take all proper precautions against such a
thing. I should prefer that we be known here only as Mr. and Mrs.
Charlewood. No one will think of connecting the surname with the title."

"You are quite right," agreed the doctor.

"Another thing I wish to add is that I want you to spare no
expense--send for the best nurse, the best help it is possible to get.
Remember that I am a rich man, and that I would give my whole fortune,
my life itself a thousand times over, to save or to serve my wife."

Then came a summons for the doctor from the room above, and Lord
Charlewood was once more left alone. He was a young man, and was
certainly both a good and honorable one. He had never deliberately done
anything wicked--on the contrary he had tried always to do what was
best; yet, as he stood there, a strange sense of something wanting came
over him. The young wife he loved with such passionate worship was in
the hour of need, and he could render no assistance.

Later on a strange hush had fallen over the doctor's house. It was past
1 in the morning; the sky was overcast; the wind was moaning fitfully,
as though a storm was brewing in the autumn air. The dew lay thick and
heavy on the ground. Inside the house was the strange hush that
dangerous sickness always brings with it. The doctor had in haste
summoned the best nurse in Castledene, Hannah Furney, who shook her head
gravely when she saw the beautiful pale face. An hour passed, and again
Dr. Letsom sought his distinguished guest.

"I am sorry not to bring better news," he said. "Lady--Mrs
Charlewood--is not so well as I had hoped she would be. Dr. Evans is
considered very clever. I should like further advice. Shall I send for
him?"

The sudden flash of agony that came into Lord Charlewood's face was a
revelation to Dr. Letsom; he laid his hand with a gentle touch on the
stranger's arm.

"Do not fear the worst," he said. "She is in the hands of Heaven. I am
taking only ordinary precautions. I do not say she is in danger--I
merely say that she is not so well as I should like to see her."

Another hour passed, the church clock at Castledene was striking two,
and Dr. Evans had joined the grave-faced group around the sick woman's
bed. He, too, had looked with compassion on the beautiful young
face--he, too, had bent forward to listen to the whisper that parted the
white lips.

"Am I going to die?" she asked.

He tried to smile and say something about hope; but Nurse Furne