“Of course!—­of course I will come back!” cried Alicia.  Then, stepping up briskly to Lady Lucy, she stooped and kissed her.  “And there is you to look after, too!”

Lady Lucy allowed the kiss, but made no reply to the remark.  Alicia departed.

* * * * *

She went slowly up the wide oak staircase.  How stifling the house was on this delicious afternoon!  Suddenly, in the distance, she heard the sound of guns—­a shooting-party, no doubt, in the Melford woods.  Her feet danced under her, and she gave a sigh of longing for the stubbles and the sunny fields, and the companionship of handsome men, of health and vigor as flawless and riotous as her own.

Oliver was lying still, with closed eyes, when she rejoined him.  He made no sign as she opened the door, and she sank down on a stool beside him and laid her head against his shoulder.

“Dear Oliver, you must cheer up,” she said, softly.  “You’ll be well soon—­quite soon—­if you are only patient.”

He made no reply.

“Did you like Mr. Nixon?” she asked, in the same caressing voice, gently rubbing her cheek against his arm.

“One doesn’t exactly like one’s executioner,” he said, hoarsely and suddenly, but without opening his eyes.

“Oliver!—­dearest!” She dropped a protesting kiss on the sleeve of his coat.

Silence for a little, Alicia felt as if she could hardly breathe in the hot room.  Then Oliver raised himself.

“I am going blind!”—­he said, violently.  “And nothing can be done.  Did that man tell my mother that?”

“No, no!—­Oliver!” She threw her arm round him, hastily repeating and softening Nixon’s opinion.

He sank back on his cushions, gloomily listening—­without assent.  Presently he shook his head.

“The stuff that doctors talk when they can do no good, and want to get comfortably out of the house!  Alicia!”

She bent forward startled.

“Alicia!—­are you going to stick to me?”

His eyes held her.

“Oliver!—­what a cruel question!”

“No, it is not cruel.”  He spoke with a decision which took no account of her caresses.  “I ought to give you up—­I know that perfectly well.  But I tell you frankly I shall have no motive to get well if you leave me.  I think that man told me the truth—­I did my best to make him.  There is a chance of my getting well—­the thing is not hopeless.  If you’ll stand by me, I’ll fight through.  Will you?” He looked at her with a threatening and painful eagerness.

“Of course I will,” she said, promptly.

“Then let us tell my mother to-night that we are engaged?  Mind, I am not deceiving you.  I would give you up at once if I were hopelessly ill.  I am only asking you to bear a little waiting—­and wretchedness—­for my sake.”

“I will bear anything.  Only, dear Oliver—­for your sake—­for mine—­wait a little longer!  You know what horrible gossip there’s been!” She clung to him, murmuring:  “I couldn’t bear that anybody should speak or think harshly of you now.  It can make no difference to you and me, but two or three months hence everybody would take it so differently.  You know we said in June—­six months.”