‘No, I think not. The fact is, Mr. Warrington, I—I—(I have not told the Lovetts yet, as it is no concern of theirs) but—I am engaged to be married.’ ‘Hallo! That is sharp work, Miss Hilda. Not to a foreigner, I hope!’ ‘Now, Mr. Warrington, I thought you would be above such vulgar prejudice. He _is_ a foreigner—Baron Armand de Nesselrode—but he is better than all the Englishmen put together.’ ‘Oh! that of course. And do you intend to settle your income upon this gentlemen, then?’ ‘I have not decided that yet; but I do want to have it transferred to my own keeping. And oh! Mr. Warrington, you will have to pay a few debts of Mr. Lovett’s out of it too, because I promised the poor people I would be responsible for their money.’ At this announcement the solicitor looked grave. ‘We must speak further on that subject, Miss Hilda. I can do nothing in a hurry. Where is Mr. Lovett, and how soon shall I be able to see him?’ Then I remembered that my guardian ought to have arrived with the doctor from Rille by the same conveyance as Mr. Warrington had travelled in. ‘Why, he was at Rille, and didn’t he come with you in the diligence?’ I exclaimed hastily. ‘An old man with white hair and very blue eyes, and accompanied by a foreign doctor?’ ‘No; there were no gentry at all in the diligence. Only a few peasants and a sister of mercy.’ ‘What can have delayed them?’ I said, in distress. ‘We are in great trouble here to-day, Mr. Warrington. The youngest Miss Lovett was taken ill yesterday, and we have no medical assistance nearer than Rille. I wrote to her father by last night’s post, begging him to return this morning and bring a doctor with him, and I cannot imagine what should have prevented their arrival. What shall we do?’ ‘Is the case serious, then?’ ‘I fear it is—very serious!’ ‘Can I do nothing to help you, Miss Hilda?’ ‘Nothing, thank you, Mr. Warrington! We can but watch her and wait. Are you staying at the Etoile?’ ‘No, at the Cloche. The other looked too noisy for me. I will say good-bye now, then, as you are busy, and you must let me know as soon as Mr. Lovett returns.’ ‘I will—good-bye!’ I was so glad to see the last of the dear little man who looked as dapper as if he had travelled up from London in a sealed envelope, for my mind was too much occupied to attend to him. As soon as ever his back was turned, I flew to Tessie to speculate on what unforeseen accident could possibly have occurred to prevent her father joining us. But speculation was of no use. We were utterly helpless. Wringing our hands would not abate one breath of the dreadful fever that was burning in Ange’s veins. All we could do was to pray to God. Madame Marmoret had spread the news through St. Pucelle, and many a poor peasant woman came up that afternoon and pleaded for admission, only just to look upon the face of _petite_ Ange. But I would let no one pass the threshold of her door, for her delirium was now at its height, and she talked continually.