“I suppose you will be going down to the House of Commons almost directly?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” he answered.  “I’ve begged off.  I could not think of getting to work while Linn is so ill as that.”

“Do you know what I have been thinking all day, Maurice?” she said, gently.  “When I saw you with the doctors, and when I heard of all you have done since Saturday morning—­well, I could not help thinking that there must be something fine about Lionel to have secured him such a friend.”

He looked at her with some surprise.

“But you have been his friend—­all these years!” he said.

“Ah, that’s different; we were brought up together.  Tell me—­the Nina he is always talking about—­I suppose that is the Italian girl who was at the theatre, and whom he knew in Naples—­he used to write home about her—­”

[Illustration:  “He uttered a loud shriek, and struggled wildly to raise himself.”]

“Yes,” he said; “and it is only now I am beginning to understand something of the situation.  I do believe mental distress has had as much to do with bringing on this fever as anything else; the chill may have been only an accident that developed it.  I told you when I saw him, before he was struck down, how he seemed to be all at sixes and sevens with himself—­everything wrong—­worried, harassed, and sick of life, though he would hardly explain anything; he was always too proud to ask for pity.  Well, now, I am piecing together a story, out of these incoherent appeals and recollections that come into his delirium; and if I am right, it is a sad enough one, for it seems to me so hopeless.  I believe he was all the time in love with that Nina—­Miss Ross—­and did not know it; for their association, their companionship, was so constant, so like an intimate friendship.  Then there seems to have been some misunderstanding, and she went away unexpectedly—­there is a box of jewels and trinkets on the top of the piano, and I am certain these were what she sent back to him when she left.  I don’t think he has the slightest idea where she is; and that is troubling him more than anything else—­”

“But, Maurice,” said Francie, instantly, “could we not find out where she is?—­surely she would come and see him and pacify his mind; it would just make all the difference!  Surely we could find out where she is!”

Mangan hesitated; it was not the first time this idea had occurred to himself.

“I am afraid,” said he, “that, even if we knew where she was, it would be rather awkward to approach her.  There may have been something about her going away that prevented Linn from trying to find her out.  For one thing, his engagement to Miss Burgoyne.  I believe he blundered into that in a sort of reckless despair; but there it is; and there it is likely to be, unfortunately—­”

“But surely, surely, Maurice,” said Francie, “Miss Ross would not make that any obstacle if she knew that her coming would give peace and rest to one who is dangerously ill.  Surely she would not think of such a thing at such a time—­”