for him."

"Poor old Cecil! It's awful!" muttered his brother, very pale.

Gaynor put his arms about Cecil, as though trying to lift him. When
Gerald saw this he broke from his mother and ran to help. Between them
they laid Cecil on the floor. He half opened his eyes and moaned. Again
his acting was so good that it deceived himself. He felt as he lay there
that he was really on the verge of swooning--that only brandy would save
him.

"Brandy!" he muttered.

Sophy looked wildly at Gaynor. She was shaking from head to foot.

"I'll get a dose of strychnine ready, madam," he said, turning towards
the tea-table. Chesney's lids fell again.

"Brandy!" It was just a whisper.

"Whatever you're going to do, for God's sake do it quickly!" cried
Gerald to Gaynor. He spoke in a high, shrill voice. He was terribly
excited and alarmed.

"Brandy!" came the faint whisper, almost inaudible.

Gerald sprang up, rushed from the room. As Gaynor was heating water in a
teaspoon to prepare the strychnine, he rushed back again, a bottle of
brandy and a liqueur glass in his hand.

"Here!" he cried. "At least try this while the other's being got ready."

Gaynor's hand shook so that he slopped the water he had already
prepared, and had to begin all over.

"Oh, hurry, Gaynor--hurry!" cried Sophy, in despair. Cecil seemed to
have fainted again.

"Let's try this--do let's try this," urged Gerald, kneeling down by her.

"I'm afraid," she murmured. She was white to the lips. "They say it's so
bad for him."

Gaynor came forward with the hypodermic needle. Sophy held it, shivering
with repulsion, while the valet unfastened his master's sleeve-links and
pushed back his sleeve.

"Good God! What's the matter with his arm?" whispered Gerald hoarsely.
Sophy felt sick to death. Life seemed to her like a sickness--a disease.
She, too, had caught a glimpse of the disfigured flesh.

"Result of the fever, your lordship," said Gaynor in a low voice. He
thrust the needle skilfully home between two less recent punctures.
Gerald drew back as though it had entered his own arm.

"He'll revive now, your lordship," said the valet in the same even
voice. They waited. Cecil lay there motionless, his lip still curled
back over his teeth. After a few moments:

"Brandy!" he breathed again.

"For God's sake, give it to him ... give it to him, Sophy!" Gerald
urged.

Gaynor had his master's wrist in his fingers. "His pulse is slow, madam,
but not bad,"