rs, and, finding Nellie in the
hall, he tried to comfort her; for she was very much concerned for poor
Michael.

"Do you think he will die, Mr. Cavendish?" asked she, almost as much
moved as though the poor man had been her father.

"O, no! I think he will recover. These Irishmen have thick heads, and
they don't die so easily of sun-stroke; for that's what the doctor says
it is," replied Laud, knowingly.

Nellie thought, if this was a true view of _coup de soleil_, Laud would
never die of it. She thought this; but she was not so impolite as to say
it. She asked him no more questions; for she saw Don John approaching
through the dining-room.

"Good afternoon, Miss Patterdale," said Laud, with a bow and a flourish,
as he retired towards the library, where he had left his hat.

In a few moments more, the rattle of the wagon, with which he delivered
goods to the customers, was heard as he drove off. Don John came into
the hall, and Nellie asked him ever so many questions about the
condition of Michael, and what the doctor said about him; all of which
the young man answered to the best of his ability.

"Do you think he will die, Don John?" she asked.

"I am sure I can't tell," replied Donald; "I hope not."

"Michael is real good, and I am so sorry for him!" added Nellie.

But Michael is hardly a personage in our story, and we do not purpose to
enter into the diagnosis of his case. He has our sympathies on the merit
of his sufferings alone, and quite as much for Nellie's sake; for it was
tender, and gentle, and kind in her to feel so much for a poor Irish
laborer. While she and Donald were talking about the case, Mr. Hasbrook
came down stairs, and passed through the hall into the library, where
he, also, had left his hat. In a few moments more the rattle of his
wagon was heard, as he drove off, indignant and disgusted at the
indifference of the nabob in refusing to take an interest in his
brilliant enterprise. He was angry with himself for having paid his note
before he had enlisted the payee in his cause.

"How is he, father?" asked Nellie, as Captain Patterdale entered the
hall.

"The doctor thinks he sees some favorable symptoms."

"Will he die?"

"The doctor thinks he will get over it. But he wants some ice, and I
must get it for him."

"I suppose you will not go in the Sea Foam now?" asked Donald.

"No; it is impossible," replied the captain, as he passed into the
dining-room to the refrigerator.

Th