ly, and a quiver of pain went through him. He
fixed his eyes imploringly on Max, who instantly rose to the occasion.

"Of course he's all right. You clear out! We're busy."

"What are you doing?" Keen curiosity sounded in Noel's voice.

"Never mind! We don't want you," came the brotherly rejoinder.

"But I say--"

"Clear out!" ordered Max. "Go and tell Chris that Bertrand is writing a
letter to catch the post; which reminds me," he added grimly, "you can
also tell Holmes to come and fetch it in a quarter of an hour. Don't
forget now. It's important."

He pulled the letter entrusted to his keeping from his pocket and tossed
it on to the table.

Noel departed, and with an effort Bertrand spoke.

"But that was not the truth."

"Near enough," responded the second Wyndham complacently. "That is, if
you don't want everyone to know."

Bertrand's brows contracted. "No--no! I would not that your sister should
know, or Mr. Mordaunt."

"They will have to sooner or later," observed Max.

"Then--let it be later," murmured Bertrand.

Again there fell a silence, during which he seemed to be collecting his
strength, for when he spoke again it was with more firmness.

"Mr. Wyndham!"

"All right, you can call me Max. I'm listening," said Max.

Bertrand faintly smiled. That touch of good-fellowship pleased him. Young
as he was, this boy somehow made him feel that he understood many things.

"Then, Max," he said, "I think that you know already that which I am
going to say to you. However, it is better to say it. It is not possible
that I shall live very long."

He paused, but Max said nothing. He sat, still holding Bertrand's wrist,
his gaze upon the opposite wall.

"You knew it, no?" Bertrand questioned.

"I suspected it," Max said. He turned slightly and looked at the man upon
the bed. "This isn't your first attack," he said.

Bertrand shuddered irrepressibly. "Nor my second," he said.

"I can give you something to ease the pain," Max said. "But if you're
wise you will consult a doctor."

Again a faint smile flickered over Bertrand's face. "I am not enough
wise," he said, "to desire to prolong my life under these conditions."

"I should say the same myself," observed Max somewhat curtly.

He offered no further advice, but sat on, waiting apparently for further
developments.

After a little Bertrand proceeded. "I have known now for some time that
this malady was incurable. I think that I would not have it o