nefit? A penniless
guardian--a rich ward; as a situation, it is perfect; full of
possibilities."

"Take care," says the professor, advancing a step or two.

"Tut! Do you think I can't see through your game?" says Sir Hastings, in
his most offensive way, which is nasty indeed. "You hope to keep me
unmarried. You tell yourself, I can't live much longer, at the pace
I'm going. I know the old jargon--I have it by heart--given a year
at the most the title and the heiress will both be yours! I can read
you--I--" He breaks off to laugh sardonically, and the cough catching
him, shakes him horribly. "But, no, by heaven!" cries he. "I'll destroy
your hopes yet. I'll disappoint you. I'll marry. I'm a young man
yet--yet--with life--_long_ life before me--life----"

A terrible change comes over his face, he reels backwards, only saving
himself by a blind clinging to a book-case on his right.

The professor rushes to him and places his arm round him. With his foot
he drags a chair nearer, into which Sir Hastings falls with a heavy
groan. It is only a momentary attack, however; in a little while the
leaden hue clears away, and, though still ghastly, his face looks more
natural.

"Brandy," gasps he faintly. The professor holds it to his lips, and
after a minute or two he revives sufficiently to be able to sit up and
look round him.

"Thought you had got rid of me for good and all," says he, with a
malicious grin, terrible to see on his white, drawn face. "But I'll beat
you yet! There!--Call my fellow--he's below. Can't get about without a
damned attendant in the morning, now. But I'll cure all that. I'll see
you dead before I go to my own grave. I----"

"Take your master to his carriage," says the professor to the man, who
is now on the threshold. The maunderings of Sir Hastings--still hardly
recovered from his late fit--strike horribly upon his ear, rendering him
almost faint.

CHAPTER XV.

My love is like the sky,
As distant and as high;
Perchance she's fair and kind and bright,
Perchance she's stormy--tearful quite--
Alas! I scarce know why."

It is late in the day when the professor enters Lady Baring's house. He
had determined not to wait till the morrow to see Perpetua. It seemed to
him that it would be impossible to go through another sleepless night,
with this raging doubt, this cruel uncertainty in his heart.

He finds her in the library, the soft light of the dying evening fal