prescribed by the doctor in case of a collapse. But the boy apparently
had run through his strength and lacked even the power to swallow.

For two terrible hours it seemed to Railsford as if the young life were
slipping through his hands; and he scarcely knew at one time if the
prayer he sent up would reach its destination before the soul of him on
whose behalf it rose. But soon after the school clock had tolled eight,
and when the clear spring sun rising above the chapel tower sent its
rays cheerily into the sick-chamber, the breathing became smoother and
more regular, and the hand on which that of Railsford rested grew moist.

The doctor arrived an hour later, and smiled approvingly as he glanced
at the patient.

"He's going to behave himself after all," said he. "You'll find he will
wake up in an hour or two with an appetite. Give him an egg beaten up
in milk, with a spoonful of brandy."

"What about his parents?" asked Railsford.

"They will be here by the four-o'clock train. What about your
breakfast? you've had nothing since midday yesterday; and if you're
going to have your turn at that sort of thing," added he, pointing to
the bed, "you'd better get yourself into good trim first. Get Mrs
Phillips to cook you a steak, and put yourself outside it. You can
leave him safely for twenty minutes or so."

Branscombe slept steadily and quietly through the forenoon, and then
woke, clear in mind, and, as the doctor anticipated, with an appetite.

He swallowed the meal prepared for him with considerably less pain than
yesterday, and then, for the first time, recognised his nurse.

"Thank you, sir," said he; "have I been seedy long?"

"You were rather poorly yesterday, old fellow," said Railsford, "and you
must keep very quiet now, and not talk."

The patient evinced no desire to disobey either of these injunctions,
and composed himself once more to sleep.

Before he awoke, a cab had driven into the courtyard and set down three
passengers. Two of them were Mr and Mrs Branscombe, the third was a
trained nurse from London.

As they appeared on the scene, joined almost immediately by the doctor,
Railsford quietly slipped away from the room and signalled to the cabman
to stop and pick him up. Five minutes later, he and his portmanteau
were bowling towards the station, a day late for the boat-race. But in
other respects Mark Railsford was a happy man, and a better one for his
night's vigil in the Valley of