gued, must also be good on Monday.

Arithelli's throat had healed quickly, but the depression and weakness
clung to her persistently. She fought it and was ashamed of it, true to
her Spartan traditions, but was forced to realise that it was not in her
own power to hurry her return to the world and work.

Michael Furness, who was much elated by the success of the Jewish
herbalist's remedy, continued his treatment on the same lines, giving her
various tisanes of leaves and flowers, which if they tasted unpleasant
were at least harmless. He had grown fond of his patient, and she always
looked for his visits with pleasure. He treated her with a genuine,
almost fatherly kindness, and they were drawn together by the kin feeling
of race, so strong among all Celts. In many respects Michael was not
ideal as a medical attendant.

He smoked vile tobacco,--he dropped some things and knocked over others,
he shaved apparently only on _festas_, and if he happened to arrive late
in the day his speech was thick and his manner excitable.

Upon one occasion Arithelli had complained that her mane of untended hair
made her uncomfortably hot, and Michael brought out a pocket knife,
clubbed it all together in his hand like a horse's tail, and obligingly
offered to relieve her by cutting it off. Emile had arrived only just in
time to prevent the holocaust, and the two men exchanged fiery words for
the next ten minutes.

Another day, prompted by a desire to amuse her, Michael introduced into
her room a fat mongrel puppy with disproportionate legs and an alarmed
expression. His wish to provide her with what he was pleased to call a
"divarsion" was, like many of his other good intentions, not entirely
successful. He had deposited the excited animal on the bed, and in the
course of its frantic gambols it overbalanced and fell sprawling to the
floor on its back. The ancient canopied bed was high, and the puppy was
frightened as well as hurt, and lifted up its voice in anguished yells.
When Michael had rescued it, and put it outside the door and finished
laughing, he came back to find Arithelli weeping helplessly with her face
buried in the pillow. His alarmed suggestion that he should fetch Emile
helped her to recover more quickly than any amount of sympathy could have
done.

Sometimes there were other visitors. The grooms and strappers from the
Hippodrome came often to enquire, and Estelle, forbidden by the Manager
to come at all o