bout eight o'clock in the morning the old doctor came out of the room,
and Maurice knew in a moment the nature of his tidings.

"All is going well," he whispered. "The temperature is steadily
decreasing--nearly three degrees since last night--and he is now in a
profound sleep; the crisis is over, and happily over, as I imagine. I'm
going along to tell his mother and Francie--and to go to bed for a bit."

And Maurice? Well, here was the nurse; he was not wanted; he was a
good-natured sort of person and he had seen how patiently and faithfully
Nina had concealed her grief and done mutely everything they wanted of
her. A few minutes' drive in a hansom would take him down to Sloane
Street; the fresh air would be pleasant--for his head felt stupefied for
want of rest; and why should not Nina have this glad intelligence at the
first possible moment? So forth he went, into the white light of the
fresh April morning; and presently he was rattling away westward, as
well as the eastward-flowing current of the newly awakened town would
allow. But very much surprised was he, when he got to Mrs. Grey's house,
to find that Nina was not there. She had gone out very early in the
morning, the maid-servant told him; she had done so the last two or
three days back--without waiting for breakfast even.

"But where does she go?" he demanded, wondering.

"I don't know, sir," the girl said; so there was nothing for it but to
walk leisurely away back to Piccadilly--after all, Nina would be sure to
make her appearance at the usual hour, which was about ten.

By the time he was nearing Lionel's lodgings again, he had forgotten all
about Nina; he was thinking that now, since Lionel seemed on a fair way
to recovery, there might be a little more leisure for Francie and
himself to talk over their own plans and prospects. He was on the
southern side of Piccadilly, and sometimes he glanced into the Green
Park; when suddenly his eye was caught by a figure that somehow appeared
familiar. Was not that Miss Ross--walking slowly along a pathway between
the trees, her head bent down, though sometimes she turned and looked up
towards the houses for but a second, as if she were asking some
unspoken, pathetic question. She was about opposite Lionel's rooms, but
some little way inside the Park, so that it was not probable she could
be seen from the windows. Well, Maurice walked back until he found a
gate, entered, and went forward and overtook her. In fact, s