became suddenly frantically anxious once more, and in a moment
the wrongs on which he was brooding were forgotten. He decided to go to
London the same day under the guise of business, and to consult the
great doctor privately about Michael, perhaps arrange to bring him back
with him.

"I wish you would drive oftener," he said to Michael before he left.
"It's much better for you than walking up and down. Why not, if you feel
inclined, as you will be alone all day, drive over to Priesthope this
afternoon. I said you would come the first day you could. It's only four
miles, just an easy little drive."

An indefinable change passed over Michael's vacant face at the mention
of Priesthope. His eyes became fixed. He looked gravely at his brother,
as if the latter had solved some difficult problem.

"It's a good idea," he said slowly. "I ought to have gone before,
but----"

"The Bishop stopped you most inconsiderately last time."

"Did he? I don't remember being stopped. Oh! yes, yes, I do. But if I
_had_ gone that day---- But anyhow I will go to-day."

* * * * *

Fay was sitting alone in the morning-room at Priesthope, pretending to
read, when Michael was announced.

When he had been conveyed to a chair and had overcome the breathlessness
and semi-blindness that any exertion caused him he saw that she looked
ill, and as if she had not slept.

"I ought to have come before," he said mechanically, making a great
mental effort and putting his hand to his head. "I meant to come,
but----" he looked hopelessly at her. He had evidently forgotten what he
intended to say.

"The day you were coming with Wentworth the Bishop stopped you," said
Fay drearily. Every word that Wentworth had said that afternoon was
still echoing discordantly in her brain.

"That's it. The Bishop," said Michael with relief. "He told me, we had a
long talk"--his mind was clearing rapidly--"how you meant to save me."

"Yes, I meant to do it," said Fay, looking at him with miserable eyes.
"But the Marchesa, the same day--it was in the papers."

"I know, I know. The Bishop told me. He said I ought to know that you
had been willing to make the sacrifice. I have come to thank