."

Brigit flushed. "Wanted you to play the violin?" she returned.

"Yes. He has not done so until this morning for several days, but he
quite insisted to-day."

"It must be--Joyselle. We--we know him very well, and Tommy adores him."

As she spoke the nurse came in.

"Would you mind coming, my lady? He is very restless and insists on
trying to play. I can't quiet him at all----"

They went back into the sick-room and found Tommy sitting up in bed,
holding his violin in the position for playing, and scolding in a sharp
staccato voice because he couldn't find his bow.

"Tommy, dear," Brigit said quietly, suddenly seeing her way clear, "I am
wiring the Master to come to see you. He will play for you. Now give me
your violin and lie down like a good boy."

Under the impression that she was Mrs. Champion, the housekeeper, but
perfectly satisfied with her words, he gave up the fiddle obediently and
lay down. The doctor nodded his approval and left a few moments later to
send the telegram to Joyselle. And Brigit sat down by the bed and
waited.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The weather had changed suddenly, and although it was only the 14th of
September, it was cold and cheerless that afternoon.

Brigit, who had been sent out for a walk, tramped steadily down the road
towards the village, her hands in her jacket pockets, her chin buried in
her little boa.

Tommy was very ill; the London doctor had confirmed old Dr. Long's
opinion: an over-developed mind in an under-developed body. These words
in themselves were not very alarming, but Brigit's heart had sunk as Sir
George uttered them.

"Is he--is he going to die?" she asked abruptly. Sir George hesitated.
"We scientists are supposed to be atheists, my dear young lady," he
returned, looking at his watch, "but I believe in God. And in all
reverence I can say in this case that only He can tell. Lord Kingsmead
is very weak, and I greatly dislike the abnormal activity of his brain,
but--God is good. So let us hope."

Then the great man had gone.

By the 5.10 express Joyselle was coming. He had been out of town the day
before, and the delay had been maddening. But now he was coming, and
Brigit pinned her faith to the effects of his presence with savage
fanaticism.

"He _must_ help him," she repeated over and over again; "he loves him
so."

The darkness of the day was congenial to her; sunshine would have seemed
an insult. She reached the village, with its little st