reamy man. I devote myself so
much to my studies that I think of nothing else. My friends have given
me up, and--and I'm afraid they laugh at me. I am writing, you see, a
great work upon the old Roman occupation of--. Dear me! I'm wandering
off again. Mrs Dunn, can I not see my old friend's son?"

"To be sure you can, sir. Pray, come," cried the old lady; and, leading
the way, she ushered the two visitors out into the hall, the professor
following last, consequent upon having gone back to fetch the two big
folio volumes; but recollecting himself, and colouring like an ingenuous
girl, he took them back, and laid them upon the dining-room table.

Mrs Dunn paused at the drawing-room door and held up a finger.

"Please, be very quiet with him, gentlemen," she said. "The poor boy is
very weak, and you must not stay long."

The lawyer nodded shortly, the professor bent his head in acquiescence,
and the old lady opened the drawing-room door.

CHAPTER THREE.

A PLAN IS MADE.

As they entered, a pale attenuated lad of about seventeen, who was lying
back in an easy-chair, with his head supported by a pillow, and a book
in his hand, turned to them slightly, and his unnaturally large eyes had
in them rather a wondering look, which was succeeded by a smile as the
professor strode to his side, and took his long, thin, girlish hand.

"Why, Lawrence, my boy, I did not know you were so ill."

"Ill? Nonsense, man!" said the lawyer shortly. "He's not ill. Are
you, my lad?"

He shook hands rather roughly as he spoke from the other side of the
invalid lad's chair, while Mrs Dunn gave her hands an impatient jerk,
and went behind to brush the long dark hair from the boy's forehead.

He turned up his eyes to her to smile his thanks, and then laid his
cheek against the hand that had been smoothing his hair.

"No, Mr Burne, I don't think I'm ill," he said in a low voice. "I only
feel as if I were so terribly weak and tired. I get too tired to read
sometimes, and I never do anything at all to make me so."

"Hah!" ejaculated the lawyer.

"I thought it was the doctor come back," continued the lad. "I say, Mr
Preston--you are my guardian, you know--is there any need for him to
come? I am so tired of cod-liver oil."

"Yah!" ejaculated the lawyer; "it would tire anybody but a lamp."

He snorted this out, and then blew another blast upon his nose, which
made some ornament upon the chimney-piece rattle.

"Doctor?"