boy was safe, would not risk direct communication with him or with his
nurse.

Lady Adela had undertaken to keep Constance, the person who really loved
her uncle best, daily informed, and she also wrote at intervals to Mrs.
Morton, by special desire of Lady Northmoor, and likewise to her own old
servant, Eden, the nurse. She wrote cheerfully, but Eden had other
correspondents in the servants' hall, who dwelt sensationally on the
danger, as towards Whitsun week the fever began to run higher towards the
crisis, the strength was reduced, the torpor became heavier; and anxiety
increased as to whether there would be power of rally in a man who,
though healthy, had never been strong.

The anxiety manifested by the entire neighbourhood was a notable proof of
the estimation in which the patient was held, and was very far from
springing only from pity or humanity. Half the people who came to Lady
Adela for further information had some cause going on in which 'That
Stick' was one of the most efficient of props.

CHAPTER XXXI
MITE

Little Michael Morton was in the meantime installed in his aunt's house.
For him to be anywhere else was not to be thought of, and Mrs. Morton was
soft-hearted enough to be very fond of such a bright little boy, so much
in her own hands, and very amusing with the old-fashioned formal ways
derived from chiefly consorting with older people.

Besides, the pretty little fellow was an object of great interest to all
her acquaintances, especially as it was understood at Westhaven that it
was only too possible that he might any day become Lord Northmoor; and
never had Mrs. Morton's drawing-room been so much resorted to by visitors
anxious for bulletins, or perhaps more truly for excitement. Mite was a
young gentleman of some dignity. He sat elevated on a hassock upon a
chair to dine at luncheon-time, comporting himself most correctly; but
his aunt was sorely chafed at Eden's standing behind his chair, like
Sancho's physician, to regulate his diet, and placing her veto upon
lobsters, cucumbers, pastry, and glasses of wine with lumps of sugar in
them.

It amounted to a trial of strength between aunt and nurse. Michael
submitted once or twice, when told that his mamma would not approve, but
the lobster struck him with extreme amazement and admiration, and he
could not believe but that the red, long-whiskered monster was not as
good as he was beautiful.

'He has got a glove like what Peter we