“Look here, Lady Rose,” he said, falling back into a sitting posture at the first attempt, “where’s my writing-case?  If I go off my head, will you give this to the Rector, and ask him if it will be any good in the matter he knows of?” and he handed her an envelope.  “And this keep,” he added, giving her one addressed to his father.  “Don’t let him have it till it’s all over.  You know.”  Then he took up a pen and a sheet of paper, and got as far, with a shaking hand, as ‘Dear Crank—­’ but there he broke down, and laid his head on the table, groaning.

“I’ll do it.  What shall I say, dear Herbert?”

“Only tell her to come to me,” he gasped.  “Cranstoun—­our old nurse.  Then I’ll be no trouble.”

While Mr. Bindon helped Herbert into his room, Rosamond sped home to send for Mrs. Cranstoun, arrange for the care of the new patient in the intervening hours, and fetch some of those alleviations of which experience had taught the use.  Mr. Bindon came to meet her on her return, carefully shutting the door, and saying, “Lady Rosamond, can he be delirious already?  He is talking of being plucked for his Ordination.”

“Too true,” said Rosamond.  “I thought it a great shame to be so hard on a man with that in him; but I believe you expected it?”

“No; I may have said he would fail, but I never expected it.”

“Fail, indeed!  Fancy a man being turned back who has worked night and day—­night and day—­doing all the very hardest services—­never resting!  Very likely killing himself!” cried Rosamond hotly.  “May I come back to him?  Terry can spare me, and if you will go to Wil’sbro’ I’ll stay till my husband comes, or the doctor.  The Sisters will tell you what to do.”

Herbert was, however, so much more comfortable for being in bed, that he was able to give Mr. Bindon directions as to the immediate cares at Wil’sbro’; but he was distressed at occupying Lady Rose, his great object being to be no trouble to anybody, though he had seen so much of the disease as to have been fully aware that it had been setting in for the last two days, yet his resolution to spare his Rector had kept him afoot till he had seen other help arrive.  He declared that he wanted nobody but Rollo, who could fetch and carry, and call any one, if only the doors were open, and really the creature’s wistful eyes and gentle movements justified the commendation.

“Only,” said Herbert anxiously, “I suppose this is not catching for dogs.  You’ll make a home for him Lady Rose?” he added.  “I should like you to have him, and he’ll be happier with you than with any one else.”

“Herbert, I can’t have you talk of that.”

“Very well,” he said, quietly.  “Only you will keep my dear old fellow—­I’ve had him from a puppy—­and he is but three years old now.”

Rosamond gave all promises, from her full heart, as she fondled the soft, wise black head.