hoose."

Old Maisie lay back, looking at the beautiful face in a kind of
wonderment. The feeling it gave her that she was in the hands of some
superior power was the most favourable one possible in a case where
fever was the result of mental disquiet. Presently the strain on the
face abated, and the wild look in the eyes. The lids drooped, then
closed over them. Something like sleep followed, leaving Gwen free to
rejoin old Phoebe and Ruth, outside. They were still close at hand.

"Did you hear all that?" said Gwen. It appeared that they had, or the
greater part. The account of how the night had passed was postponed,
owing to the arrival of Dr. Nash.

"I would sooner give her no drugs of any sort," said he, when he had
taken a good look at the patient. "I will leave something for her to
take if she doesn't get sleep naturally. Otherwise the choice is between
giving her something harmless to make her believe she is taking
medicine, and telling her she has nothing whatever the matter with her.
I incline to the last. Get her to take food whenever you can. Always
have something ready for her whenever's there a chance. I expect you to
see to that, Widow Thrale. And, Lady Gwendolen, _you_ are good for
her--remember that! You've got to pretend you're God Almighty--do you
understand?" It goes without saying that by this time no one else was
within hearing.

"I understand perfectly," said Gwen. "That little doze she had just now
was because I pledged myself and my father to the reality of the whole
thing. She had got to think it was all a dream."

She suppressed, as the sort of thing for London, a thought that came
into her head at this moment, that it was the first time the family
coronet had been of the slightest use to any living creature! Not here,
with the hush of the Feudal System still on the land, and the old church
at Chorlton's monotonous belfry calling its flock to celebrate the Third
Sunday in Advent. For next Sunday was Christmas Eve, and old Maisie's
eighty-first birthday. Next Monday was old Phoebe's, with just the
stroke of midnight between them.

Gwen seized the opportunity to get from Dr. Nash a fuller account of his
disclosure to old Phoebe. He told her what we know already.

"Only I'm due at the other end of the village," said he, ending up. He
looked at his watch. "I've got five minutes.... Yes--it was the small
boy's letter that did the job. I had been hammering away at the old lady
to get the thin