the time that they were not to contradict him,
insisted imperiously with words and gestures that he should be taken
upstairs. Janey, altogether overcome, sat down on the lower steps of the
staircase and cried. Reginald almost as pale as his father, and not
saying a word, urged him towards the stairs. To get him up to his room,
resisting as well as he could, and moaning inarticulate remonstrances
all the way, was no easy business. As the procession toiled along Phoebe
was left below, the only one in possession of her faculties. She sent
the housemaid hurriedly off for the doctor, and despatched Betsy to the
kitchen.

"Hot water is always wanted," said Phoebe; "see that you have enough in
case he should require a bath."

Then with her usual decision she stepped back into the study. It was not
vulgar curiosity which was in Phoebe's mind, nor did it occur to her that
she had no right to investigate Mr. May's private affairs. If she could
find what had done it, would not that be a great matter, something to
tell the doctor, to throw light on so mysterious a seizure? Several bits
of torn paper were lying on the floor; but only one of these was big
enough to contain any information. It was torn in a kind of triangular
shape, and contained a corner of a letter, a section of three lines,

"must have mistaken the date
presented to-day,
paid by Tozer,"

was what she read. She could not believe her eyes. What transactions
could there be between her grandfather and Mr. May? She secured the
scrap of paper, furtively putting it into her pocket. It was better to
say nothing either to the doctor, or any one else, of anything so
utterly incomprehensible. It oppressed Phoebe with a sense of mystery and
of personal connection with the mystery, which even her self-possession
could scarcely bear up against. She went into the kitchen after Betsy,
avowedly in anxious concern for the boiling of the kettle.

"Hot water is good for everything," said Phoebe; "mamma says a hot bath
is the best of remedies. Did Mr. May have anything--to worry him, Betsy?
I suppose it is only fatigue, and that he has taken too long a walk."

"I don't believe in the long walk, Miss," said Betsy, "it's that
Cotsdean as is always a-tormenting with his dirty letters. When that man
comes bothering here, master is always put