“Oh, really,” said the young nobleman.  “Ah, I dare say I know; but I assure you it is quite unnecessary.  Tell him not to mind.  When a fellow’s ill, why should he be troubled?”

Maurice had taken out his pocket-book, and was searching for the lilac slip.

“But here is the check, Lord Rockminster; and nothing would do him but that I must give it into your own hands.”

“Oh, really.”

Lord Rockminster took the check, and happened to glance at it.

“Ah, I see this is drawn out by yourself, Mr. Mangan,” he said.  “I presume—­eh—­that you have lent Mr. Moore the money?”

Maurice hesitated, but there was no prevarication handy.

“If you ask the question, it is so.  However, I suppose it is all the same.”

“All the same?—­yes,” Lord Rockminster said, slowly; “with only this difference, that before he owed me the money, and now he owes it to you.  I don’t see any necessity for that arrangement.  I haven’t asked him for it; I sha’n’t ask him for it until he is quite ready and able to pay; why, therefore, should he borrow from you?  Take back your check, Mr. Mangan; I understand what you were willing to do for your friend; I assure you it is quite uncalled for.”

But Maurice refused.  He explained all the circumstances of the case—­Lionel’s feverish condition, his fretting about the debt, the necessity for keeping his mind pacified, and so on; and at last Lord Rockminster said,

“Very well; you can tell him you have given me the check.  At the same time you can’t compel me to pay it into my bankers’; and I don’t see why I should take three hundred pounds of your money when you don’t owe me any.  When Mr. Moore gets perfectly well again, you can tell him he still owes me three hundred pounds—­and he can take his own time about paying it.”  And with that Maurice took his leave, Lord Rockminster going down the stair with him and out to the hall-door, where he bade him good-bye.

When he returned to Piccadilly, he said to the nurse,

“I suppose you can sleep at a moment’s notice?”

“Pretty well, sir,” she answered, with a demure professional smile.

“Then you’d better find out this room that Mrs. Jenkins has got for you, and lie down for a few hours.  I sha’n’t be leaving until after midnight—­perhaps one or two o’clock.  Then, when I go, you can have this sofa here; and I shall be back early in the morning, to give you another rest.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He went into the adjoining room.

“Headache any better, Linn, my boy?” he asked, stooping over the bed.

There was no answer for a second or two; then the eyes were opened, showing a drowsy, pained expression.

“Did you see him, Maurice?”