“And now!” asked Alick, hoarsely.

“Much more exhausted than when we were with her; sometimes faint, but still feverish.  They think it may last many hours yet, poor dear child, she has so much youth and strength.”

“Does she know?”

“Harvey thought some of their measures alarmed her, but they soothed and encouraged her while they saw hope, and he thinks she has no real fears.”

“And how is it to be—­” said Alick.  “She ought—­”

“Yes; Harvey thinks she ought, she is fully herself, and it can make no difference now.  He is gone to judge about coming up at once; but Alick, my poor boy, you must speak to her.  I have found that without seeing the face I cannot judge what my words may be doing.”

Rachel asked about poor Lord Keith, and was told that he was to be left in quiet that night, unless his wife should be very anxious for him at once.  Mr. Harvey came down, bringing word that his patient was asking urgently for Mrs. Keith.

“You had better let me go in first,” said Alick, his face changed by the firm but tender awe-struck look.

“Not if she is asking for me,” said Rachel, moving on, her heart feeling as if it would rend asunder, but her looks composed.

Bessie’s face was in shade, but her voice had the old ring of coaxing archness.  “I thought you would stay to see the doctors off.  They had their revenge for our stealing a march on them, and have prowled about me till I was quite faint; and now I don’t feel a bit like sleep, though I am so tired.  Would Alick think me very wicked if I kept you a little while?  Don’t I see Alick’s shadow?  Dear old fellow, are you come to wish me good-night?  That is good of you.  I am not going to plague you any more, Alick, I shall be so good now!  But what?” as he held back the curtain, and the light fell on his face, “Oh! there is nothing wrong with the baby?”

“No, dear Bessie, not with the baby,” said Alick, with strong emphasis.

“What, myself?” she said quickly, turning her eyes from one face to the other.

Alick told her the state of the case.  Hers was a resolute character, or perhaps the double nature that had perplexed and chafed her brother was so integral that nothing could put it off.  She fully comprehended, but as if she and herself were two separate persons.  She asked how much time might be left to her, and hearing the doctor’s opinion, said, “Then I think my poor old Lord Keith had better have his night’s rest in peace.  But, oh!  I should like to speak to Colin.  Send for him, Alick; telegraph, Alick; he is at the Paddington Hotel.  Send directly.”

She was only tranquillised by her brother beginning to write a telegraphic message.