r, one who is likely in the future to have a soothing effect on
her husband. That morning she was very nearly hysterical. When we went
into my study after breakfast she was quite incapable of work, and
could not lay her hands on any of the papers which I particularly
wanted. I was irritated at the moment, but I recognized afterwards
that she had some excuse, and in any case my morning's work would have
been interrupted.

At half-past ten I got a note from Godfrey--written in pencil and
almost illegible--in which he asked me to go down to see him at once.
He said that he was in severe pain and for the time confined to bed.

"You're sure," he said, "to have heard a garbled account of what
happened, before you get this letter. I want to tell you the _facts_
before I take further action."

The word "facts" was underlined shakily. I had, of course, heard no
account of anything which had happened. I handed the letter to Marion.

"Do you know what this means?" I asked.

Marion read it.

"Rose told me this morning," she said, "that there had been some kind
of a row last night. She said Godfrey was killed."

"That isn't true at all events," I said. "He's still alive."

"Of course I didn't believe her," said Marion.

"But I think you ought to have told me at breakfast," I said. "I hate
having these things sprung on me suddenly. At my time of life even
good news ought to be broken to me gradually. Any sudden shock is bad
for the heart."

"I thought there might be no truth in the story at all," said Marion,
"and you know, father, that you don't like being worried."

I don't. But I am worried a great deal.

"I suppose," I said, "that I'd better go down and see him. He says
he's in great pain, so he's not likely to be agreeable; but still I'd
better go."

"Do," said Marion; "and, of course, if there's anything I can do,
anything I can send down to him--"

"I don't expect he's as bad as all that," I said. "Men like Godfrey
are never seriously hurt. But if he expresses a wish for chicken jelly
I'll let you know at once."

I started at once. I met Bob Power just outside my own gate. He was
evidently a little embarrassed, but he spoke to me with the greatest
frankness.

"I'm extremely sorry, Lord Kilmore," he said, "but I am afraid I hurt
your nephew last night."

"Badly?"

"Not very," said Bob. "Collar bone and a couple of ribs. I saw the
doctor this morning."

"Broken?"

"Yes. It wasn't altogether my fault.